“I take it you misplaced your phone?”
“Yeah—I mean no. It died. I left my charger back home.”
“I see. And where’s your ride now?”
“She’s pumping diesel and talking to her dispatch.”
“She’s a truck driver?”
I nod.
“Why didn’t she let you use her phone to make your call?”
“Believe it or not, the one truck driver I decide to hitchhike a ride with only has a CB radio and a lost phone, hence why I asked to borrow yours,” I sass.
He looks amused. “Hey, why don’t you have a seat and join me for a moment while your ride’s finishing up.”
I start to feel even more nervous. My body quivers involuntarily.
Why is he being so nice to me?
“Look, I appreciate you letting me use your phone, but…”
He suddenly waves at someone behind me.
Huh? I turn around. What’s he doing?
In no time flat, a nice, older waitress approaches the table. “Hey there, good lookin’! I see you have sweet little company with you,” she says, flirting with the object of my fantasies. It’s ridiculous how pleasing to the eye this man is, I swear. “What can I do for you?”
“Get this young lady whatever she wants,” he orders.
Young lady? He doesn’t appear to be that much older than me, I think to myself.
Feeling stunned and pressured, I go ahead and take the seat across from him. What the hell—my stomach’s practically gnawing at the lining right about now.
“What would you like, sweetheart,” the woman asks me.
“Uh…can I see a menu?” I request.
“Sure, hon. Just a second.” She beams as she looks to the hot man sitting across from me. “And handsome, your Reuben and fries should be coming right up.”
I turn to the stranger, now sitting across from me. “Whoa—they have Reubens here?”
He smiles at me. “I asked her to tell me what’s the best thing not listed on the menu, and she told me about the chef’s special Reuben.”
Before the waitress steps away to retrieve a menu for me, I stop her.
“Excuse me…I’ll just have what he’s having.”
“Excellent choice,” the woman shines. “And what would you like to drink?”
Looking across from me, I see that the hot stranger is having ice water with lemon. “I’ll take water with lemon.”
“Certainly. I’ll be right back,” she announces before taking off.
“I heard you say on the call that your name is Quen,” he states out of nowhere.
This stranger heard me say my name. I’m sort of alarmed by the realization.
“I’m Drew, by the way.” The heartthrob extends his hand from across the small table. Immediately, I have a ton of wild thoughts running through my head about this clean-cut bad boy in the blue buttoned-up shirt and jeans, but I quickly table them.
Don’t embarrass yourself even more, girl.
“Quen.” I take his offered hand and shake it firmly. “But you already knew that.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Quen,” he croons, as we release our respective grips. “Where’re you from?”
“Oregon.”
“Where in Oregon.”
“It’s a little town called Troutdale.”
“I know exactly where that is,” he says, matter-of-factly. “That’s just east of Portland.”
I blink in surprise. I didn’t think anyone ever heard of Troutdale unless they were from Portland. The thought sends a shiver down my spine. What if he’s from Portland? Well…only one way to find out.
“Where are you from?”
“San Francisco.”
My eyes go wide. He’s a California boy. Bummer. “You live there now?”
“Yep.”
I idly wonder what brought him this way. He’s obviously returning home from somewhere north of here if he encountered the same mess on I-5 as Marjorie and I had. The waitress returns with water in hand and places it right in front of me before slipping back out of sight. I quickly take a drink.
“You lived in Troutdale your whole life?”
“Off and on. I’ve been in Eugene for the past four years.”
“Eugene? What’s there?”
“University of Oregon.”
“That’s right,” he exhales in realization. “You just graduated?”
I nod.
“Congratulations.”
“Thanks,” I respond with pursed lips.
He arches a brow at me as if he picks up on my lack of enthusiasm. I hate it that I sometimes wear my emotions on my sleeve. Because of it, I’m always having to explain my reaction to things.
“What’s next for you? Ready to jump into the workforce?” he says before taking a sip from his glass.
“That’s the plan.”
“What are you looking to do?”
Damn, he’s mighty inquisitive for a hot stranger.
Drew
I scan every visible inch of the out-of-place, attractive girl sitting across from me. Frayed jean shorts. White cami exposed underneath an open thin blue cardigan. Glowing chestnut hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. Arresting light brown eyes.
The longer I stare at her in anticipation of an answer to my question concerning her post-graduation plan, the creepier I feel. Being that she just graduated college, she’s obviously my little brother’s age.
If Austin pulled the same stunt as her, I’d give him hell.
I do have a hunch that if her folks back home in Troutdale actually knew she was hitchhiking down the state of California, they’d be more than pissed. And, if they knew what I was thinking about while gazing at their gorgeous daughter, they’d call the cops on me immediately. Maybe not immediately. They’d more than likely castrate me first.
In spite of my lascivious thoughts, I consider myself to be this girl’s safest bet. It’s obvious to me that she doesn’t care all that much about her own safety. Who’s this truck driver she hitched a ride with? I’m tempted to follow this girl back to the truck, run the plates, and see if the driver has some sort of criminal record. There’s a possibility the driver works for a fleet and not independently, making my background check much more difficult.
Before this mysterious, enticing young woman even waltzed in here and asked to borrow my phone, I was busy kicking myself. I drove all this way without listening to news radio. If I had, I would’ve been informed about the upcoming road closures. Seriously, it’s not like me to roam about without using my head.
But now as I look across the table, I’m almost glad I fucked up.
It brought me to this moment, sitting across from a pretty face.
“I’m looking to do anything right now. I’m just trying to get my foot in the door since I’ve only worked retail up to this point.” The sweet-looking brunette named Quen finally answers my earlier question.
“Well, what is it you really want to do?” I challenge.
She squirms uncomfortably in her chair. It’s then I realize that the last few times she lifted her glass to drink, it was purely out of nervousness.
“Advertising,” she responds, finally.