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I stare at the phone, marveling at how easy that was, to ask Enzo for a favor. I know he’ll come through too. But what he’s planning on the pier in Avalon, New Jersey? I can only imagine.
37
Evie
“So, where are we going?”
Tris turns onto the highway ramp. “It’s a surprise.”
When he pulled up, I’d been waiting for him. Dumping my bag and purse into the back seat, I jumped into the passenger seat. When he kissed me, it was quick. And though Tris immediately reached for my hand, instead of being comforting, and more than a little tantalizing, his touch is different. Or maybe it’s me that’s different.
He asks about my visit to the cemetery, and the car dealership, and I admit how guilty I feel for carrying on for the past few weeks as if I’m not still mourning my father’s death. Tris tells me what a part of me already knows. Dad would want me to move on. He would be happy, as would my mom, that I continue to live my life without them.
That doesn’t mean it feels any less awkward.
We talk about the award. I insist it’s fine, that I’m over it, and Tris calls my bluff.
By the time we get to Philly, we still haven’t discussed the most important thing of all.
Us.
“Talk to me,” Tris says finally.
When I look at him, it’s hard to articulate actual words. He’s so fricking handsome. The mere thought of not being with him is absurd. And yet . . .
“While I watched you on the news,” I admit, knowing I’ll have to lay it all on the line, “I couldn’t stop wondering if this could possibly work. We are literally each other’s biggest competitor, Tris.”
He pretends to be surprised.
“Seriously? I had no idea. We’ve never talked about that before.”
My eyes roll back so hard it hurts my head.
“I thought I was a bigger person. But I was honestly jealous of you.”
He doesn’t flinch, even as my stomach churns at the thought.
“And?”
“And? Do you realize how awful that is? Comparison is the thief of joy,” I quote from . . . whoever said it. “Do not spoil what you have by desiring what you have not.”
“And who said that?”
I shrug. “The Seneca, I think. Bottom line is, jealousy is awful. And to be jealous of my own boyfriend?” I say in disgust.
“Surely is worthy of being tossed into the pits of hell immediately?” Tris is half-smiling.
“I’m serious.”
He squeezes my hand. “If you’re done reciting platitudes,” he says, “let me share one.”
I shift my body toward him in the seat.
“Cut yourself some slack.”
I wait for more, but that seems to be it.
“Who said that?”
