“None.”
“Shame.”
We left.
“Any chance you’ll reconsider the pottery-throwing rule?”
During the drive, I watched the video again.
Roslin didn’t tell me to stop.
She just drove.
Sheldon had called me boring.
That was what kept catching me.
Not because I’d secretly wanted to become a woman who enjoyed nightclubs.
I didn’t.
Sheldon had called me boring.
I liked bookstores, old movies, and spending Sunday mornings in pajamas.
Sheldon knew that.
He used to say my quiet evenings made him feel like he could finally sit still.
Apparently, he’d been telling other people a different story.
Sheldon knew that.
When we reached the club, Roslin parked across the street.
Music thudded through the building’s front doors.
People waited for rideshares along the curb.
Roslin glanced at me.
“You don’t have to talk to him tonight. You can go home.”
“I know.”
“You don’t have to talk to him tonight.”
