4
Tyler
Chloe cringes, reminding me of how low her expectations of me are. The realization has half of me wanting to be a total dick and ask her something scandalous and embarrassing, and the other half of me feels guilty for having asked her.
“Truth,” she says reluctantly.
I hadn’t thought about what I’d ask, so it takes me a moment to come up with a question that isn’t going to up the ante of her dislike of me. “What’s something that most people think is true about you but isn’t?”
She blinks, but I can’t read her expression as I’m pulling back onto the freeway. When I finally glance up, she’s looking at Vanessa. “That I’m Vanessa?”
“That doesn’t count,” Cooper says, shaking his head.
I was going to give it to her because while it’s an obvious answer, I hadn’t set any parameters.
“It’s true,” she objects.
“It’s still a cop-out,” Vanessa says, earning a wide-eyed stare of accusation from Chloe.
“Okay, how about that I can tell them their horoscope because I’m majoring in astronomy?”
Vanessa laughs. “I knew you were going to say that.”
“Because it happens every time anyone asks what I’m studying!”
Vanessa laughs even harder. “Last week, she was explaining the difference between astronomy and astrology to Kira from high school, and after like a five-minute explanation, Kira told Chloe she was a Capricorn and asked if she could tell her astrological predictions for the year.”
“This doesn’t surprise me,” Cooper says. “I had to be lab partners with her.”
“Chloe gave her a fake horoscope filled with warnings about this fall and told her that listening was going to be imperative and…” She looks at Chloe. “What else did you tell her?”
Chloe laughs, shaking her head. “I don’t remember. But I know I’ve explained to her what astronomy is at least three times, and I think all she hears is stars. It was mean. I blame it on the tequila.”
Vanessa laughs again as she nods. “That was a fun night.”
Chloe flashes another smile as she fishes more whipped cream from her cup and licks it off the tip of her straw, distracting me from the road and how normal she seems in these stories compared to the shy, standoffosh girl I generally encounter. “Okay, my turn. Cooper, truth or dare?”
Cooper blows out a breath. “Dare.”
She smiles too fast, reaching forward with a balled fist. She smells like oranges and coffee and something floral that makes me think of that night freshman year, recalling the way her gaze had blazed seconds before she leaned forward and kissed me.
“Oh, God. What is it?” Cooper asks, reaching to take what she’s offering.
In the back seat, Vanessa’s already giggling.
“Ketchup?” Cooper says, smoothing the small packet.
“I dare you to drink it all,” Chloe tells him.
Cooper cringes, and the laughter between us grows.
“I have to record this,” Chloe says, reaching for her phone.
He flips her off as she starts recording him, giving a brief summary. “How did you have ketchup on you?” he asks, tearing the top open.
“Someone dropped it in the parking lot. I picked it up.”
“Oh, great. So, it was probably injected with heroin.”
Chloe’s smile spreads as she reaches up, brushing her hair over her shoulder. “Likely. Now do it.”
Cooper tips his head back, squirting the contents into his mouth. He gags and chokes, making us laugh again.
“Don’t spew in here,” I warn him.
He coughs, pounding his fist against his chest a couple of times as he breathes through his nose. “God. Where are those drinks you bought?” he asks, reaching for the bag Chloe had given him, digging out a purple juice that he downs half of in one drink.
“That was the best,” Vanessa says.
“That was terrible,” he replies, taking another drink.
The game continues, and with each new truth or dare, the mood in the car lightens. I’m cautiously optimistic that this trip won’t be as bad as I thought. When we reach the I-10 Twin Span Bridge, Chloe skips her turn, staring out at the ocean with a peaceful look in her eyes.
“Is this the bridge you were talking about?” Vanessa asks.
Chloe nods. “This is the longest bridge in the world.”
“Doesn’t it seem like the guardrails should be a little higher?’ Cooper asks.
“You sound like Chloe,” Vanessa tells him.
“Are we close?” Cooper asks.
“Another thirty minutes or so,” I tell him, pointing at the GPS.
Cooper groans with his protest. “I’m so glad we have a couple of days off before we drive again.”
The rest of the drive is mostly silent, save for Vanessa’s occasional grumblings about the scenery’s lack of diversity.
“New Orleans,” Chloe announces, pointing at a sign as we near the outskirts of the city.
Traffic is congested; the weekend draws large crowds to the city. Cars are honking and changing lanes erratically, working to beat the traffic. I slam on my brakes when a car cuts in front of us, the driver one of the many arseholes trying to leap forward a mere foot.
I punch my horn and throw both hands into the air. Few things get under my skin as much as bad drivers and busy roads. “Make that an hour,” I tell Cooper as we creep forward, and then come to a full stop as the GPS announces an accident ahead.
Chloe
Tyler wasn’t far off. It takes us fifty-five minutes before he pulls up to the hotel. It’s massive, sprawling across a full city block and towering several stories into the air. Tyler comes to a stop under an extensive covered area that’s made of stone and six car lengths wide. Broad wooden pillars are adorned with lanterns that warmly flicker, creating a warm ambiance. Two men from the valet dek and are dressed in black suits approach the car.
“Greetings, Mr. Banks,” a man with raven-colored hair combed to one side greets him personally. “How was your trip, sir?”
I glance at Vanessa, who’s already looking at me, her eyes wide with excitement and amazement.
My door opens, and the other valet smiles and offers his hand to me. “Welcome to New Orleans, Ms. Robinson.”
This is so
