by Pratt, Lulu
“Besides,” Jo-Beth continued, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Murderers don’t serve you breakfast in the morning.”
“Actually, many career murderers are known for being charming and attractive to their victims.” I couldn’t help myself. I had to correct her flawed psych diagnosis.
The real irony was, Jo-Beth didn’t even know about Carter’s wife, who was an actual would-be murderer. I debated telling her, but decided that that would be a big breach of trust. Though, in truth, I think all pinky promises we make should have a best-friend exemption clause, like written in somewhere around the knuckle.
“Okay, enough evading,” she insisted. “Tell me what happened.”
I moved to the sink, leaning up against it. My body was weary from all the vigorous sex, and I didn’t feel like standing while I explained as much to Jo-Beth. She was looking at me expectantly, her lips spread in a half smile, ready to be thrilled. Clearly, we weren’t going to be leaving this bathroom anytime soon. Poor Carter. Poor Henry. I hoped they had the good sense to order while we were busy gossiping.
“We had sex,” I said.
Jo-Beth screamed so loud that I was forced to jump across the expanse between us, clamping a hand down on her mouth.
“Shh!” I hissed.
She licked my hand, and I dropped it instantly. Dang it, why did that old schoolyard trick still work on me? Not like I was afraid of Jo-Beth’s spit.
“You did not,” she said, shaking her head. “Nu-uh.”
I threw up my arms. “You wanted to know the truth, that’s the truth!”
“Nope.”
“Yes.”
“Oh my God. Wait. Really?”
“Yeah.” Okay, this was getting exhausting.
“Tell me!” She was jumping up and down like a kid who’d eaten too much of their Halloween candy.
“Tell you what?”
“The story, Jesus.”
“If I tell you the story, can we then go back outside and have some damn dinner?”
“Duh, I’m starved.”
“Then why are we—”
“Because this absolutely cannot wait!”
There wasn’t gonna be any dissuading her. When she fixed her mind on something, it was as good as done.
So with a fair helping of reluctance, I launched into the story of how I’d fucked Carter.
Jo-Beth has the benefit of being an excellent audience — she oohs and ahhs in all the right parts, gasps consistently and has never-ending facial expressions in response to each new piece of information.
By the time I was done, she looked exhausted simply from having experienced that much emotion in a five-minute span. Jo-Beth plopped down on the toilet bowl, pants still on and fanning herself.
“Wow,” she said.
“Yeah.”
“So are you gonna…”
“Fuck again? I have no idea. None at all,” I admitted. “No point in getting too attached.”
She scoffed at this. “You’re just having a good ol’ fashioned road trip romance. There’s no, like, inherent attachment in that. I mean we’re all adults, everybody understands the rules. We’ll be gone as soon as that car part comes. Carter’s no dolt, he gets it.”
But did he? Or rather, did I? Because while I couldn’t be certain of what was going through Carter’s mind, I knew that I was feeling an outsize attachment. I thought maybe sex would get it out of my system, but it had only gotten worse. And now I knew all this stuff about him, all this deeply personal baggage, and it just felt wrong to pretend like we hadn’t gone beyond a normal hookup situation.
There was no way to tell Jo-Beth any of that, though. So I just shrugged again.
“It’ll work itself,” I declared, not wanting to discuss it anymore.
She wasn’t buying this. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“Only things that aren’t mine to tell.”
Jo-Beth sighed, but nodded, respecting that much at least. “Fair enough. Just do me a favor, okay?”
“What?”
“Don’t, like, go crazy and drop out of college and move to this Podunk Hollow town. Please.”
I laughed. “Jo-Beth, you know my parents. If I dropped out of school with only one year left to go, I’d be disowned. Besides, I don’t wanna live that far from my family. And, wait, more importantly, I’m so not living with Carter! You’re getting ahead of yourself.”
“Am I?”
This conversation had gotten too heavy, especially since I’d meant what I said. I was going back to Connecticut one way or another. No man was worth disrespecting my parents and delivering a blow to their finances, and I don’t do long distance. So however I felt about him, there was no way to make this actually work. It needed to be put far out of my mind.
“Can we go eat now?” I begged.
“All right, all right,” she agreed, unlocking the door and opening it for me. “Let’s go eat with your fuck buddy.”
“Jo-Beth!”
“Sorry,” she grinned, not apologetic in the least.
This was gonna be the longest, most uncomfortable meal of my life. Great.
CHAPTER 19
Carter
HENRY AND I were wasting time at the dinner table, flicking sugar packets between silverware set up like goal posts.
The girls had been gone for ten minutes. Miss Keller had come by with some waters, and that was tiding us over, but it was starting to get just a touch weird. Had they slipped out, skipped town?
“Why isn’t Phoebe back?” Henry whined, pinching a ketchup packet between his fingers.
“She’s going to the bathroom.”
“Why do girls go to the bathroom together?” he asked.
So young, and already so observant. “I don’t rightly—”
Oh, hold on now. I absolutely knew. Girls went to the bathroom to gossip. Crap.
Well, no helping it now. I wasn’t worried that Phoebe had said anything about my history with Meghan. She seemed to grasp the gravity of that story, and though I knew her little, I doubted she’d toss it around without my permission. But she had full rights to discuss our afternoon escapade, and there wasn’t much I could do about that.
Just as I was beginning to wonder what, exactly, she was saying in regards to my performance, Phoebe and Jo-Beth returned to the table. Phoebe looked exhausted, while Jo-Beth seemed to be bursting with a renewed energy.
“Hello, Carter,” the blonde said, sliding into the booth across from Henry.
Those two words told me everything I needed to know — Phoebe had definitely spilled the beans.
Phoebe herself sunk into the booth after Jo-Beth, seating herself across from me. Had this been an intentional, pre-devised seating chart?
If so, it was working, because I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
“I love this restaurant,” Jo-Beth said brightly, commandeering the table talk.
Phoebe laughed at that, and I made eye contact with her. She was staring at me with both attraction and… something else. Reservation? It was unclear.
“Did you move out here to make art?” Jo-Beth asked me. “I mean, your house is so pretty, and the trailer. Seems like you’ve got the eye.”
Though I resented the question, I was relieved — obviously, Phoebe hadn’t told her anything. Furthermore, before I could get some stock lie out of my mouth, Phoebe intervened.
“I can’t imagine being so devoted to your art that you leave probably like a big city and move out here. That’s extreme.”
Phew. Not the best segue, but good enough. “Yeah,” I agreed. “It’s a lot of, well, not big personalities per se, but very set ones. Distinctive, rather.”
“Not me,” Miss Keller shouted from across the bar, which she was busy wiping with a dirty white rag. “I’m just minding my own business, tryna eke out this mortal coil.”
I leaned into our group and whispered, “I think that proves my point.”
Phoebe smiled. “She’s a character.”
�
��So,” Jo-Beth said, cutting off the conspiratorial grin passing between Phoebe and me. “What are we eating?”
“Yeah, gimme your orders,” Miss Keller said, still moving her hand around the same spot on the bar, like a broken automaton. “I wanna get ‘em in early so Charlie can go home and do his movement work.”
Charlie’s hand waved from beyond the divider, just visible in the mess of the order window. Charlie, as it happened, was a big performance artist who’d abandoned Brooklyn in favor of Rough and Ready, saying he needed more “space” for his “movements.” Mostly, I think, he just cooked hearty food and danced around his living room. But who was I to judge?
In town, what businesses there were shut down when they pleased. No one had a set schedule, things just happened at whim. You can see why I had to make Henry such a rigid schedule — otherwise, Rough and Ready’s unrealistic lifestyle would get to him, and I wanted my boy prepared for the real world.
Jo-Beth said lazily, “I think I feel like meat. Big, thick meat. Phoebe? Do you feel like meat? Or have you already had enough today?”
Phoebe choked on air, and I colored a deep red. Was I going to have to sit through innuendos all night? I wasn’t worried about Henry catching on — he was way too young and sheltered — but I doubted my own pride could take it. On the other hand, I should’ve prepped for this going in. Can’t have your cake and eat it too. Not in peace, at least.
Meanwhile, if I thought I was blushing, Phoebe was turning a color so intense even Henry said, “Phoebe looks like Violet in Willy Wonka!”
Jo-Beth laughed and I sighed deeply, shooting Phoebe what I hoped was an apologetic glance. Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory was Henry’s favorite movie, probably because he liked color as much as I did, and as I sat there, kicking myself, I wondered if perhaps there wasn’t a kids’ movie that taught shit like, I dunno, good manners. Because this shit was hard to navigate.
“Henry,” I said carefully, “you don’t—”
Phoebe cut me off, waving a hand. “You’re so right, Henry, I do. My skin sometimes gets all pink and purple, and I look just like a berry.”
He giggled, and the social faux pas passed in a moment. Phoebe was so good at that, at making every situation more comfortable. When she feels like it, I corrected myself. She could get me plenty hot under the collar if she wanted.
Speaking of which, I felt something brushing against my foot. I had a suspicion, and when I looked up at Phoebe’s quiet smile, it was confirmed — she was playing footsies with me. Trying to keep a straight face, I returned the affection. As we exchanged touches, Jo-Beth talked on.
“I don’t think I could let go of DoorDash,” Jo-Beth said as Phoebe’s sneaker-clad shoe slipped up the leg of my jeans. “I’m too dependent. I mean, really, they’re like my nanny. Even in Bridgeport, which isn’t like New York or anything. Ugh, and I love the school cafeteria. I shouldn’t I know I shouldn’t, but I do. Mozzarella sticks? Yuuuum.”
Beneath the table, I was beginning to stiffen, and just as I was thinking I was screwed, Phoebe pulled her foot out from my jeans, shooting me a devious smile. Thank God, I thought. One more minute of that and—
Then suddenly, Phoebe’s foot had migrated onto my lap, which was covered by the overhanging table, and she was stroking my erection with the rubber edge of her sneaker. Okay, I was too weak for games like this.
“Meanwhile,” Jo-Beth was saying as I tried to keep my composure, “does Henry have a tricycle?”
That came out of nowhere. “Uh, no,” I said, hoping my breath came out in some sort of stable fashion. “Just haven’t had the time.”
“He should get one. I know I love a bike with three wheels. Sort of, third wheeling, if you will.”
Could she get any more pointed?! I was caught somewhere between extreme annoyance and extreme arousal, a middle ground between — well, not even polar opposites. Sort of just non sequiturs.
Phoebe didn’t let up, rubbing her foot against my cock as though trying to make up for Jo-Beth’s words. Hey, it was working.
As my heart rate sped up, Jo-Beth went on. “Well, this is an arousing — I mean rousing — dinner, hm?” There were some other words, but they were lost in the acceleration of my pulse.
“What’d you say?” Phoebe asked her dreamily, as though through water.
“I said you should sell tickets, because there was someone enjoying your show.”
That, at last, caught Phoebe’s attention. She bit her lip and dropped her foot onto the linoleum. Phoebe was ballsy, but not quite that ballsy — I imagine that she, like I, had no interest in being arrested for public indecency.
Phoebe broke our eye lock, and followed the tilt of Jo-Beth’s head to the outside world.
“What are you talking about?” Phoebe asked. “Were you just trying to get my attention?”
Jo-Beth shook her head. “No, just thought you oughta know you had an audience outside.”
Phoebe rolled her eyes, not buying this story for a minute. “All right, all right, your point is taken, you have my full and undivided attention. How was your day?”
Unable to help myself, I turned around in my seat just enough to look back out the window. There was, as Jo-Beth said, no one there.
I turned back, and tried to rejoin the conversation, but…
That had been kind of weird, right? Someone supposedly watching us in a window, especially in a town so small? Whoever it was would’ve knocked on the glass and greeted me at least as we know everyone.
Whoever it was probably couldn’t see your face, I told myself, even as a shiver ran up my spine. Any townsperson would’ve said hi if they saw your face.
Or Jo-Beth really had just been making it up. I wouldn’t blame her. Phoebe and I were getting a bit carried away. This thought was underlined as I tried to unstick my pants from my hard cock, because there was seriously no way to explain myself if Henry saw that unusual bulge.
Maybe the person in the window didn’t want you to see them, a quiet voice in my head speculated.
Okay, I was getting too paranoid. No more coffee in the evenings for me.
“Let’s order,” I announced, waving Miss Keller over and trying to put all dark and stormy thoughts from my mind.
But night was closing in.
CHAPTER 20
Phoebe
AS IT TURNED out, the place really knew how to serve up some damn good food.
Jo-Beth and I had been to plenty of dive bars and diners on our road trip, trying to sample all the best shit from all the seediest places. Along the way, we’d had some truly inspired meals. So trust me when I say, I know a good burger and fries, and this was one of ‘em.
We all ate like royalty. After Jo-Beth finally diverted my attention away from Carter’s cock — oops! — we fell into a steadier, less explicit conversation, and then the food started rolling in and things started to smooth out. Somehow, I’d forgotten that Jo-Beth had never really shared a meal with Carter, even though it felt like I’d shared a lifetime with him.
The service ran slow — as though it were on ‘island time’ — but once Jo-Beth stopped hounding the two of us, nobody minded the plodding pace of food. Even Henry, though he was but a little kid, sat patiently, eating and giggling, never seeming to mind the wait.
Man, I was never like that as a kid, I thought, before realizing that perhaps being raised in a place that moves lazily could actually be beneficial for a child’s temperament. No TV — no screens, period. Sounded kinda nice.
At long last, after we were all stuffed and cheerful, Carter nodded to Miss Keller, who was stationed up behind the counter, having discarded her crossword puzzle and moved on to some sudoku.
“Coming right out,” she said, bustling to our table and plopping the check down. “Take your time.”
I reached instinctively for the slip of paper, but Carter was faster, snatching it up in his large hand.
“Nu-uh, I got this.”
“But—”
“It’s
a gentleman’s job to treat a lady,” he said, then corrected himself. “Ladies, rather. Especially with the wage gap and all.”
I snorted, but resigned myself to letting him pay. In truth, I was a broke-ass college student. In other words, there was no point in being too proud.
Carter laid down his cash and, I noticed, left an ample tip. Good. I’d worked as a barista at one of my college’s cafes, so I knew just how important tips were. Especially in a place like this, that couldn’t see more than ten customers a day.
“All right, Miss Keller,” he called. “We’re headin’ out. You have a good one.”
“You too, kiddo. Bring Henry by again soon.”
“Will do, ma’am.”
Together, the four of us maneuvered out of the booth. Henry stood on the edge of the leather seats so that he could jump onto Carter’s back, quickly assuming his usual position. We walked out of the diner and into the night.
“Shi— I mean, dang,” Carter muttered, remembering Henry on his back as our feet kicked up dust. “We’ve only got room for three. Normally I’d say someone could get in the flat of the truck, but it ain’t safe at nighttime, not with some of these crazy drivers.”
I thought first of our afternoon spent in that truck bed, and yearned for a moment to revisit it. Oh, that had been so delicious. Why couldn’t I just spend all day back there, fucking and napping? Maybe there were some opaque cowboy rules for what constitutes safe and unsafe cars, rules that would never be apparent to a city slicker like me.
“Phoebe, Jo-Beth,” he asked. “Can you drive? I don’t mind walking, if ya’ll can take Henry with you.”
I looked to Jo-Beth, who said, “I can’t drive stick.”
“Me neither,” I admitted.
Carter’s brow worried, a thin line forming on his forehead. “Um, okay, well… let’s see. We could—”
