Page 17 of Dock

Definitely shouldn’t.

Not if any of these boundaries I need to set in cement have a chance at sticking.

“Would you?” he investigates post his laughter fading.

“Would I what?”

“Get on a bike.”

With him?

Yes.

Wait.

No.

You know what.

There’s only one thing to do here.

Evade answering.

Like my attorney isn’t present but I don’t really know how to remain silent.

“Why?” I playfully poke back. “You asking?”

“You want me to ask?”

Hm.

That choice of circumventing may be backfiring.

Instead of responding to the rebuttal, I defeatedly bounce the paper around. “You could um…ask uh…future you…some um…questions, like you’re asking me.”

“I like asking you questions.”

“I don’t like being embarrassed by the answers,” quietly gets out through gritted teeth.

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” Hogan declares, tip of his thumb lightly stroking the edge of my sweater covered shoulder I apparently have no business wearing right now. Not with him this close, radiating more heat than a banned book bonfire on the surface of the sun. “We all take different roads and pitstops through life. It’s what makes the ride fuckin’ worth it.”

And he’s philosophical?!

Where are the flaws?!

Where am I supposed to be circling with my red pen?!

Although, I don’t use red.

I use pink.

Red is like screaming, and pink is like reminding you there’s room for improvement.

Plus, children – and adults – respond better to it.

Uncomfortable silence threatens to settle between us only to be severed by Hogan resuming his deep diving into my non-existent life, “You like fish?”

“To eat or to pet?”