Second Life: Dumping the Scum novel · Chapter 15 of 24

Chapter 15: The Bridge

"Yes," I said. "Tomorrow. Seven."

"Seven," he said. "I'll make a plan."

"Of course you will."

He picked me up at the tire shop at six fifty-eight, with his keys back on his belt loop.

There were four new sticky notes on the Volvo's dashboard, in a row, in his neat block letters.

1. FOOD. 2. WALK. 3. MUSIC. 4. DON'T BE WEIRD.

"Number four's ambitious," I said.

"It's aspirational."

He took me to a meat-and-three on Charlotte with plastic tablecloths and a line out the door.

People recognized us in the line.

A girl in a college hoodie whispered to her friend and held up her phone.

Hudson looked right into it and said, "Get my good side. It's the back."

The girl laughed so hard she dropped it.

We ate fried catfish and turnip greens and argued about whether mic three was a sin or a gift.

He drank sweet tea.

I drank lemonade.

"You're watching me eat," I said.

"I'm logging it."

"What does the log say?"

"Artist eats cornbread like it insulted her family."

I threw a napkin at him.

He caught it and put it in his shirt pocket.

After, we walked down to the river with the sun going orange behind the buildings.

Broadway was loud with bachelorettes and steel guitar.

We passed the honky-tonk, and the bartender leaned out the door and yelled, "Finally!"

"How does he know?" Hudson asked.

"Emmylou has a group chat. It's mostly about you."

At the bottom of Broadway a man with a guitar case open on the sidewalk was playing "Paper Lanterns," the single, Solo cup and all.

Hudson stopped.

I stopped too.

The man saw me and went red to the ears, and switched to an old gospel song halfway through the line.

I put five dollars in his case anyway.

"For the switch," I told him.

People were watching us by then.

Phones out on both sides of the street.

I turned to Hudson in the middle of the sidewalk, under the neon.

"Number four," I said.

"Don't be weird?"

"I'm about to be."

I took a fistful of his pale blue shirt and pulled him down, and kissed him in front of all of Broadway.

He made a surprised sound against my mouth.

Then his hand came up into my hair, and he kissed me back.

Slow at first.

Then his other arm went around my waist and lifted me onto my toes, and it wasn't slow.

He tasted like sweet tea.

Somebody whistled.

A bachelorette party on a pedal bus screamed.

I didn't care who saw.

That was the point.

When I let go, he stood there with my lipstick on his mouth and his hair in his eyes, breathing hard.

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