passenger door for me. I settle inside and fasten my seat belt. Hoover made for a handy distraction at the door, but now my nervousness has returned full force. I’m running dozens of conversational scenarios through my mind, wondering how the evening will play out, curious as to how our relationship might progress by night’s end.
Hurley climbs in on his side and starts the engine. Before he slips the car into gear, he turns and looks at me with a curious smile.
“There’s something I want to ask you,” he says, and my heart does a flip-flop as I think,
“I was,” I say, swallowing hard. Had he heard what I said? And if so, is he happy about it? Worried? Scared? “Why do you ask?”
And with that I hear my cell phone ring. A split second later, so does Hurley’s. He pulls his from his jacket pocket while I take mine out of my purse, and we both look at the displays.
“Damn,” Hurley mutters.
“Crap,” I mumble at the same time. And then we each answer our respective calls.
Once again, the dead are putting my love life on hold.
