I doubt it.
I nod as he thanks me again.
“I’ll give you five bucks if you show me your tits.”
Fucking hell.
“I have to go.”
I clutch my bag across my chest and quickly head for the far side of the station, suddenly in a rush to be anywhere else in the world.
Katie. I’ll call my sister It couldn’t hurt to check in, right?
I dig my phone out of my bag and dial.
Ring… Ring…
Ring… Ring…
“Hello?”
“Hey,” I say.
“Who is this?”
“Oh, sorry. This is a walking anxiety attack speaking.”
“Oh! Nancy, how are you?”
Nancy? “Are you having a stroke? It’s me, Frances. Your sister. Remember?”
“No, I don’t have those worksheets graded for class tomorrow,” she practically yells into the receiver.
“Worksheets?”
“Yes. I will tell your sub those essays are to be turned in at the end of class.”
“What are you talking ab—?” Then it hits me. “Wait. Is mom with you?”
“What?” she shouts back.
“Can you just say ‘yes’ if mom is there?”
“Yes.”
“Wait is that yes mom’s there, or a yes you can say yes if mom is there?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll call back later.”
Click.
So much for that idea. I slide my phone back into my bag. That’s when I hear it.
“Frannie!”
I turn, finding a wide smile and a dark head of hair by the front entrance.
“Frannie!” he calls again, holding twin bags of fast food over his head like trophies.
“You!”
“Jesse.”
“Sure.”
He shrugs and saunters the rest of the way over, sweat beading around his forehead, his hair damp and lank with moisture. “I ran and got us some dinner,” he says as he approaches. “I didn’t know if you were cheeseburger or chicken nugget kind of girl, so I went ahead and got both.”
“I don’t remember seeing any restaurants around the station,” I remark, curious.
“Well, I meant what I said about running.” He smirks. “Three miles there, three miles back.”
“You ran six miles in this heat for cheeseburgers?” I can’t help but be a little impressed.
“Ran, walked, skipped. It’s not a big deal. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Frannie, but I’m in excellent shape.”
“It’s Frances. And you’re right. I hadn’t noticed.”
“You’re a sweet girl.”
And a liar.
It would be impossible not to notice how fine a physical specimen this man is, what with long legs that I’m sure were a big help during his six mile trek, forearms formed of muscular ropes, and broad shoulders that narrow into a lean, inevitably toned torso. I’d have to be blind not to see how attractive Jesse is, and while there’s clearly plenty wrong with my psyche at the moment, there is absolutely nothing wrong with my eyesight.
“Cheeseburger,” I say, holding out my hand.
He tosses me a bag and we sit with our backs resting against a map of the Kansas City area. I glance at him from the corner of my eye as he stretches his legs out in front of him. Why is this total stranger being so nice to me? I could be a psychopath for all he knows. Or worse…
A runaway bride.
Still he is charming, in an annoying, little kid sort of way.
“You think I’m annoying, don’t you,” he voices, practically reading my mind.
I decide to be honest. “A little.” A furrow forms between his brows. “But it works for you,” I cover. “I mean, I can think of a ton of people I find more annoying than you.”
“Any example?”
I rack my brain for a second. “Like…spoiled socialites and therapists who constantly spew rainbow and sunshine theories. Late pizza delivery guys and people who sing incorrect song lyrics. Anyone who asks to speak to the manager at any point during a meal. People who drive the speed limit in the fast lane. My parents. High school quarterbacks who never moved on from the good old glory days, and guys who wear their pants around their knees. People who think reality television constitutes as actual reality. People who—”
“I think I get the idea,” he interrupts with a laugh and a roll of his eyes. “Careful Holden, or you might just fall off your little misanthropic pedestal.”
“Oh, yeah? Well, maybe I just bumped you up a few spots. Now you’re neck and neck with people who anyone who abandons a shopping cart in the middle of a parking lot.”
He smiles, a crooked little grin that blossoms at the left side of his top lip. Irritating, yet undeniably sexy.
“So, why are you on your way to California?” he asks, popping a chicken nugget into his mouth.
I shift my gaze, staring down at my burger in the hopes he’ll catch the hint and change the subject. We eat in silence until he finally speaks. “I love awkward silences. They remind me of Thanksgivings with my family.”
A grin slides across my face. Dammit.
“So, where are you headed?” I try flipping the question on him.
“Colorado Springs.” He seems unbothered as I choke on both surprise and a bite of burger. “We’re on the same bus.”
“How do you know that?” I sputter.
“I snuck a peek at your ticket while you were sleeping earlier.”
Unbelievable.
“You know, there’s a fine line between charming and creepy right? And if you are stalking me, I think it’s only fair to warn you that I’ve taken a few self-defense courses and would not be opposed to kicking you ass.”
He laughs, the sound chasing itself around the station walls. “I’m sure you could. But I’m not stalking you. Stalkers are generally obsessed with whoever they’re stalking, and I know almost nothing about you. Well, except for that you’re on your way to California, you prefer cheeseburgers to chicken nuggets, and you have a bit of a chip on your shoulder and ketchup on your chin.
Fuck.
I brush my hand across my chin and come away with a gooey streak of red. “Fine,” I say with a huff. “Fine. My name is Frances Renner. I’m twenty-two years old. I’m not sure why my parents named me Frances. I can only assume it was part of some cruel joke. My older, more appreciated sister got off with the name Katherine. She’s successful, married, employed, none of which I happen to be at the moment. My previous residence was a utility apartment without cable or a decent heating system. Everything I currently own is either in this bag or on my back. I legitimately have no idea what I’m doing, and the last meal I ate was donated to me by a complete stranger who had to run six miles to get it. But do you think I mope around feeling sorry for myself?”
“Fuck, I would if I were you.”
“Bite me.”
He grins wickedly. “Maybe if you ask nicely.”
“You know telling a girl you feel sorry for her is not the way to get her to like you.”
“Who said I need you to like me?” he counters.
I hold up my cheeseburger as proof.
“Fair point,” he concedes. “I don’t know. sometimes I just like remembering what smarter, more poetic people have thought. It’s reassuring to know someone has already said what you can’t put into words, don’t you think?”
The smile that creeps its way across my face feels strange at first, rusty almost. Stranger still when I realize it’s the first time in days that I’ve been able to truly let go. There wasn’t much time to breathe in the days leading up to the wedding, and now, well, let’s say I don’t see any signs of rest and relaxation in the foreseeable future. So, I take this moment for what it’s worth, hoping to carry the unburdened memory of a cheeseburger with the works and crooked smile with me for as long as I can.
I ball the now empty wrapper up in my hand and toss it into one of the bags. “Yo
u never answered my question before,” I say, leaning my head back against the wall.
He runs his fingers through his hair, pushing it out of his eyes.
The better to see you with, my dear.
“And what question is that?”
“Why are you going to Colorado Springs?”
“Why not?” he replies with a quick shrug of his shoulders.
I wait, thinking there will more to his answer.
“That’s it?” I ask once I realize no additional answer is forthcoming. “That’s your whole excuse? Why not?”
“Can you think of a better one?”
“Something tells me that’s only half of a whole story.” I feel my mouth pull into a smirk.
He presses his full lips into a tight line and tilts his head up to the ceiling before answering. “Well, if you want the whole story… I was sitting in my cubicle at work, an 8x8 cage really, drinking stale coffee, sweating through my collar, working on a set of bill-back reports for the day. And I remember staring at the form, an I-245C or a W-592 or some useless shit like that. Not filling it out, not even reading it, just staring at it thinking… I don’t want to fucking do this anymore.”
“The form?”
“Any of it. Spend my days at a job I hate, filling out form after form after form until my hands are so riddled with carpal tunnel they eventually just shrivel up and fall off. I didn’t want to.” He streaks his fingers through his hair again, a nervous habit I realize now. “I’m only twenty-three and I felt sixty.” He tries to laugh, but the result rings hollow. “So, I quit on the spot, packed what I could, and got on the first bus to anywhere.”
“What about money?” I ask. If he knows a way to keep finances flowing short of selling blood on the street, I’m all ears. “How can you afford to keep traveling? You’re not secretly a prince or an oil tycoon or a billionaire or something… are you?”
“Would you like me better if I was?”
I think for a moment. “No.”
“Then no,” he answers with a smirk. “I have the savings I’ve collected over the years and sold most of what I couldn’t take with me. It isn’t much, but it’s at least enough to get me to California.”
“Whoa!” The last bit doesn’t slip past unnoticed. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Wait just a minute there, pal. What do you mean, California? I like you and all, but I don’t remember inviting you to tag along.”
“Who said I’m tagging along?” he teases, a delicious grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Maybe I’ve just always wanted to see the Golden Gate Bridge.”
Unbelievable.
He stands, sticking out his hand and offering to help me to my feet. I take it and pull myself up.
“You never answered by question either, you know,” he says, keeping my hand firmly entwined with his. Dark lashes flicker against his tan cheek.
“Can you blame me?” I ask. “There have been so many in the short time we’ve known each other. Honestly, I’ve lost count.”
I try my best not to shiver as his thumb brushes soft circles across the fine bones in my wrist. “Why are you going to California?” he asks, his question nothing more than a low, seductive rumble in his chest.
I smile up at him. It’s almost too easy.
“Why not?”
5.
We pass the time talking about everything and nothing, movies, travel, music. We learn one another’s birthday and favorite color. He tells me that if he could have any superpower, he’d choose telepathy. We discover we share a love of tapas and sci-fi television, and he laughs when I tell him my favorite movie is Jurassic Park, but only if I’m allowed to pretend the sequels never existed.
I manage to steer the conversation away from anything too heavy, the dangerous topics of romance and past relationships, never opening too many doors, while shutting any he might try to sneak through. The hours to slip past one by one, then seemingly all at once as we chat our way through the day, talking like we’ve known one another for years rather than hours.
Night falls outside our little world and it isn’t long before the salespeople and ticket sellers begin closing their store fronts and booths, the last lucky passengers drifting their way home or to a bus headed to some new destination.
I find a secluded spot along the back wall and lay on my back between two empty rows of seats, fluffing my lumpy messenger bag beneath my head. I close my eyes and try to let sleep claim me.
Jesse finds a spot close to me, much too close, pulling jacket from his satchel and rolling into a ball under his head. His body is long and lean as it stretches out beside me, his legs stretching several inches past mine and running out into the open walkway.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I sit up and glare down at him. “Your sleeping area is over there.” I point to shadowy corner at the far side of the station. “Or in a hotel across town.”
I like him, I do. Jesse is funny, and clever, and sweet, but I haven’t forgotten funny, clever, sweet ex-fiancé I left back home, and sleeping in close quarters with a handsome stranger in a dark, empty bus station is probably more than my brain can handle right now.
Jesse closes his eyes and laces his fingers across his chest. “Last time I checked, this was a free bus station and I have the right to sleep wherever I so choose.”
“You couldn’t so choose to sleep somewhere else?”
He bends his knees toward the ceiling. “I don’t believe for one second that you would rather be alone tonight. Besides, how do you think I would feel if I left you alone and something happened while I was sleeping in another corner?”
“What could possibly happen to me tonight? I stub my toe in the dark? I get lost on the way to restroom and am never heard from again?”
“Anything is possible.” His bottom lip twitches with a smirk. “Don’t kid yourself, Frannie. Don’t act like you haven’t been checking me out all day.” He must hear my mouth fall open because the next sound between his lips is a bark of laughter. “You’re twice as likely to make a move on me as I am on you.”
“I think we both know that’s not true.” I lay back down, the air leaving my lungs in a huff as I land against the cold tile.
“Either way, I promise to let you be the little spoon afterwards.”
“How chivalrous.”
“I’m nothing if not a gentleman.”
My problem is that for a long second, I find myself wondering how it might feel to fall asleep in his arms.
I steady my thoughts, reaching around to the back of my head to take the elastic band out of my hair, shaking the limp waves loose with my hands.
“Can I ask you something?” he asks suddenly.
“Yes. Those pants do make your ass look big.”
“Cute,” he says, brushing it aside. “But really.”
The muscles in my neck and shoulders stiffen against the floor. “Sure,” I relent, not entirely sure what I’ve just agreed to.
Jesse fixes his eyes on the spackled ceiling over our heads. “You don’t seem particularly keen on answering most of my questions,” he says after a minute. “And in my experience, there are only two types of people who avoid simple honesty. People who deny the truth, and people who are running from it. Which one are you?”
I swallow hard, feeling the heavy lump work its way down my throat. “I’m not in denial of anything,” I tell him. That much is true. I know full well what I’ve done, what actions have brought me to this moment, lying on a cold tile floor while an overly curious stranger pushes me through unwanted introspection.
“Then you’re running,” he says, matter-of-factly. “Which lead me to my next question.”
“Which is?”
“Should I be worried?”
“For me?”
“Yeah, for you. No one runs without reason.”
I huff out a short, derisive chuckle. “I’m not running from anything. I’m running to something.” A lie coddled by the truth. “I’m going to California.”
“So you�
��ve said,” he sighs, digging his head further into his makeshift pillow. “Is that really all you’re going to offer?”
I close my eyes for a moment, feeling my pulse pounding behind their sockets. “It’s not as if you’ve put forth much more either. You hated your job. Is that the whole story?”
“Pretty much,” he says.
“I don’t believe that.”
“Well, what else do you want to know? I, unlike some people, are not afraid of the truth.”
I want to tell him that it isn’t that I’m afraid of the truth, only… justifiably wary of it.
I settle on turning the focus off myself. “Tell me about your family,” I ask, my voice slicing through the thick cushion of quiet nestled around us. “Are your parents carnies? Do you have any pets?
He grins through the darkness. “I had a dog when I was a kid. Cooper. Mom didn’t like him, though. Said he was hell on the carpet. So, she sent him to live with my aunt in Newport. I’m not even sure if he’s even still alive. He never called.”
“What do your parents think of you quitting your job to travel across country like some hobo musician.”
“I don’t think they really care.” His gaze is distant, as if he’s trying and failing to think of anything else. “They divorced when I was six and Dad died from prostate cancer when I was twelve.”
“Oh, God. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“It’s okay,” he interrupts my pathetic excuse for an apology. “Really.”
I try to cover. “What about brothers or sisters? They’ve got to be worried about you, right?”
“Only child,” he says matter-of-factly. “I figure either my parents thought I was the perfect child and they couldn’t do any better, or they hated each other enough to never have sex again. After my parents divorced, Mommy Dearest developed a habit of serial dating, so there were always plenty of guys around the house. They’d pretend to be friendly with me until their relationship ended, and then disappear like some sort of vision of another life.” He twists his neck to look at me. “They never stuck around long. Or ended well. I once saw my mother break up with a guy by smashing a wine bottle over his head.”
One More For The Road Page 5
