Trust
Page 17
“Not specifically. I’m just socially awkward with grown-ups. Total rock star with the under-tens, but grown-ups, not so much.”
“Hence the knock-knock jokes.”
“Right.”
“We can talk about your FBI fetish,” I offer, imagining Chloe in some naked roleplaying good times and wondering how long it’s going to take to make that happen.
“I do not have a fetish!” she exclaims then pauses and after a beat, “What did Everly tell you?”
“Nothing,” I say, laughing and trying for the first time in my life to actively remember words that came out of Everly’s mouth. Every time I’ve seen that girl something inappropriate comes out of her mouth. I usually tune her crazy ass out. “Everly was your college roommate?”
“And my best friend growing up. I’ve known her forever.”
“That must have been interesting,” I say, a slight bit sarcastically.
She laughs. “I know she comes off a little crazy, but Everly’s a great friend. The best.”
“She seems like the kind of friend who would have gotten you grounded.”
“No.” Chloe laughs, but it’s more of a giggle and I wonder what she’s thinking about.
“No sneaking out of the house?” I press. “Underage drinking? Sneaking around with boys?”
“Maybe a little,” she admits. “But honestly, I’d probably have done nothing but read and study without her, so she was kind of a good bad influence.”
“If you say so.”
“Your sister likes her too!” she protests.
“Don’t remind me.”
“What about you?” she asks, reaching into her purse and pulling out her strawberry Chapstick. She uncaps it and runs it across her lips and I immediately think about her strawberry-coated lips wrapped around my dick. “Did you get grounded a lot?”
“What?”
“Did you get grounded a lot? When you were a kid?” she repeats, so I tear myself away from my fantasies about her lips on my dick and focus.
“Not really, no. I went to a boarding school from ninth grade on so I wasn’t home. We got gated sometimes”—I glance over at her—“which was our version of detention, I suppose.”
“Seriously?” Her eyes widen in surprise. “Your parents sent you away to boarding school?”
“No, they didn’t send me. I asked to go.”
“Why?”
“You know my dad was a senator,” I say, glancing at her. “There was always some bullshit political fundraiser or rally they wanted me to attend. I hated it. Boarding school was an effective way for my parents to save face about why I wasn’t around smiling and shaking hands.”
“Oh.” She’s quiet. “That’s kinda sad though.”
I glance in her direction then back at the road. Is it? “I was happier at boarding school. Parenting didn’t come naturally to my parents. I think it was a relief for all of us when I left.”
She nods, interested.
“Plus my school was a lot closer to my grandparents in New Hampshire so I spent some weekends and breaks with them.” Which I preferred.
She nods again, quiet for a moment.
“So how am I doing?” She asks, and I’m not sure what she’s referring to.
“What do you mean?”
“Practicing. That’s what we’re doing, right? Practicing my conversational skills so I don’t embarrass you in front of your friends and family next weekend?”
Oh, right.
“I believe in you. You’re the one who needs to believe in yourself,” I tell her.
“Okay,” she says softly.
“Besides, you can’t embarrass me.”
“I can’t?”
“Not possible.”
I see her looking at me, thinking about that.
“Are you close with your parents?” I ask her, wanting to move the conversation back to something she’s not going to overthink.
“No.” She’s shaking her head. “Not really, no. They got divorced when I was young. My dad moved to New York and I didn’t see much of him after that.” She glances at me then back out the window. “Apparently this two-hour drive was too far because he cancelled on me a lot. Meanwhile my mom kept herself pretty busy looking for a replacement for him. I think I was just in the way, you know?” She doesn’t wait for an answer. “She was always dating some guy or another and then sobbing when they broke up. I felt bad, but I couldn’t really deal with her.”
“Because you were a child, Chloe, it wasn’t your job to deal with her.”
“I guess.” She unfolds her legs and sets her feet on the floor, then crosses one leg over the other. “But I had Everly, so it was fine. She always included me. I even went on a few vacations with her family.”
I guess Everly isn’t a total menace, though it pains me to even mentally admit it.
“And even though she comes across a little strong,” Chloe continues, “Everly was a good kid. We really didn’t get into much trouble. She was the outgoing one though for sure. She kinda dragged me along on her adventures, but like I said, it was good for me or I’d have stayed in my comfort zone forever, you know?”
“Sure. Sometimes you need a little push.”
“Exactly. Like I’d probably still be a virgin if it wasn’t for Everly.”
“You had a threesome with Everly?”
“What? Oh, my God, no!” She’s flustered. “No! I meant—you know what I meant.”
I do know. I flash her a grin. “But you’ve had sex?”
“I’ve had sex!” she protests. “I’ve totally had it. I have.” She pulls one knee up to the seat and tucks it against her chest before crossing her arms around her bent knee and glancing back at me.
“Okay,” I respond, cautious.
“It was okay or whatever.”
Okay or whatever. Okay or whatever? I tap my index finger against the steering wheel for a second, unsure how to proceed on that without making her clam up.
“Hence the knock-knock jokes.”
“Right.”
“We can talk about your FBI fetish,” I offer, imagining Chloe in some naked roleplaying good times and wondering how long it’s going to take to make that happen.
“I do not have a fetish!” she exclaims then pauses and after a beat, “What did Everly tell you?”
“Nothing,” I say, laughing and trying for the first time in my life to actively remember words that came out of Everly’s mouth. Every time I’ve seen that girl something inappropriate comes out of her mouth. I usually tune her crazy ass out. “Everly was your college roommate?”
“And my best friend growing up. I’ve known her forever.”
“That must have been interesting,” I say, a slight bit sarcastically.
She laughs. “I know she comes off a little crazy, but Everly’s a great friend. The best.”
“She seems like the kind of friend who would have gotten you grounded.”
“No.” Chloe laughs, but it’s more of a giggle and I wonder what she’s thinking about.
“No sneaking out of the house?” I press. “Underage drinking? Sneaking around with boys?”
“Maybe a little,” she admits. “But honestly, I’d probably have done nothing but read and study without her, so she was kind of a good bad influence.”
“If you say so.”
“Your sister likes her too!” she protests.
“Don’t remind me.”
“What about you?” she asks, reaching into her purse and pulling out her strawberry Chapstick. She uncaps it and runs it across her lips and I immediately think about her strawberry-coated lips wrapped around my dick. “Did you get grounded a lot?”
“What?”
“Did you get grounded a lot? When you were a kid?” she repeats, so I tear myself away from my fantasies about her lips on my dick and focus.
“Not really, no. I went to a boarding school from ninth grade on so I wasn’t home. We got gated sometimes”—I glance over at her—“which was our version of detention, I suppose.”
“Seriously?” Her eyes widen in surprise. “Your parents sent you away to boarding school?”
“No, they didn’t send me. I asked to go.”
“Why?”
“You know my dad was a senator,” I say, glancing at her. “There was always some bullshit political fundraiser or rally they wanted me to attend. I hated it. Boarding school was an effective way for my parents to save face about why I wasn’t around smiling and shaking hands.”
“Oh.” She’s quiet. “That’s kinda sad though.”
I glance in her direction then back at the road. Is it? “I was happier at boarding school. Parenting didn’t come naturally to my parents. I think it was a relief for all of us when I left.”
She nods, interested.
“Plus my school was a lot closer to my grandparents in New Hampshire so I spent some weekends and breaks with them.” Which I preferred.
She nods again, quiet for a moment.
“So how am I doing?” She asks, and I’m not sure what she’s referring to.
“What do you mean?”
“Practicing. That’s what we’re doing, right? Practicing my conversational skills so I don’t embarrass you in front of your friends and family next weekend?”
Oh, right.
“I believe in you. You’re the one who needs to believe in yourself,” I tell her.
“Okay,” she says softly.
“Besides, you can’t embarrass me.”
“I can’t?”
“Not possible.”
I see her looking at me, thinking about that.
“Are you close with your parents?” I ask her, wanting to move the conversation back to something she’s not going to overthink.
“No.” She’s shaking her head. “Not really, no. They got divorced when I was young. My dad moved to New York and I didn’t see much of him after that.” She glances at me then back out the window. “Apparently this two-hour drive was too far because he cancelled on me a lot. Meanwhile my mom kept herself pretty busy looking for a replacement for him. I think I was just in the way, you know?” She doesn’t wait for an answer. “She was always dating some guy or another and then sobbing when they broke up. I felt bad, but I couldn’t really deal with her.”
“Because you were a child, Chloe, it wasn’t your job to deal with her.”
“I guess.” She unfolds her legs and sets her feet on the floor, then crosses one leg over the other. “But I had Everly, so it was fine. She always included me. I even went on a few vacations with her family.”
I guess Everly isn’t a total menace, though it pains me to even mentally admit it.
“And even though she comes across a little strong,” Chloe continues, “Everly was a good kid. We really didn’t get into much trouble. She was the outgoing one though for sure. She kinda dragged me along on her adventures, but like I said, it was good for me or I’d have stayed in my comfort zone forever, you know?”
“Sure. Sometimes you need a little push.”
“Exactly. Like I’d probably still be a virgin if it wasn’t for Everly.”
“You had a threesome with Everly?”
“What? Oh, my God, no!” She’s flustered. “No! I meant—you know what I meant.”
I do know. I flash her a grin. “But you’ve had sex?”
“I’ve had sex!” she protests. “I’ve totally had it. I have.” She pulls one knee up to the seat and tucks it against her chest before crossing her arms around her bent knee and glancing back at me.
“Okay,” I respond, cautious.
“It was okay or whatever.”
Okay or whatever. Okay or whatever? I tap my index finger against the steering wheel for a second, unsure how to proceed on that without making her clam up.
