Dressing fast, I carried everything down to the car, then made my way to the small motel office where a pot of coffee, some doughnuts, and a few other sparse offerings waited. Some other guests were already there—a retired couple sitting by the window and a young family closer to the food. I had just helped myself to two doughnuts and a little carton of milk and snagged the last table when Alden came in.
When his eyes landed on me, he gave another of those hesitant smiles that made my stomach wobble. Then he made a face at the doughnuts, and I seized the chance to tease him a little, to try to bring back whatever passed as normal between us.
“Don’t mock my breakfast, Mr. Healthy. And they were all out of twigs for you, but there are little packets of oatmeal and hot water.” I pointed to the counter. My plan didn’t work though, my body still insisting on noticing the droplets of water on his neck, the ripple of fabric across his shoulders as he turned.
“That’ll do.” He mixed two oatmeals with hot water and milk before coming to sit across from me, sliding me a sad-looking banana. “Here. Have some vitamins.”
“Yes, Mom.”
“He’s not your mom.” Next to us, one of the kids, a boy with glasses, turned around in his chair.
“Nope.” I offered him what I hoped was a friendly smile.
“Brother?” he persisted.
Hmm. What was Alden anyway? Three days ago, I would have said he was a pain in the neck. My fiercest rival. But not a friend. And now… I simply wasn’t sure. And apparently, my indecision showed on my face because Alden released a long-suffering sigh.
“We’re traveling together to an Odyssey convention,” he explained, literal to a fault, but the kid accepted this answer with a solemn nod.
Across the table, the kid’s older brother tilted his head, eyes going wide with surprise and recognition. “Hey! I know you! You guys are on YouTube! You’re famous!”
“Well, maybe not famous.” My face heated, but Alden merely gave the kid an indulgent smile.
“You play?” he asked. As at the arcade, the kid responded to him instantly, smile broadening as he leaned forward.
“Yeah. On here.” He held up a tablet. “But I keep losing. It’s like I can’t play my cards fast enough before the other side kills me.”
“Tim. Don’t bug people while they’re trying to eat,” the mom broke in.
“It’s okay.” Alden waved her concern off. “If you’re falling behind, play smaller cards more strategically. Don’t wait for your big stuff. What sort of deck are you playing?”
With that invitation, the older kid moved to the empty chair at our table, showing Alden his tablet, and they spent the next several minutes deep in strategy conversation. Alden was ridiculously good at patiently explaining little details to the kid, pointers that I wouldn’t have thought to mention because some stuff had become second-nature to me. And I stayed amazed that someone as competitive as Alden could have any sort of tolerance for newbies, but he was surprisingly gentle with the kid, cheering when the kid got a few moves right with his advice.
“Wow.” The mom laughed. “I haven’t seen him so focused in ages. You’re good. Is your day job teaching?”
Alden flushed. “No. I’m…still in graduate school. Trying to figure out my next steps.”
“Well, you’re great with kids.” She offered him an encouraging smile.
“You do love explaining stuff,” I teased him. “And you’ve got all those teacher heroes. I’m telling you. You should teach.”
“Professors have to publish. Frequently. Writing is hardly my favorite use of my time.”
“So don’t be a professor.” I shrugged. Didn’t seem that complicated to me, but he frowned. “Remember your whole Miss Betsey thing? No reason why you couldn’t teach whatever age you wanted to.”
“You don’t understand. There are certain…expectations.”
I rolled my eyes because I was pretty sure those expectations were as much his own as whatever his moms heaped on him. His little-kid dream of teaching was damn adorable, and I hated that his moms had never encouraged it. But I didn’t have a chance to push him on that because the kid had another question, and then it was time for us to hit the road. I took the first shift, in large part because I was eager to see the ass-end of Kansas in the rearview and because the distraction of driving would keep the memory beasts at bay.
At least I hoped. My chest kept the weird tightness of the night before—too much dry air, too much emotion, too much awareness of Alden. Mainly that last one. Despite its size, the car was too small. I could smell his soap and whatever he’d used to shave with, something spicy that made him seem even more lickable.
Bad, Conrad. No licking. I made myself focus on the road, not my increasingly inconvenient reaction to Alden.