Page 88 of Whispers and Wildfire
Her gaze lifted to meet mine as she finished tying my second shoe. “Hear about what?”
“My accident. Racing. Me being an idiot.”
“Am I supposed to say something about it?”
“Figured you would.”
“Why, because I used to hate it when you raced back in high school? That was a long time ago.”
My jaw hitched. This turn of subject was my doing. I wanted to antagonize her. Get her arguing with me so I could go back to being mad at her for existing, instead of whatever else it was that kept happening to me when she was around.
But she wasn’t taking the bait.
“We used to fight about it then. Why not now?”
She paused, her brown eyes fixed on mine. No flash of anger lit up her features. I didn’t sense her gearing up to fire back at me.
“Honestly?” Her voice was soft. “You’re not stupid. You know when something is dangerous. And I think you’re oldenough to have outgrown your teenage immortality delusion. So you must have a reason for doing it. And until the reasons not to outweigh the reason you do it, you’re going to do what you want. This isn’t my problem to fix.”
I watched her as she stood, at a loss for words. What was I supposed to say to that? She was absolutely right.
“I wasn’t expecting you to be the calm and reasonable one,” I said.
“Weird, isn’t it?” She smiled. “It happens more than you’d think. I’m a hot mess, but I’m not as high strung as I used to be.”
One corner of my mouth lifted in a grin. “You sure about that?”
“I didn’t say I wasn’t high strung at all. Just that I’ve mellowed out a little.”
“All right, I’ll buy that.”
“Can you stand by yourself, or do you need help?”
“I got it.” Gritting my teeth, I stood. “Thanks for the help with my shoes.”
“Of course. Ready?”
“Yeah, let’s go.”
I followed her outside to her car. The weather was hot with a slight haze of brown in the sky. Must have been a wildfire somewhere, hopefully not too close to town. I didn’t smell smoke, so that was a good sign.
We got in, and putting on the seat belt wasn’t as agonizing as I’d feared. She pulled out of the driveway and onto the road, but hardly sped up.
I leaned over to look at the speedometer. “Why are you going twenty-five?”
“I’m being careful.”
“You’re not even going the speed limit.”
“You ask for a ride to work, and now you’re going to complain about how I drive?”
“Thirty, Mel. You can at least go thirty on this road.”
“You’re just so used to driving too fast, you don’t know what safety feels like.”
“Right, because you’re the epitome of a safe driver.”
She glanced at me, pressing her lips together like she was trying not to smile. “I’m not the one with a wrecked car and bruised ribs. What happened to the car, by the way?”
