“No. No more broccoli facts. No more.”
“Had a feeling you might say that,” I said. And then I hit send on a draft I prepared just for this moment:
The heaviest broccoli on record was grown in 1993. It was 35 lbs.
“Millicent,” he said through clenched teeth as his phone buzzed on the nightstand. “If that’s another broccoli fact, I swear to god.”
“What are you gonna do about it?” I asked, daring him with my smile.
Suddenly, he was over my naked body, kissing me hard. “Gonna block your number, first of all,” he mumbled against my lips. And then I felt him smile.
“What’s second of all?”
My face heats at the memory of what Hollis proposed and proceeded to do to me. I fan myself with my hand, hoping the cool air will dissolve the flush of my cheeks.
“Little hotter down here than y’all’re used to up north, huh?” the mayor says beside me.
“Ha, yeah.” Gadsley is currently a balmy seventy degrees. But I’m too grateful for the excuse to mention that I’m originally from Southern California or that DC is technically south of the Mason-Dixon line and gets a lot hotter than this (with way higher humidity) once summer hits in earnest.
The parade should last about twenty minutes—which is the amount of time it takes to travel the length of Gadsley’s Main Street at a leisurely pace on foot—and I bask in the warmth of the midday sun and the crowd’s attention as we go. Because as much as I value my personal privacy, I always did love an audience. The only other time I was in a parade was when I rode on the Pringles float in New York on Thanksgiving Day 2003. Now that was a throng. But this is a much more manageable four hundred or so people, all lining the sidewalks and waving back at me like we’re neighbors. Ryan the Hepcat did a great job with the band, and even after hearing the same song on repeat for a quarter of an hour, I’m not at all tired of it.
Still, I keep catching myself wishing we could speed up, get to the end already, because we’re wasting too much time. In the shower this morning, I thought again about calling the nursing facility before we get back on the road. But like the last time I considered it, the idea left me a little nauseated. Then Hollis distracted me from giving the matter much more of my attention, for which I was grateful. Hey, maybe I could get Hollis to call. It’s cowardly, but it also feels less insurmountable than having to ask the question and hear the answer myself.
Hollis is waiting for me at the end of the parade route, typing on his phone.
“How’d you get here?” I ask. “You were at the staging area before.”
“I walked,” he says, sliding his phone back into his pocket. “Y’all were going like two miles an hour. It wasn’t exactly difficult to keep up.”
“Were you watching me the whole time? That’s kind of creepy, dude.”
“I was sending an email, if you must know.” Hollis frowns one of his very deepest frowns as he holds out a hand. “Are you going to get out of that car so we can get going, or are you going to keep interrogating me?”
I lay my palm against his, and my warm skin turns hot at the touch. Hollis wraps an arm around my waist and lifts me down from the convertible. Our faces are close together when he sets my feet on the ground. He looks like he wants to kiss me, and I definitely want to kiss him. But he lets go of me and takes a step back.
“There are newspaper people here,” he says. “And I saw a few local TV news vans.”
“Yeah? Well, good. Then Ryan and the mayor are getting the publicity they wanted.”
“I just meant that I probably shouldn’t be seen with you. In case the media thinks we’re together. That’s not the kind of attention you signed up for.”
I smile and fiddle with the zipper of his hoodie. “Well. That’s very considerate of you. But I’m nowhere near famous enough for anyone to care who I’m involved with. That was kind of Josh’s whole point in doing what he did.”
Hollis crosses his arms over his chest, cutting off my zipper access. “Still. I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“Wait. Is this about Yeva?” I slap my palms against my forehead, wincing when I hit the bruise strategically hidden under a swoop of hair and fifty layers of concealer. “You don’t want her to see you with me. That’s the real reason, isn’t it?”
How do I keep forgetting about Yeva? If cutting in front of someone to ride a roller coaster is bad, cutting in front of someone to ride their sex friend is probably like a hundred times worse. “I knew this was a terrible idea,” I groan. “And I’m a terrible person.”
“What? No. There’s no need to freak out. Don’t—” Hollis steps toward me again.
“Do I need to apologize to her? Send her like... some flowers or something? Maybe an Edible Arrangements? Does she have any allergies?”
“What are you even— Mill. Look at me.”
I squeeze my eyes closed in defiance, refusing to be talked down from my panic.
“Millicent.” His voice is a low, frustrated growl, the kind that turns me on a little. He snakes his arms around my waist and draws me against him. “Open your eyes and look at me.”
