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“What was that?” I ask, as if I don’t hear her grousing.
“I could have waited.”
A flash of lightning cuts across the sky, followed quickly by a rumble of thunder. The sky has that ominous look every Texan knows—a murky gray-green on one horizon fading to an eerie pale pink on the other. It’s like sunset in hell. Cloudy with a chance of hail, tornadoes, and bad decisions.
“Right. Because that would have been safe.”
“If your leather is ruined, don’t blame me.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” I steer the car out onto the closest main road and pause to look at her. “You going to tell me where you live, or should I just drag you home with me like a stray?”
I keep my tone light, not even hinting at how close to serious I am.
She rolls her eyes and rattles off an address. I enter it into the car’s nav system.
“Damn,” I mutter when the location pops up. “So close to having a therapy chicken of my own.”
She huffs and crosses her arms over her chest, but doesn’t comment as I turn out onto 38th Street and start making my way across town. Traffic in Austin has been a shit show since I moved here for college more than a decade ago, and there are no signs it will ever improve. According to the nav system she’s only a few miles away, but it’s all lights and sluggish traffic.
She lives in a neighborhood just north of the University. It’s close enough in that I’m not too worried about how safe it might be. I don’t know what I would have done if she asked me to drop her off in a sketchy neighborhood.
“So, do you live with this boyfriend of yours who can’t be bothered to check his messages?”
“No.”
Even without taking my eyes off the road, I can see her tense, then fidget in her seat.
God, I hope she doesn’t play poker, because she’s a terrible liar.
I wonder what she’s not telling me about this boyfriend of hers.
Does he live with her? Or is it something else?
I would think he was made up, except I glanced at her phone when she took it out to see if he’d responded. She definitely has a ‘Trent’ contact in her phone and he called her ‘babe’ in the previous text.
Babe. Is there a more generically obnoxious pet name in existence?
Okay, so I called her Princess in the restaurant, which feels equally generic. But it’s not, since she clearly has an affinity for Princess Leia. And Princess Leia isn’t just a princess. She’s a badass warrior, a general, and only member of her family who doesn’t crack under pressure. So calling Trinity Princess is the least generic pet name. Not that I’m in a position to be giving Trinity a pet name.
But who the fuck uses nicknames when texting their girlfriend?
That alone is enough to make me hate the guy.
If I was looking for a reason. Which I’m not.
It doesn’t matter to me if Trent is unimaginative, inattentive cesspool of a boyfriend. It is not my business.
Trinity is not my business. Despite the fact that today I felt compelled to feed her and keep her dry. And I might be hatching plans to get her position back for her.
Of course, that part isn’t even meddling. It’s just common sense. She’s Margaret’s favorite. If the work she’s doing with other patients is even half as effective, then her work is too important to have it curtailed by a busybody like Stacy.
The point is, it doesn’t matter. And it’s only through the sheer boredom of navigating cross town traffic that I say, “So tell me about him.”
“Who?”
“Trent.” I snap my teeth around his name.
“Oh.” More shifting from her as she gazes out of the window like she’s never seen this stretch of Austin before. “I’ve known him forever. Since high school. He’s a great guy.”
