2. Daphne #2
Well that stings. Until a few weeks ago, I’d been part of an advanced program at Harkness College. I was on track to earn my Bachelor of Science and a Master’s in public health, concurrently, in just five years. I could have done it, too. If I hadn’t trusted the wrong man.
Even now, I’m still not really safe. Reardon Halsey could blow up my new life with a single phone call. This is why I don’t sleep well anymore.
I’m tempted to throw the invitation right out the window. But Shipleys don’t litter. So I open Dylan’s glove compartment and shove the invitation inside before snapping it closed again.
“Not the mail you were hoping for?” Rickie asks cheerfully.
“Nope,” I grumble.
“Bummer. Maybe I could find a way to cheer you up later.” I groan, and he laughs. “I meant with ice cream. Can we stop for a cone on the way home?”
“Sure, pal,” I mutter.
“Awesome.” There’s a beat of silence. “Or we could have dinner together.”
“We eat dinner together every night,” I point out.
“That is not what I meant. You look like a girl who could use a fun night out. And I’m just the guy for the job.”
I’ll bet you are . There’s no doubt in my mind that Rickie knows how to put the play in playboy. But I’ve been down this road before. He once invited me out, before ghosting me.
I don’t trust men who flirt with me. And I never will again.
“Look, I’m flattered,” I lie. “But we both know you’re really not my type. And I’m not yours.”
“Really? What is your type? Let me guess—you like ‘em clean cut and ambitious.”
This is partly true. Or at least it used to be.
The first man I ever fell for was clean cut.
And the second one looked clean cut, and was certainly ambitious.
But now I’m just confused. “I honestly just don’t know anymore.
But I’m not going to be your super convenient good time, okay? That’s not happening.”
He actually laughs. “You think you’ve got me figured out. I’m a total sleaze, huh?”
Yes . “I didn’t say that.”
“It’s okay, Daphne. There have been times when you would have been right. I definitely went through a sleazy stage. But then I grew out of it.”
“Good to know,” I mumble. I never went through a sleazy stage, but I went through a na?ve stage, which is surely worse.
“I’ll be honest,” he says, as if this conversation were ongoing. “You confuse me. Your mouth says you’re not interested. But your wandering eyes say you are.”
“Hey! Not true,” I lie. I’m definitely attracted to Rickie, and completely unwilling to admit it.
“And what’s with the photo yesterday? Did you take my picture?”
“No!” I yelp. “Why would I do that?”
“Lock screen shot?” he suggests. “I’m very decorative.”
“Shut up. I was taking a selfie.”
His snort says he doesn’t believe me. Just kill me already. We’re still at least forty-five minutes from the first delivery. This is going to be the longest ride to Burlington ever.
My phone buzzes with a series of texts, so I pull it out to check. They’re all from Violet.
Helllooooo! How’s it going with Mr. Hottie?
Does he have good taste in music?
Did you ask him why he stood you up for a date that time?
Can I have another photo? His face doesn’t show very well in this one .
I reply with the speed of someone who feels guilty. No more pics. Ever. I should never listen to you. He saw, and now I’ll never live it down .
Oh, don’t worry! I’ll tell this story at your wedding someday .
I groan. You are a hopeless romantic. Emphasis on hopeless.
She replies with a heart emoji. I love Violet, but I don’t understand her optimism. Her luck with men isn’t any better than mine.
I put my phone away and stare out the window again. But Rickie takes that as a sign that I’m available for conversation. “Look, we have to clear up a couple of things. I’ve got some questions.”
I watch the landscape shoot by and wonder if I could survive a dive out of a moving vehicle.
“I’m wondering why you seem so jumpy around me. And I realize we met once before—”
My insides lock up, and my breath stalls.
“—but the details are sketchy to me. So here’s a wild theory. Have we already seen each other naked? Is that the problem?”
My gasp escapes before I can help it. “No! No way.” Not unless we’re counting that morning last week when I glimpsed him stepping into the shower. The ass on this man is a work of art…
“Well, thank goodness.” He chuckles. “Be a shame if I’d forgotten that .”
I make a small sound of outrage. “ Seriously ?” I squeak. “It must have been a hell of a sleazy phase if you think you could forget something like that.”
“Oh, you’d be surprised what a guy can forget.” The truck’s engine rumbles as he accelerates past a log truck. “Look, I’m well aware that I sound like an asshole right now. But can you just tell me how we met before? Give me a refresher.”
My head turns unbidden, and I just stare at him for a long moment. Is he even for real? I’d been assuming that he knew perfectly well how we met, but just didn’t want to talk about it. But now he wants a reminder?
“Yeah, I’m serious,” he says, as if listening to my thoughts. “My memory is shit.”
“Lord, I’ll say. Maybe you should lay off the bong.”
“I get that a lot.”
This is the strangest conversation I’ve ever had.
And I still don’t trust that he isn’t just screwing with me.
He and I spent six hours together. With our clothes on.
But still. “My freshman year we did a weekend ride share once, from Connecticut to Vermont and then back again. You drove. I paid for gas money.”
“ Oh ,” he says, giving me a quick glance. “From Harkness.”
“Yes. Of course.”
“Right,” he says, his eyes on the road. “Makes sense.”
I brace myself for follow-up questions. He’s probably putting it all together now. Our strangely intimate conversation. The odd way it ended.
But the questions don’t come. He turns up the radio instead.