No Attachments - By Tiffany King Page 0,35

of his own drink.

"Oh, you know how life seems disjointed while you're in college. You're neither an adult out in the working world, or a teenager who can count on your parents to solve all your problems," I lied, covering up my slip of the tongue. "It's nice to be off the limbo fence now."

"It must be hard to have lost both your parents. Do you have any other family?"

"No, it's just me," I lied again.

"That's rough," he said, eyeing me critically like he expected me to have a sudden meltdown.

I shrugged my shoulders. "I try not to think about," I said pointedly so he would change the subject.

"There's no one back home who misses you?" he persisted.

"Why? Are you changing your mind about adding my head to your collection?" I joked, hoping he'd get the hint.

He looked as if he wanted to ask me another question, but must have thought better of it. "Don't you mean 'boobies in my trunk'?" he asked just as an employee from the restaurant approached his open window.

I bit off a laugh as the employee eyed us like we had two heads or something before thrusting our food at us and scurrying away. "I'm pretty sure we've traumatized her," I commented as I handed him a fry out of the bag. "You better hope she doesn't take down your license plate number."

"Wouldn't be the first time," he joked, merging onto the highway.

"I knew it all along. You're like that Ned Dundy guy."

"Who?" he asked, taking the burger I had unwrapped for him.

"The serial killer who lured girls into his car."

"You mean Ted Bundy?" he asked, laughing.

"Whatever. He was mentioned in one of my psychology classes along with some other freaky dudes."

"I took a class in college once that concentrated on the study of serial killer behaviors. It was interesting," he replied.

"You're not helping your case," I said dryly.

"Trust me, sweetheart. You'll approve of the plans I have for your body." He shot a suggestive look at me.

"You're such a flirt," I quipped, ignoring the effect his joking words had on me.

"Just keeping it real," he said seriously, taking another drink of his Coke.

"Is that right?"

"You can bank on it."

"This weather is amazing," I said, changing the subject. I rolled down my window slightly to let the cool breeze flow in.

"Truth. It's much more enjoyable running in temperatures in the low forties and fifties versus the eighties and nineties," he explained.

"I wouldn't know anything about the whole running thing, or anything involving exercise for that matter, but I agree that the lower temperatures make everything better," I said, scrunching my nose disdainfully at the idea of running.

"You don't exercise?" he asked, looking at me like I was nuts.

"God no. Life is too short for something so disagreeable."

"Disagreeable? Now that's crazy talk. It's freeing and exhilarating. Not to mention an excellent way to clear your mind."

"I'll pass."

"What do you do to relax then?" he asked.

"I'm active in a lot of swinger clubs," I deadpanned, laughing as he swerved slightly.

"Kidding. Right now I'm tackling a list of things I would like to try. Hence, jumping off a bridge," I answered vaguely, not delving into the title of my list.

"What else?" he asked conversationally.

"Mostly things I've never had a chance to do. Make a snow angel, a canoe ride at night, a picnic in the moonlight, a snowball fight, stuff like that. I want to do as many items on my list as I can."

"All of that sounds cool, but why the rush to do them all now? You've got your whole life ahead of you."

"Sometimes life has a way of preventing you from doing the things you want to do the most," I answered evasively.

Silence filled the car following my words. Not an uncomfortable silence, mind you. We both just sort of lapsed into our own thoughts. His presence was comforting and felt right, which sent a warning flag in my head. Our relationship was supposed to be based on sex. Even though the sexual tension continued to hum at a low frequency between us, the tentative friendship we were forming was making its presence known.

"Favorite band?" Nathan asked, breaking the silence.

"Impossible to answer. First of all, there are too many genres I listen to, not to mention it's like asking a parent to pick a favorite child," I stated.

"Come on. You still have to have a favorite," he cajoled. "How about we narrow it down by songs?"

"That's even worse. Every song has a place and time,