"No. If you're going to say something, then spit it out."
"Spit it out? Because that's what someone from the country would do? Spit like a hillbilly?"
"What are you talking about?"
"I know you're big city and all, but I happen to be proud of how my family raised me."
What's he talking about?
"I didn't say anything about how your family raised you."
He snorts and speaks in Spanish. "Whatever, Zoe. I know what you think of me."
What I think of him?
I stop, cross my arms, and speak in Spanish, too. "Mind filling me in?"
We continue speaking in Spanish.
"You think I'm podunk," he accuses.
"Why would I think that?"
"Since I was raised in a rural area."
Anger flares and rushes through me. "What?"
He shakes his head in disgust. "I've traveled the world and lived all over. So you know, I can hang in the city or the country. I can be cultured when needed. Just because I wasn't born in glam town doesn't mean you have to look down on my upbringing."
I point my finger in his face. "You're an idiot."
"Because I called you out?"
"You're clueless." I spin and stomp away.
"Why is that?"
I pick up my speed. "You think you know everything. You figure it out."
"You're...stop! Zoe don't move!" he says in a stern voice.
"Don't tell me..." My heart beats hard, and I freeze. A brown and tan snake slithers across the path. Its body is about three inches round, and possibly as long as I am tall. I tremble but remain still.
It's almost across the path when it turns it's head toward me and changes directions.
Within seconds, a knife flies past my head and lands on the snake's neck, pinning it to the ground. It flails in the dirt, and its body writhes. Dirk steps forward and slices it's head off with a second knife.
My pulse beats in my neck, and I stare in shock as the snake's body moves for several minutes.
Dirk turns. "Zoe, you okay?"
That was gross.
It was also pretty hot.
"Yeah."
He removes a plastic bag from his backpack and puts the snake's body in it.
"What are you doing?"
"Taking it with us for dinner tonight."
"Ewe."
He scowls.
"What are you upset about now?" I ask.
"Let me guess. You're going to tell me how disgusting it is and that you don't want to eat it."
"That would be correct." I trudge past him.
"Such a diva."
It's the first time he's called me a diva that feels derogatory, and my heart sinks.
He thinks I'm a snob.
You were greedy and switched managers for fame and money.
If he's such a big fan of my music, he would know my roots.
He's right about you. You're only in this predicament because of your desire to be the best.
The truth hurts, but I snap at him, "Glad to know you lied."
"I lied? About what?" He steps next to me, and we continue stomping through the treeline.
Being a fan of my music.
I ignore his question. "Where are we going, anyway?"
"South."
"Why south?"
"We need to get to Omoa, Honduras."
"Omoa? Why there?"
"My friend Tinker from the military lives there. He can get us passports."
"How do you know?"
"He can always get anything."
"How do you know he isn't connected to people?"
"What people?"
"Bad people."
"Want to get more specific?"
“Nope."
"I'm getting tired of this game you play with me."
I freeze. "Game?"
He turns and scowls. "Yeah. You give me little tidbits of information and then tell me nothing."
Frustration is an understatement. "You're so entitled."
He scoffs. "Me?"
"Yeah. I told you one of my darkest secrets. What have you told me? I don't know anything about you. And you claim to be such a huge fan so you should know more than you appear to. So it's not my fault if you can't read and comprehend," I accuse, still hurt that he thinks I'm a snob.
"Now I'm illiterate? Is that because I'm a country boy?"
I throw my hands in the air and angrily spout, "What does being a country boy have to do with whether you can read or not?"
He steps closer, glares at me, and crosses his arms. His tattooed biceps bulge out of his T-shirt, and I curse myself for even noticing them. The potent, woody, raw smell of his skin hits me like a drug and my pulse spikes.
"You tell me," he barks.
I poke my finger in his chest. "You're a moron." I spin to walk.
He places his hand on my arm. "Tell—"
"Don't touch me," I yell.
The brown and green in his eyes flick, and he lifts