“Then what anniversary is she talking about? The first time you banged?”
“Uh...” His eyes shift away from mine and focus on the tile floor as he rubs his right earlobe. Is this what Hollis looks like when embarrassed? It’s adorable. “Actually, yes. We first hooked up over Memorial Day weekend five years ago, when I was in town for a mutual friend’s wedding. The anniversary thing, it’s becomesort of an inside joke, because I always wind up visiting at the end of May. It’s not a... sentimental arrangement. It just works well with both of our schedules.”
“Hold up. So your sex appointment is... annually recurring? Like blocked out on your calendar and everything?”
“Yeah. When circumstances allow, at least. Last year Yeva was involved with someone, so I didn’t come until they broke up in July.” His lips compress as if rethinking his phrasing. “Didn’t come visit,” he clarifies.
The tension drains from my shoulders, and my backpack shifts down my arm. “Why didn’t you tell me that from the beginning?”
“How was I supposed to know you’d want to be informed of all the logistical details of my sex life?” This is a new expression on his face. It’s... smug. It makes him look extra-punchable, but also somehow more attractive.
“I don’t,” I say. “What you do is your own business. And I’m really sorry I violated your privacy. I swear I was only trying to pause the navigation, but the text came through, and the notification wound up where the pause button was, and you don’t have a passcode on your phone, which you really should—”
“It’s fine. Considering how red you’ve turned, I think you’re adequately mortified. Just be more careful next time. I can’t promise I won’t get more texts like that tonight.”
“Yeva’s got a good eye for angles,” I admit.
“Never said they’d all be from Yeva.” Before I can think too much about that, he claps his hands together. “Now, enough yapping. Let’s get back on the road. You still okay to drive?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. Then I’m getting an ice cream cone.”
•••
“It makes no sense,” Hollis grumbles from the passenger seat. “If you’re open twenty-four hours a day, you should have ice cream available twenty-four hours a day. You can’t just decide to arbitrarily shut down the ice cream machine.”
It’s been fifteen minutes since we got back on the highway, and he’s still moping about this. I can’t help but smile at his petulance. “I think they said it was off for cleaning. Not exactly arbitrary.”
“Don’t care. Dirty ice cream would’ve been better than no ice cream.”
“Ew,” I say. “Gross. No, it would not have been.”
Hollis runs his hands through his hair and makes a gruff sound that’s almost a growl. It... does things to me. It probably does things to Yeva too. Gah. I can’t get that picture of her out of my head. It’s not like I’m a prude or anything; I’ve seen my fair share of genitalia on the internet over the years (sometimes intentionally, sometimes not). But it’s one thing to see something intended for mass consumption, and another completely to stumble upon a photo meant for only one person’s enjoyment. And now I’m imagining Hollis... enjoying it. And oh god. That thought is making me feel like both the perv and the... pervee?
“What are you thinking about over there?” Hollis asks.
“Nothing. Nothing at all.” My denial sounds way too suspicious even to my own ears, so I grasp around for a lie and find it in the highway sign up ahead. “Just, you know, Eisenhower and the interstates.”
“Oh, Eisenhower and the interstates gets you all hot and bothered, does it?”
I glance over at him, wondering for a moment if he might be a mind reader. If so, I’m in a lot of trouble. I have never had very good control over my thoughts.
“Like I said, terrible liar.” He shakes his head in mock sympathy. “You’re breathing like a caricature of a phone sex operator, and I can see you glowing pink even in the dark.”
The breathing I could’ve passed off as my asthma acting up, but I have no excuse for the blushing. Sometimes it’s a real pain being so pale I could be mistaken for a human-shaped bag of milk.
“So why aren’t you and Yeva like, together together?” I wanted to change the subject, but that’s probably not the direction in which I should’ve taken the conversation, considering it’s basically the last thing I want to think about right now. Oh well. I don’t have very good control over my mouth either.
I can see the force of his frown in my peripheral vision. “Because I don’t want to be.”
“Why? She seems... uh... fun.”
“She is. Yeva’s great.” Hollis shifts in his seat. “It’s not that I don’t want to be with her, it’s that I don’t want to be with anyone. Besides, even if I were capable of something more serious, she lives in Miami, which—as you may have noticed—is not super close to DC. And I guarantee we’d get on each other’s nerves if we ever had to spend more than a few hours together with our clothes on.”
“Everyone gets on your nerves, though,” I say.
He lets out a huff that might be his version of a laugh. “Yep. Which is one of the many reasons I don’t do relationships anymore.”
