totally confused.”
“My parents met cruising Gratiot.”
I burst out laughing. “They what?”
“Crazy, right?” Landon asked, glancing out his side window.
“How does that even happen?”
Meeting at the Woodward Dream Cruise, a parade where almost a million spectators watch thousands of people propel their classic muscle cars and hot rods along Woodward Avenue, I could see. But I couldn’t imagine meeting my future spouse while cruising Gratiot Avenue. It’s as if our parents grew up in a foreign galaxy.
“I guess it was cool to drive up and down Gratiot and check out people in other cars and be like ‘Hey, girl’ to the person in the car next to you. And if the other person is interested they stopped somewhere and talked and exchanged numbers.”
“Why would they do that? It sounds so dangerous.” An involuntary shiver racked my body. “Who knows what kind of nut jobs are out there waiting to jump someone or rape someone.”
Landon laughed. “I think they thought meeting people in person was better than the alternative of meeting people online.”
“Meeting people online isn’t bad,” I said. “You just have to be careful. Like with anything.”
“Well, the Internet was brand-new back then. Still scary and unknown territory.” He paused. “Are you an online dater, Gaby?” His voice had a teasing lilt, but I knew he wanted the answer.
“No. I’m not. I’m part of an online book club and—” I stopped. I had no shame about my book club or my online book club friends. But I just realized how lame I must sound to someone like Landon. “How do you meet people?”
“Usually people want to meet me. I just hang out with the guys and go with the flow.”
“Of course.” My head dropped. Of course people wanted to meet him. It would only get worse—or better?—when he made it to the NHL.
“Tell me about your book club.”
No turning back now since I’m the one who brought it up. “I read a book I loved and realized there was this whole Twitter fan group around it. So I started tweeting with some people in the group and realized we read and enjoyed a lot of the same books, so I asked if I could join their book club.” I loved talking about my book club. Only talking about music got me more excited. “We, um, create a calendar of what we’ll be reading and post our reactions and thoughts on our Facebook group as we read. It’s a private group.”
“So I can’t see it?”
If it had been possible to crawl under the front seat and hide, I would have.
Landon must’ve noticed my lengthy pause. “What?”
“Nothing.” But it wasn’t nothing. The book club had morphed from just a book club into a group of friends who talk about everything and anything. Just yesterday I’d posted a status about “my crush” in the group. One of those really long posts where my friends and I had analyzed every single word he’d said to me from the day of Papa’s heart attack to the unexpected concert kiss.
“Why so secretive? Do you guys read a ton of sex books or something?”
“Oh my gosh! No. It’s mostly YA books.”
“Suuure, Gaby.” He squeezed my knee. “I don’t know what ‘YA’ means, by the way.”
The sudden squeeze alone made me jump, but when he kept his hand on my leg, I couldn’t take my eyes off it. Thankfully, keeping my eye on his hand gave me a focal point so that I did not hyperventilate, even though, paradoxically, that hand was also the cause of why I was feeling rather light-headed.
I gazed out the window, observing each building we passed until it was out of sight. I’d been on thousands of car rides, but I’d never been so content as being on a drive with Landon.
“Is this okay, Gaby? I feel bad, like I just dropped in and whisked you away from your normal life.” Landon removed his hand from my leg and placed it on the steering wheel. “But now I’m not sure it was the right thing to do.”
I missed his hand, like I’d missed his arms when
“My parents met cruising Gratiot.”
I burst out laughing. “They what?”
“Crazy, right?” Landon asked, glancing out his side window.
“How does that even happen?”
Meeting at the Woodward Dream Cruise, a parade where almost a million spectators watch thousands of people propel their classic muscle cars and hot rods along Woodward Avenue, I could see. But I couldn’t imagine meeting my future spouse while cruising Gratiot Avenue. It’s as if our parents grew up in a foreign galaxy.
“I guess it was cool to drive up and down Gratiot and check out people in other cars and be like ‘Hey, girl’ to the person in the car next to you. And if the other person is interested they stopped somewhere and talked and exchanged numbers.”
“Why would they do that? It sounds so dangerous.” An involuntary shiver racked my body. “Who knows what kind of nut jobs are out there waiting to jump someone or rape someone.”
Landon laughed. “I think they thought meeting people in person was better than the alternative of meeting people online.”
“Meeting people online isn’t bad,” I said. “You just have to be careful. Like with anything.”
“Well, the Internet was brand-new back then. Still scary and unknown territory.” He paused. “Are you an online dater, Gaby?” His voice had a teasing lilt, but I knew he wanted the answer.
“No. I’m not. I’m part of an online book club and—” I stopped. I had no shame about my book club or my online book club friends. But I just realized how lame I must sound to someone like Landon. “How do you meet people?”
“Usually people want to meet me. I just hang out with the guys and go with the flow.”
“Of course.” My head dropped. Of course people wanted to meet him. It would only get worse—or better?—when he made it to the NHL.
“Tell me about your book club.”
No turning back now since I’m the one who brought it up. “I read a book I loved and realized there was this whole Twitter fan group around it. So I started tweeting with some people in the group and realized we read and enjoyed a lot of the same books, so I asked if I could join their book club.” I loved talking about my book club. Only talking about music got me more excited. “We, um, create a calendar of what we’ll be reading and post our reactions and thoughts on our Facebook group as we read. It’s a private group.”
“So I can’t see it?”
If it had been possible to crawl under the front seat and hide, I would have.
Landon must’ve noticed my lengthy pause. “What?”
“Nothing.” But it wasn’t nothing. The book club had morphed from just a book club into a group of friends who talk about everything and anything. Just yesterday I’d posted a status about “my crush” in the group. One of those really long posts where my friends and I had analyzed every single word he’d said to me from the day of Papa’s heart attack to the unexpected concert kiss.
“Why so secretive? Do you guys read a ton of sex books or something?”
“Oh my gosh! No. It’s mostly YA books.”
“Suuure, Gaby.” He squeezed my knee. “I don’t know what ‘YA’ means, by the way.”
The sudden squeeze alone made me jump, but when he kept his hand on my leg, I couldn’t take my eyes off it. Thankfully, keeping my eye on his hand gave me a focal point so that I did not hyperventilate, even though, paradoxically, that hand was also the cause of why I was feeling rather light-headed.
I gazed out the window, observing each building we passed until it was out of sight. I’d been on thousands of car rides, but I’d never been so content as being on a drive with Landon.
“Is this okay, Gaby? I feel bad, like I just dropped in and whisked you away from your normal life.” Landon removed his hand from my leg and placed it on the steering wheel. “But now I’m not sure it was the right thing to do.”
I missed his hand, like I’d missed his arms when
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