Even my goddamn cock wakes up.
“Sir,” says the clerk, splintering my attention, “you’re offering to pay for all of this?”
“This, too.” I set my own stuff on the counter.
The girl rises, her mouth bent into a frown, but she doesn’t argue as the clerk rings me up and bags her stuff. I force myself to stop staring at her lips. Somewhere inside me, I feel an instant connection to this girl. But there’s no way in hell we’ve met before. I’d never forget a face like hers.
My temple throbs as the muscles in my legs start to twitch. It’s got to be the twelve hours of driving, or the four hours of sleep. But part of me wonders if it has something to do with this teenager. I’ve never wanted to get both closer and further away from someone so badly.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she says.
“I know.” I pocket my change, and it takes everything I have to drag my ass toward the exit, away from the very attractive—and very young—roadside distraction.
I’m halfway out the door with my stuff when I hear the girl call out, “Thank you!”
As much as I want to get one last look at her, I don’t let myself turn around.
Chapter Two
Silas
Back in my truck, I crack open one of the five-hour energy shots and take a swig. Closing my eyes, I let my head fall back against the headrest, giving the rocket fuel a few seconds to kick in—and my body a chance to calm the fuck down.
What the hell was that about? Sure, it’s been a quick minute since I’ve been with a woman, but I can’t recall ever being drawn like that to someone, and certainly not some random teenager I just met.
I practically jump out of my fucking skin at the rap-rap-rapping on the driver’s side window.
“Jesus...” My pulse races at the sight of the girl from the store, standing outside my truck, her face half-illuminated by the overhead light pole. She smiles, and fuck if it doesn’t make my chest flutter, just a little.
Against my better judgment, I roll down the window. She immediately rests her hand on the door.
“Hey, again.” She’s tied her sweatshirt around her waist, revealing curves I hadn’t noticed in the store. There’s a two-inch slit down the front of her white tank top. From my vantage point, I can clearly make out the small points of her nipples pressed against the cotton.
No bra. None needed, though she’s hardly flat-chested.
A little more than a handful, I catch myself thinking. Knock that shit right off.
I do not have time for this.
“You’re from Wisconsin,” she says. When I don’t respond, she adds, “I saw your plates.”
“How perceptive.”
“That’s me, always one step ahead.” She hikes her backpack onto her shoulder, but keeps her hand on the door.
I force myself to appear calm and impenetrable. To ignore the part of me that desperately wants to find out if her skin is as soft as it looks. What the hell is she doing out here, by herself, at eleven o’clock at night? Is she camping with friends, or did her piece-of-shit boyfriend send her out alone to pick up supplies?
Jesus fucking Christ, do not borrow trouble. I don’t know a damn thing about this girl. There are a hundred reasons why she could be out here buying camping supplies. I don’t see any other cars in the lot, but there are cabins and camp sites littered all over these hills. All I need to worry about is getting back on the goddamn road.
Happy Camper here is just gonna have to find her own way home.
“As much as I’d like to sit here and make small talk, I need to get going.”
“What a coincidence.” She rests her chin on the hand still planted on my door. “That’s exactly what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“You don’t say.” I gesture for her to step away from the truck. She doesn’t budge. I consider getting in her face for emphasis, but I’m not convinced I’ll be able to pull away if I get too close. “Look, kid, my hospitality only extends so far.”
“Are you heading east through Pittman?” she asks. I am, but that’s beside the point. “I can pay you.”
“Haven’t we already established that you don’t have any money?”
She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a worn leather wallet. Not the sort of thing you’d expect a teenager to store her cash in. She probably stole it from her dad, or another unsuspecting mark with a soft spot for jailbait.
She holds up the ten-dollar bill from before. “It’s yours if you give me a ride.”
“Ten bucks to cart your ass around?” I knock my thumb back, motioning for her to take a hike. “No, thanks. Try Uber.”
“I would, but my phone’s dead.” Her shoulders sag. “Please?”
“I said no. Now get off my truck.”
She sighs and pulls out another ten. Where the hell was that when she was digging for change? “Twenty bucks for a half-hour ride. It’s all I’ve got. I wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t absolutely necessary—”
“Don’t you get it? This isn’t about money. I’ve been driving for over twelve hours. I’m dog-tired. I just want to get to where I’m going without having to worry about some random kid pocketing my wallet while I’m busy trying not to crash into a goddamn tree.”
“You think you’re tired?” She scoffs. “I was on a bus for five hours, then I hitchhiked with a lady who did nothing but talk about original sin for twenty miles. After that, I walked, and I have been walking for the past three hours. My feet are ground-fucking-beef.”
Something in the way her brow crimps when she’s pissed hits me like a tidal wave of déjà vu. Caught in her gaze, I feel like I’m drowning, and for some reason, I can’t help picturing Jack. He always took injustice so personally, especially when we were kids. He just couldn’t accept the fact that sometimes, people are dicks.
“Sorry,” I tell the girl. “I can’t help you anymore.”
“Can’t or won’t?” She scowls. “You know what? That’s fine. You’re obviously not the kind of guy I thought you were.”
She marches back to the store with her bag of groceries and takes a seat on the steps of the small front porch. I start my truck, keeping the window down to let in some fresh air. Already, I feel the effects of the energy shot kicking in. The twitchy fingers. The racing thoughts.
Don’t look at her, I tell myself. There’s no fucking point. It’s time to get back on the road.
But as I shift into reverse, my gaze snaps back to the girl on the steps, sitting cross-legged with her shoes off. Even from a distance, it’s obvious her feet are killing her as she rubs them.
I’m struck by the memory of a different girl, playing barefoot in the grass. After my falling out with Jack, I moved out of Tennessee and got a job with a real estate company. In Wisconsin, of all fucking places. I put on a suit and traded my work boots for oxfords. My own dad hardly recognized me when I came back for Christmas.
That was the last time we saw each other before a heart attack took him out.
Jack had the nerve to show up at my dad’s funeral, with his wife and kid in tow. He tried talking to me after the service, but I wasn’t interested in making amends with guy who’d sold my dad’s last gift to me to buy coke. I went outside to avoid making a scene, and that’s when I noticed Jack’s little girl playing by herself on the lawn, not ten feet away from the road. She must’ve been five or six, small for her age, with big feet and unruly hair the color of almond skin. I watched as she peeled off her shoes and socks and thought, someone should be looking after this girl. But she wasn’t my kid, so she wasn’t my problem. And instead of going to sit with her in the grass, I got in my Lexus and drove off.