“Oh.” Nevada gave her attention to unwrapping the present.
Now he really wanted to flee because this was a stupid idea. “It’s not a big deal.” He cleared his throat. “I got them for ten bucks from the store down the street. It wasn’t even out of my way. And I give everyone presents.”
“Lie,” she called him out, jerking her attention from the pair of yellow and white tube socks that were like his. Her face was comically blank, and his gut twisted.
“See,” he muttered. “I told you it was nothing. Have a nice life, Connecticut.”
“Have you ever bought a girl a present before?” She asked it so softly the wind almost carried her words away before they reached him. “Nox!” she said louder. “Have you?”
“You sure are brave now. I thought you had social anxiety!”
“Well…I do, but that doesn’t seem to make a difference with you.”
“Well, why not?”
“Because you have issues, too! You can’t judge me so I feel like I can…I dunno…say whatever I want.”
“I am perfectly normal.”
“Lie.”
“I have zero issues.”
“’Nother lie.”
“And furthermore—”
“Lie,” she called, hugging the pair of tube socks to her chest. “I think you pop off a lot when you get uncomfortable. It’s so you can push people away.”
Whoo, she was making him mad. He wanted to make her stop calling him out. “And what do you do when you get uncomfortable? Hmm?”
“Hide,” she said, the word ringing clear as a bell across the small yard. “I hunch my shoulders and get really quiet, try not to be distracting, try not to draw attention. I try to be invisible. I try to be a mouse.”
He didn’t like that. This wasn’t what he’d meant to happen. Nevada looked hurt, her lips were turned down in a frown, and he’d been the cause of it. Fuck. “You aren’t a mouse.”
“I’m not a proper fox.”
“Bullshit. You are how you’re supposed to be. You’re just surrounded by people who don’t understand your language.”
Nevada flinched back, and her delicate, dark eyebrows arched up in shock. “Yeah. That’s exactly how it feels. How did you know?”
“Because no one understands my language either.” And just so she wouldn’t pity him, he reminded her, “Which doesn’t matter because I hate everyone and I’m happier alone.”
She wanted to call out the lie, he could tell. She stood there in that pretty black dress, the hem whipping around her ankles in the wind, her hair lifting off her shoulders, porno-wrapped present clutched to her tits, looking like she was right on the verge of uttering that word again. Lie. But she didn’t. Instead, she told him, “I eat too many marshmallows, I don’t like talking to people, I can’t even afford a puppy, or this dress,” she said, holding out the fabric of the skirt to the side with her free hand. “A complete stranger sent it to me and I wore it no questions asked because it was this one, or a dress that’s two sizes too small that I bought three years ago. And I’ve worn that dress to all the family dinners for three years and I’m tired of everyone making fun of it. I have to work from home so I don’t make people uncomfortable, and I eat all my meals standing up because tables are for families and I’m by myself a lot. And I talk to myself just to hear a voice. Also, I’m good at cooking.”
Nox arched his eyebrows, completely unsure of how to respond.
Nevada stomped her foot and huffed a breath like she was frustrated. With him? With herself? Girl brains were terrifying. “Do you want to sit at the table with me and eat leftovers?” she asked suddenly.
“No.”
Nevada winced and dropped her gaze as she whispered, “Truth.”
“Because I would rather eat your pussy.” He was pretty good at wooing girls.
Nevada’s eyes got really big. “You do?”
“Well, yeah.” He gestured to her perfect cleavage. “Boobs. Butt.” He flicked his fingers at her thighs. “You smell like you want me, and it gives me…” He hooked his hands on his hips. This was the point where he was supposed to be polite and normal. “You know…”
“No, I don’t know. You’ve been on a long ride of weird with your answer. Don’t stop now.”
Nox cleared his throat loudly. She was wearing a dress and had her hair curled so he should woo her into bed properly, the way Mom always said he should talk to girls. “You give me erections. Of my dick.” He gestured grandly at his lap. “My dick is erect.”
Nevada cracked a smile and let off a giggle. Sounded like a bell. He liked bells.
Now she was blushing, and her cheeks were so pretty that color. She liked when he said nice things, he could tell, so he said, “Your cheeks are the color of vaginas.”
“Oh, my gosh,” she murmured through her giggling, and now her cheeks were going darker, and he couldn’t stop smiling. He was so good at complimenting Nevada.
“You’re the worst at compliments,” she murmured.
He smiled bigger because he liked when people said rude shit to him. She was good at complimenting him back in his own language. “Thank you.”
“You changed out of your short shorts,” she said conversationally.
Nox took a few steps closer to her and looked down at his crotch. “Yeah, my balls shriveled because it was so cold. Admission: I wore those shorts to chase you off, but you didn’t run.”
“I thought they were funny.” She lifted the tube socks. “Umm…”
She looked shy as hell right now. God, he wanted to corrupt her.
“I really like this present,” she said.
“No!” he blurted out.
“No, what?” she asked, her dark brows knitting into another frown.
“No, I haven’t gotten anyone a gift before. Or not like this. I mean, I’ve given people fish. But mostly I hide them in their trailers.”
“Oh,” she said, bobbing her head like she understood. “Why do you hide fish in people’s trailers?”
“To start a prank war with people I hate less than others.”
“You mean people you like?”
“I don’t like anyone.”
“Okay, who have you given fish to?”
“Torren, like six times. He mostly just got mad so I quit giving him presents. And then we fought a lot. This is the first thing I wrapped up for a girl, though.”
Nevada’s answering smile looked pleased as punch as she fingered the edge of the Playboy cover. There was a butt-naked girl on there—too skinny for his tastes, though. He liked the way Nevada looked a lot more.
“Darren figured out who you are. And what you are.”
Nox snorted. “I care zero percent what that pickle-dick thinks he knows about me.”
“He told me in the car that you’re registered. He found you on that government site. He said the den would shun me if they found out I was hanging out with you.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re from Damon’s Mountains, you march to the beat of your own drum, and they fear anything that’s different.”
When Nox took a few more steps forward, only three squares of cement sidewalk separated them. “You’re different.”