I could tell my parents were having a hard time coming to terms with the situation. They were still mad at my lies, disappointed in my choices but at the same time they understood where Dex was coming from. As much as they hated the idea that I had involved another person in my problem, they had no choice but to accept it. And having Dex there, an accomplished (sorta) and mature (again, sorta) man there probably helped.
And Ada…well, I knew how Ada felt about the whole thing. Just as we were coming out of the garage, she yanked me aside.
“You’re totally going to sleep with him now,” she hissed roughly in my ear.
I ignored her. There was no way I was going to get caught in that argument again, not with the subject slinking around in front of me.
Luckily we made it out of the house in record time and were soon cruising through the darkness on the I–5, heading north. Dex’s black Highlander was packed with everything from filmmaking equipment to a tent and camping gear.
Dex is one of those people who prefers to blast the music loudly and keep chit–chat down to a minimum. This trip was no exception. I found a strange comfort in our shared silence now, just hearing the music and the sound of his toothpick as it flitted against his teeth. When we first met I was so nervous being alone with him, I just needed to blab about anything to fill the air. I felt just a teeny bit proud that I knew Dex enough now that if we needed to talk, he’d be the one bringing it up.
Which is what happened an hour into our journey. I was in the midst of checking my emails on my phone when I felt him give me a curious look. It sounds stupid but you can always tell when Dex is looking at you. At least I could, even from miles away. Something about those eyes…
“So I’ve seen you’ve got your fair share of haters on the blog already,” he said. “Good job.”
I sighed loudly. I had wanted to talk about this for so long.
“You’re telling me,” I said, giving him a pained and drawn–out look.
He seemed to think on that for a moment; a hint of gentleness graced his expression.
“Well, that’s the nature of the internet,” he mused matter–of–factly. “If you didn’t have haters, then I’d worry.”
“Yeah but they are really mean,” I pointed out.
“The internet is full of meanies. Their opinion doesn’t matter.”
Yes, it does, I thought.
He picked up on that. “Okay, it shouldn’t matter.”
“Maybe we should close down the comment section… it reflects badly on the show, doesn’t it?”
He chuckled to himself and shook his head. “No can do, kiddo. Don’t underestimate the power of creating a community on the web. By having a place for people to voice their opinion, no matter how fucked it is, attracts more people to the site. The more people to the site, the more people to watch the show, the more people to watch the show, the more ads we get, the more ads we get, the more pay I get, and eventually you. It’s a numbers game. You just have to buck up and ignore the haters. Everyone gets them, from the smallest blogs to the biggest websites.”
“Besides,” he said, slapping me on the leg. “I think it’ll be good for you. Toughen you up a bit.”
“I’m already tough enough,” I muttered.
“If you were that tough, this wouldn’t be bothering you. It should be water right off your back.”
My eyes automatically narrowed into two little slits. He took his eyes off the road and smiled when he saw them. Not the response I was going for.
“Is that look supposed to scare me?” he asked, his lips twitching in amusement.
I wanted to explode on him, just start shooting the salvos and bring up a lot of crap about my past, so he had an actual idea what it was like to be me. But I couldn’t. Because what he said actually had a point to it. I always considered myself tough…going through drugs and other problems while in high school, growing up with a family shrink (all my doing), the stunt woman classes I had taken for a defunct career. I had been through a lot – mentally and physically. So how was it that a few comments from people I didn’t know were weighing on my mind so much?
I kept my mouth shut and looked out the window at the black rushes of roadside that flew past.
“Honestly,” he spoke in a more serious tone. “It’s not worth your time, Perry. You’re better than that. And the more successful this gets, the more successful you get…it’s only going to get worse. But you’ll be OK.”
At that last bit he reached over for me again, but instead of slapping my leg, he squeezed my knee. It was borderline ticklish. Any more pressure and I would have been squirming. He didn’t remove it right away, either, and I could feel his eyes coaxing mine to meet them.
Too many feelings were running through me and my body was responding; my tongue felt dry and thick, the skin on my upper neck danced nervously, the hairs coming alive. I looked at him. He seemed concerned or interested in my response but there was something else lurking behind those brown eyes. Something I couldn’t place my finger on. It was almost as if he was undecided. A restlessness.
“So where are we staying tonight? Your place?” I found myself saying.
At that his eyes flinched and he quickly withdrew his hand.
“No,” he said, pursing his lips. I obviously said the wrong thing. I wanted to push it.
“Does Jenn object?”
If he flinched it was barely detectable. He did crunch down hard on his toothpick before saying, “No, no. She…it’s just better if we get as close to Vancouver as possible. I think Bellingham is probably a safe bet, just find a Motel 6 there or something like that. If we went through the border now we’d cause too much of a fuss…especially with all the gear back there. I don’t want to tell them we’re there on work since we would need a visa and all that.”
I nodded, not really convinced by his spiel but it did make sense. I wouldn’t have blamed Jenn anyway if she didn’t want me in their apartment. Still, the apprehension that Dex subtly gave off was enough to make me store the memory in my mind for future use. There was something else, and maybe one day I’d figure it out.
CHAPTER FOUR