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Chapter Twenty-Four
Peyton
The weather in the San Diego’s area was perfect, at least in my opinion. Spring and early summer temperatures were in the high 60’s and low 70’s. Navarro and I sat at the coffee shop, enveloped in silence. As the early-morning sun warmed my legs, I wondered just why he had scheduled our morning meeting.
He rocked his chair on its rear legs. “Got anything for me to read yet?”
“The article?”
“Yeah.”
It seemed things between us had become awkward. At least much more than before. It had been two weeks since the incident, and although I felt much better about everything, I certainly didn’t feel normal. I wondered if he sensed it, or if he had reasons of his own for being someone other than his natural self.
“No,” I said. “Not yet.”
He dropped the chair back down on its legs and reached for his coffee. “What’s the hold up?”
“Hold up?” I shot him an evil stare. The real kind, not the friendly version. “Have you ever written anything for publication?”
He looked at me like I had three heads. “No.”
“Well,” I said. “It isn’t easy. I’m trying to decide where to take it. And we’re not done with the interviews.”
“I was just asking.”
I was tired of people asking. Camden asked every time he saw me. Navarro was asking. I even asked myself, but lately those times had become infrequent.
“It’ll be done when it’s done. And, when I’m done with it, you’ll be the first to know. You’ve got to proof it, remember?”
He took a drink of coffee and nodded. “Just asking.”
I took a sip of my latte and studied him. Relaxed in his seat with his coffee in his hand, his shoulders were rolled forward. His broad chest looked deflated, and he seemed considerably smaller than he actually was.
“What’s been wrong with you lately?” I asked, the words coming out before I had a chance to stop them.
I wanted him to be the way he was when I met him. Rough. Aggressive. Angry. In-you-face.
But something was different.
He rocked the chair on its back legs again. “What do you mean?”
“Look at you.” I shrugged. “You’re docile.
He shot me a look, but it was forced, and I couldn’t really identify it. “Docile?”
I nodded. “Compliant. Unassertive. Accommodating. You know, docile.”
“No I’m not.”
“Okay. Whatever. Let’s go get some ice cream.”
“Now?”
“Yeah. Right now. I want ice cream.”
He stood up. “You gonna bring your coffee with you?”
“See? That’s what I’m talking about. A month ago you would have told me to fuck off, and you would have shoved your cock down my throat to shut me up. Now? Now you’re different.”
