Eli tried staying mad. He did. He poured all of his energy into ignoring Jarrett for the entire half hour it took them to get out of Chicago and into one of the suburbs where residents were more concerned about their high-end jogging strollers than the two guys not looking at each other in the nondescript van. He gave Jarrett his order using as few words as possible—and clipping each one, just to drive his point home—but by the time they’d parked near the back of the lot, as far away from the restaurant as he dared to get without losing signal, Eli felt more than a little foolish.
Getting out of the car had been immature. He knew that. His feelings had been hurt, and he’d felt his self-righteous walls go shooting to the sky, and all the while, he’d rationalized every single second of his
