No, I definitely have things I do for fun.
He raises an eyebrow, and the act basically makes my brain blank even further.
“You’re putting me on the spot. Of course, I can’t think of something.”
“Fine, ask me.”
“What?”
“Put me on the spot.” I roll my eyes.
“What do you do for fun, Zander?”
“I fish. I run. I watch the game with the guys. I go hiking with Hunter even though I hate the fucking bugs. I sit at the bar with Luna and talk shit. I work on my house. I work on my car—”
“Your car is a piece of shit,” I say as if that makes my lack of hobbies any less glaring.
“Doesn’t matter. I spend my time working on it because it makes me happy. Now tell me. What do you do to relax yourself?”
I can’t tell him that I use my vibrator, right?
That’s a terrible, horrible road to walk down with this man.
I give a safe answer.
“I read.”
“Read about how to make your life even more boring, predictable, and safe.”
My jaw tightens.
“I go for walks.”
“What kind?” he asks, looking at me, and I don’t know how, but he caught me again.
“Treadmill walks,” I say quietly.
“And what do you do on them?”
I look at my calendar for the day and plan out my to-do list.
He shakes his head before I can say anything.
“You need hobbies, Zo. You need to stop reading and worrying about bettering or streamlining or whatever-ing your life. Instead, just go live it. That’s what this is, Zoe. This is a week for you to remember how to live your life. A week of no plans, no phone calendar. No fuckin’ self-help books. A week of making crumbs in your car and cleaning them out when we get home because it will not make or break your life. A week of doing spontaneous shit just because it’s fun.” He stares at me, and his eyes look so genuine, I almost can’t breathe. “You need that, Zoe. You need that wake-up call.”
“Why are you the one to give it to me?” I ask quietly. “What makes you so qualified?”
“Because from the time you were five, I could always convince you to do crazy shit with me. I just spent the last ten years or so forgetting that that was my self-appointed job.”
I remember the time he’s talking about instantly, of course.
It’s one of my earliest memories.
We were at the community pool, and Luna and I just passed our swimming lessons, meaning we were now allowed in the deep end without swimmies on.
And we could finally jump off the diving board.
It was a big moment for two little girls living in a small town.
Luna was so excited, having watched her brother do it for years, but I was terrified.
I spend two weeks that summer walking over to the diving board, tiptoeing to the end, then sitting on my butt and backing off, the height and the risk much too scary for me.
Until Zander held my hand and jumped with me.
“Take the leap, Zoe,” he says, repeating the words he said when I was five, and I can almost see the memory playing in his eyes as well. “Take the leap and live unplanned for a week with me.”
And because he’s right—he’s always been the one to push me out of my comfort zone—I nod.
Even though I’m terrified, I nod.
And when he smiles his giant, boyish smile with my acceptance and starts to drive out of the rest area. I think I made a good decision.
A great decision, even.
THIRTEEN
FEARLESS
-ZOE-
“You’re killing me with this playlist, you know,” Zander says, and I smile.
Payback is a bitch, I suppose.
“We had a deal.”
“A deal I’m regretting.”
“Can’t handle a little pop princess?”
“A little, yes. An entire road trip?” He looks to the roof of my Jeep and shakes his head before looking back at the road. “You’re lucky I like you, pip,” he says, and then silence takes over the car as my heart flip-flops just a bit.
The next song in my playlist comes on, and I sigh.
“God, I love this song,” I say, sitting back in the seat and kicking my feet up on the dash, my red Converse resting there.
I try not to think about the fact that in any other circumstance, I would lose my mind over someone putting dirty shoes on the dash.
But with Zee . . .
“You don’t say,” he says with a laugh. “I would think there is not a single song on your playlist that you don’t love.” I reach over and smack him in the arm.
“Shut up. I just love this one a little more. I have since I was a kid.”
That boyish smile takes over his face, and even with his sunglasses covering his eyes, I can still see the fine lines starting to form in the corners.
It’s strange, watching a face you’ve memorized since you were five change and grow old.
“Yeah? Why this one?” he asks, and because he seems genuinely interested, I answer.
“I don’t know. It’s just . . . When I was younger, I’d listen to it. It’s pretty, you know? Childish, but it’s the kind of thing little girls think love is about.” I laugh and shake my head. “It’s silly. The idea that someone is so crazy for you they want to drop everything and dance in the parking lot or kiss in the rain. I was raised on The Notebook and fairy tales and Taylor Swift. It’s hard not to idealize dumb things, I guess.”
He gives a noncommittal sound, and I listen to the lyrics as we drive before realizing he’s slowing the car, moving it to the side of the road toward an exit. I look at the map on the display of my car, trying to see if he knows something I don’t, when the GPS rebels.
“We don’t get off here, Zee. We’ve got ten more miles on this highway.”
“Detour,” is all he says before pulling into an abandoned parking lot, the streetlight flicking on in the approaching dusk. He puts the car in park, taps the screen of my phone until he restarts the song we were listening to, and rolls all the windows down.
“What are you—” I start, but then he’s turning the sound to full volume and stepping out.
I watch as he walks around the front of the SUV, frozen in place as he opens my door, leans over to undo my seat belt, and gives me his hand.
I take it, of course.
I think I’d follow him to Hell if I got to hold his hand when I did it.
He tugs until I step out, and he walks me back five or so steps before pulling me in, his arms around my waist, my hands instinctively moving around his neck.
“What are we doing?” I whisper, familiar music playing as I dance in the headlights in a parking lot with Zander Davidson.
“We’re dancing in a parking lot, Zoe.”
I let that be.
I don’t dare question it.
Because right now, I’m doing something I daydreamed about, and I’m doing it because I mentioned in passing that I thought it was romantic as a kid.
So I let it be, and I let him sway me, forcing my brain not to overthink this for once.
Eventually, he breaks the silence between us.