9781250209153

I shake my head in the darkness, but Irene merely shrugs and steals the
soda cup from my hand.
Gunther and Honey-Belle are holding hands when we exit the theater. Irene
catches my eye and pretends to gag when they’re not looking. It almost
makes me laugh.
“What a night for romance,” she says as we’re driving home. “Honey-
Belle and Gunther, Ione Skye’s dad and prison…”
“You’re such a cynic.”
“Am not.” She chews on another Sour Patch Kid. She insisted we buy a
second box before we left the Munny. “I just always hated that stupid boom
box moment. It’s melodramatic for no reason.”
I whip around to scoff at her. “It’s one of the most iconic images in
American cinema. It’s fucking perfect.”
“It’s empty and self-indulgent.”
“It’s romantic. It’s tender and poignant and star- crossed—”
“It’s a waste of time. Grand gestures don’t mean anything in the place of
actual effort. He should have just talked to her. You know, actually
communicated instead of performing some fantasy version of love. He just
wanted to be all up in his feels.”
I glare at her. “Says the girl whose favorite movie is Dirty Dancing.”
Irene falls silent. Even in the darkness, I can see her embarrassment.
“How do you know that?”
“I have my ways.”
“Seriously.” She reaches over to pinch my arm, and I yelp. “How do you
know that?”
“God, relax, I’m trying to drive! Honey-Belle told me, okay?”
Irene blows out an irritated breath, but I can hear the self-consciousness
beneath it. “What else did she tell you?”
“That’s between us.”
“Scottie.”
“Fine, you really wanna know? She said you talk about me all the time.”
Irene snorts. “Oh did she now…”