legs bent and waving idly, with my chin resting in my hands. Speaking of bizarre . . . I was pretty sure I’d fallen into the bizzaro realm somehow. If anyone had told me I’d be lying on Eli Tucker’s bed, watching some old medical drama, talking with him like we were best buds, I’d have died laughing. This night had not gone at all the way I’d expected, but oddly, I was okay with that.
Clearing my throat, I added, “The writing is good. The thing is, I can’t tell what part of the weirdness is the fact that it was made in the eighties and what part is supposed to be a little strange, you know?”
“Yeah.” He fiddled with the remote for a minute. “I’m actually relieved that you like the show, too. Letting you in on my secret makes me feel like I was one of the geeks I used to laugh at back in high school. You know? It’s one thing to be addicted to cool, cutting-edge TV shows, but being hooked on some old series from before people even had cell phones isn’t exactly going to make me a popular dude.” Eli lifted one shoulder. “Not that I care about shit like that anymore, but maybe there are a few attitudes that linger.”
I chuckled. “Sure. Whatever you say.” I wasn’t going to let on that I knew just how much of a popular dude he used to be. A change of topic was in order. “I still can’t believe that guy’s wife died in the first episode.”
“Right?” Eli tossed up his hands. “I was shocked.”
“But on the other hand . . . it’s realistic. People die all the time.” I rolled onto my back and stared up at the ceiling. “Maybe it would’ve been weirder if she’d lived.”
Eli frowned at me. “Have you known a lot of people who have died?”
“Ah . . .” I shook my head, feeling my hair rub against his bedspread. “No one close to me. But I live with my grandparents—or rather, I did—and so I got used to their friends dying. Once you reach a certain age, I think it’s just one of those things.”
“Maybe.” Eli’s forehead drew together, his eyes clouding, and I wondered with a tinge of panic if he could be recalling any part of our conversation from years ago, when I’d told him about growing up on the farm with my grandparents. After a second, he gave his head a small shake. “Why did you live with your grandparents? Are your parents . . .?” His voice trailed off, leaving space for me to answer.
“Dead?” I huffed out a humorless laugh. “No. I mean, my mother isn’t. I have no idea if my father is or not. I don’t know who he is.”
Eli’s face settled into a careful expression. “Oh. Ah.”
“Yeah, you think you get it now, don’t you?” I eased into a sitting position and faced him. “My mom was a big old ‘ho, and she passed it onto me, right? That’s the rationale for how Zelda lives her life. That’s why Zelda fucks any guy who asks her.”
“That’s not at all what I was thinking.” Eli scowled at me. “Stop putting words into my mouth.”
My irritation drained as quickly as it had risen. “You’re right. Sorry. It’s a knee-jerk reaction. I assume people see my mother in me.” Folding my legs, I hugged them to my chest. “My mother was fairly promiscuous, but not the way you think.”
“I don’t think anything. I’m just listening. Not judging.” His tone was mild. “You don’t know what I was like before I was injured, other than what I hinted about tonight, but trust me, I don’t have any grounds for judgement.”
I bit my lip, thinking that if ever I’d had an opening to remind Eli who I was and when we’d first met, this was it. But I wasn’t going to do it. For some reason I didn’t want to examine too closely, I was enjoying tonight. I liked sitting here with a guy who wasn’t trying to get into my pants, watching television and just talking. If I told him the truth now, all of this would end.
Wasn’t I entitled to just one night where I could act like a regular girl and have some innocent fun?
“Okay,” I said finally. “I believe you—no judgement. But I haven’t told anyone else about my family. I mean, Quinn knows I live with my grandparents and that my mother