“I’m not sure how to respond to that.”
She sighs, pulls the elastic out of her ponytail, and drags her hands through her hair. “Forget it. Tell me a story.”
Hello, fly ball out of left field.
“Sure.” I think for a moment, and then my brain presents me with a sly idea I have to admit I find totally genius, even if I did think of it myself. Well, probably especially since I thought of it myself.
“Once upon a time, there was a boy and a girl.”
She looks over at me sharply.
“Don’t get your panties in a twist, sweetheart. Am I telling this story or not?”
She leans her head against the headrest and closes her eyes. “Yes. Make it good.”
“I will if you’d shut up long enough to let me talk.”
I have to pretend I don’t see the stabby look she sends me. “As I was saying: boy, girl. The boy was strong and smart, selfless and courageous, a natural leader, and, of course, very handsome. And incredibly popular. Your real hero type.”
Tabby’s groan is pained. “For fuck’s sake, Connor.”
I push on, ignoring for the moment how much I like hearing her say my name. “The girl was strong and smart too, but in a way that most people couldn’t understand. And because most people didn’t understand her, it was hard for her to make friends. So because it was hard for her to make friends, she learned to rely on herself instead of anyone else.”
Beside me, there’s silence.
My voice grows quieter. “The girl lived alone in a castle high on a hill. She was a princess, you see. But her parents were dead, and she was an only child. An orphan. She had no one to play with and no one to talk to and no one to tell her how amazing she was.” I glance at her. “How beautiful.”
She’s sitting very still, staring straight ahead, her posture stiff and guarded. It’s all I can do not to reach out and stroke my fingers down her satin cheek.
“One day an evil wizard came to town. He’d heard of the beautiful princess, lonely and vulnerable in her castle—”
“Vulnerable!” Tabby scoffs.
“—and hatched a plan to steal her heart and then take over her kingdom by making all her subjects think she’d done something terrible. He began to woo the princess with jewels and gold and promises of forever—”
“Tread carefully, jarhead,” says Tabby, her eyes on the road and her jaw set.
“You already know I’m no good at that,” I reply softly.
She swallows and looks down at her hands clenched in her lap. “I don’t like this story.”
“Should I jump to the ending? Spoiler alert: the hero saves her.”
Tabby looks over at me, her eyes shining like gems in the dark. “A real hero would teach the princess how to save herself.”
Our eyes hold. A flutter works its way through my chest. I murmur, “Noted.”
She breaks eye contact first. We drive in silence for miles, until finally she says almost inaudibly, “He never promised me forever.”
S?ren. His presence between us is palpable, a heavy weight in the air. A darkness.
“What did he promise you?”
Tabby looks out into the night, to the dark landscape passing by the windows in a blur, and says nothing.
We find a Best Western hotel in Tulsa and take adjoining rooms on the fourth floor. I’m impressed that Tabby has brought only one small suitcase for her clothes, but judging by the size of her normal wardrobe—skirts that make the word “mini” seem overgenerous and child-size tops—I can’t say I’m really surprised.
Her computer gear, on the other hand, could have its own zip code.
“Good thing I drove the truck,” I mutter, hauling a fifty-pound black case from the back of my Hummer.
“Truck?” says Tabby, standing next to me in the parking lot as we unload our bags. “Is that what you call this monstrosity?”
I drag another of her bags out, this one even heavier than the first, and drop it at her feet. “Spare me the tree-hugging psychobabble about gas consumption and emissions, will you, sweetheart? This vehicle is built for a specific purpose—”
“Overcompensation for feelings of penis size inadequacy?” She smiles.
“Safety,” I correct and smile back. “As if you haven’t already noticed, I’m not exactly lacking in the size department.”
Involuntarily, her gaze drops to my crotch. Then she catches herself, blinks up at me, and flushes. Her voice comes out of her mouth with the cutting power of a sword.
“As a class three truck, this vehicle is exempt from many DOT safety regulations and lacks standard safety features, including side air bags and stability control. In addition, its large blind spots make—”
“Don’t change the subject.”
“Don’t make me murder you in the parking lot of a one-star hotel.”