Page 42 of Courtroom Drama
“Name one thing you’re bad at?” I press.
“Why?”
“Because I have to know something you suck at. It will make me feel better about you.”
He wrinkles his brow, seemingly at my choice of words. After a long pause, he says, “I suck at relationships.”
I work hard to avoid my expression giving anything away, neither intrigue nor disappointment. I can’t help but think it’s a warning. Or at minimum, a thing guys say to keep expectations low.
“Same,” I offer back.
“Sydney, c’mon! You’re holding us up,” Cam says from the bench across from us.
I grab my ten-pound ball with the purple swirl and line myself up, throwing it halfway down the lane, hitting three pins. I don’t particularly care about the game or my score. I do wonder what Margot is doing today. I try to picture her bowling in the lane beside us, and the vision is comical.
I throw the second ball of my turn, this time hitting four of the remaining pins. When I return, Damon grabs a napkin from the stack on the built-in side table and fiddles with it.
The cosmic lights swirl around us, and it suddenly feels like we’re at a nightclub. He’s silently tinkering with the napkin, and I take the opportunity to ask, “What did you mean when you said you’re bad at relationships?”
He raises an eyebrow.
“General curiosity about my courtroom seatmate,” I say, answering the question that eyebrow is asking.
He leans back and folds his arms across his chest. His jaw muscle flexes. “Why are you?”
I shake my head. “No. You can’t answer a question with a question.”
“So many rules,” he teases.
I knock his knee with mine.
“I’m not good at it,” he says finally, eyes still concentrating on the napkin.
“Not good at what?”
He straightens. “Dating. Relationships. Any of it.”
“Why?” I’m not egocentric enough to assume it’s because ofmeor what happened to us, but I do wonder if it’s made him gun-shy, as it has me. It has to have influenced him, changed him. Made him a little less trusting, or at least far less optimistic.
His head swivels to face me, and I force myself to hold his gaze. Love is a topic we’ve managed to elude up until this point.
“I had a girlfriend in college. Things didn’t work out. I haven’t really put myself out there since.”
“You haven’t dated anyone since college?” I try and fail to containmy surprise. He’s easily definable as desirable—aBilly on the Streetpoll would undoubtedly result in a staggering number of affirmations of this. I’ve watched eyes linger on him in the gallery of the courtroom. He certainlycoulddate.
He shakes his head. “A date here and there, but nothing substantial. I guess... it’s just easier this way.”
“Easier than what?”
“You don’t let anything go, do you?” His right eyebrow twitches.
“It’s called a conversation.”
He huffs. “Yeah, okay.”
“So?” I press, leading him back to my question.
“Easier than being disappointed. Easier thandisappointing.”
