Page 33 of Such Sharp Teeth

“He was about to pass out,” I say. “I tipped him in a different direction.”

“Okay,” he says, his brow furrowed.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Scarlett wants to leave. I’d be happy to stay and listen to ‘Thriller’ again. I’ve always said ‘Thriller’ is better a hundred times in a row.”

He doesn’t say anything, just hangs a hand on the back of his neck.

“Okay, what?” I ask.

He offers me the bottle of bourbon.

“Why do you still have this?” I ask him. “Were you serious about not sharing?”

“I took a direct swig when we were out on the swings,” he says. “I wasn’t thinking. I was distracted.”

“Mm. I remember. Being distracting,” I say. I accept the bottle. “So why are you giving it to me? Because I don’t mind your backwash?”

“No,” he says. “I want it back. You can drink it. Or not drink it. The bottle can be empty. I just want it back.”

I get it. An excuse to see me.

Not smooth at all, but I appreciate the attempt. I try to rein in my grin.

“Okay. When?”

“Whenever,” he says. “Soon would be good.”

“This week?”

He takes my hand in his and gives it a quick squeeze.

“Good night,” he says.

“Night, Ian.”

I’m so preoccupied by the tingle in my hand that I slip twice on the way to the car.

Scarlett won’t look at me. She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t put music on. This continues for about ten minutes until we’re almost home.

That’s when she says, “I have to tell you something.”

I assume it’s Matty related. “You can tell me anything.”

“Mom’s coming up.”

“What?” I’d have preferred a hard slap across the face.

“Yeah. Not this coming weekend, the one after.”

“Uh, again, what?”

“Mom and maybe Guy,” she says. “He might be working.”

“For how long?”