The Perfect Cover

by Charlotte Byrd

  When we stop to get gas that evening, the pump doesn’t work and I go inside to pay cash. There’s a large television above the clerk’s head, with a primetime story about the escapees and the reward.

  My heart skips a beat.

  Back in the car, Mac refuses to believe it, Tyler does. He then agrees that we need to find a Rite Aid as soon as possible so that I can buy some box color and give them new looks.

  That evening, we pull into another Motel 6 with another bored clerk behind plexiglass.

  Again, she asks me for my ID and credit card in case there’s any damage.

  Again, I wonder if all of these charges are going to be bread crumbs for the FBI to find Tyler, Mac, and me.

  At this point, I don’t think that the story about holding me as a hostage is going to work.

  15

  Isabelle

  When we’re alone...

  After getting to the motel room and grabbing a bite to eat, I let the guys argue about who should get which color.

  I got one box of chestnut color and another in dirty blonde. Both should be pretty natural-looking, but still different from the pictures they have all over television.

  I prefer for Tyler to go lighter, but I’m afraid that if I were to voice that opinion, then it wouldn’t happen. Instead, I sit back and relax, flip through the channels, and wait to see what happens.

  They go back and forth, fighting over the small mirror in the bathroom. They examine each other’s hair and then compare. They talk about the models on the boxes and debate which one would look better with which color.

  They remind me of twelve-year-old girls examining themselves in the sixth grade bathroom. It really makes my day.

  “You’re laughing, but this is harder than it looks,” Mac says.

  He is back to being the easy-going gregarious guy who I was first introduced to.

  We haven’t talked about India again and for that, I’m thankful.

  “Those are the best colors they had. L’Oréal is a good box color. I’ve used it myself a number of times.”

  “You have?” Tyler asks. “I thought that women always went to salons.”

  “Not everyone can afford $200 stylist fees for a color and a cut. That’s every six weeks if you’re lucky.”

  He looks concerned and worried about how it’s going to turn out.

  “It’s going to be okay,” I reassure him. “You’re not going to have green hair.”

  “I don’t want to have orange hair either.”

  I see that he’s leaning toward a lighter shade.

  “It’s not going to be,” I promise.

  I know that it’s harder to go lighter than it is to go darker. His hair isn’t that dark though and the lighter shade isn’t that light, so I hope that this will work out.

  Eventually, they reach an agreement and Tyler goes with the lighter one and Mac goes with the darker one.

  Instead of reading directions, they ask me for help. They want me to do it for them but I’m tired after the long drive and the shopping trip.

  I show them the basics and let them use my comb to make parts. They try to put the color in their hair evenly around their head and I check if they missed any spots in the back.

  Tyler is careful and meticulous. It takes him twice as long, but the job is even and careful.

  Mac is out of control. There are drips all over the sink and the bathmat. When I check his head for spots, I can’t see a thing since he had pushed all the hair together and mixed it all up.

  They’re supposed to keep the color on for thirty minutes and, of course, they don’t stagger themselves. When Mac jumps into the shower, Tyler rinses his in the sink and washes off the rest after Mac gets out.

  An hour later, after we get takeout from the Denny’s next door, I am pleasantly surprised that both of their efforts have worked to their benefit.

  Tyler smiles at me through his sandy blonde hair that falls lightly in his face. I give him a wink and glance over at Mac.

  “I’m going to have to try this new hair out on the ladies,” he announces, brushing his hand through his chestnut brown strands.

  “Yeah, maybe when we get to California,” Tyler says.

  Mac shakes his head.

  “You’re not thinking of going out tonight?” Tyler asks.

  “Of course!”

  Tyler frowns and looks to me for support.

  “Listen, I know that you’re a worry-wart like your girl here, but nothing’s going to happen. Besides, we are in some little town that no one has ever heard of. People here probably don’t even watch the news.”

  “Everyone watches America’s Most Wanted,” I interject.

  “No, they don’t. Maybe they did in the 90s when there were like three channels, but now with Netflix, Hulu, YouTube, and who knows what else, what are the chances of anyone seeing us?”

  “Really good,” I press. “Besides, there’s a $100,000 bounty on your heads. Who do you think lives in this town that won’t turn you in for that kind of money?”

  I feel anger rising within me, but it just doesn’t feel like Tyler is standing up for his interests well.

  Why can’t he talk some sense into Mac?

  If he doesn’t want to, then why the hell are you traveling with him in the first place?

  “Listen, guys,” Mac says in that casual fun-guy sort of manner that’s supposed to put me at ease, but actually does the complete opposite. “This is going to be a dive bar. Dark, dingy, but hopefully still populated with cute girls from town who are eager to get together with a mysterious stranger. I’m going to take every precaution but trust me they’re not going to recognize me.”

  I don’t want to argue anymore so I step out for some fresh air.

  Part of me wishes I was a smoker so that I could have a good reason for being out here, but I don’t.

  Instead, I just stare down at my phone and scroll aimlessly through social media, listening to the muffled voices through the door.

  I can’t make out most of what they’re saying, but as the conversation goes on, their voices are getting more and more elevated.

  I hear Tyler trying to reason with Mac, giving him all of the same arguments that I presented earlier when we went to the diner.

  I also hear Mac responding back that he doesn’t think it’s a risk. He argues that no one’s going to expect to see him here so they won’t recognize him even if they had seen the program.

  Besides, he now also has a new look, thanks to the new hair color and the trim that I had given him earlier.

  Of course, all of these things were supposed to be precautionary measures, they were supposed to create an order of protection around him, not give him a reason to take unnecessary chances.

  This doesn’t get through to Mac.

  The last thing I see when he walks out the front door is him rolling his eyes at Tyler as he disappears down the stairs.

  I come back into the room and look at Tyler who is lying on one of the queen-size beds, completely defeated.

  His hands are folded tightly behind his head and he is staring straight at the popcorn ceiling.

  The heater, next to the only window facing out, rumbles and puts out a puff of heat. I turn it down a little bit, but Tyler tells me not to touch it because it might not come back on.

  The room is hot and stifling.

  It’s March and the ice-cold wind is barreling through every crevice in the door and window.

  Since I can’t turn down the heat, I just strip down to my T-shirt and even take off my socks.

  “I swear I’m going to get a cold from coming in and out so much,” I joke, but only partly. “It’s so hot in here and arctic out there. The last thing I need is to get sick.”

  “You can’t get a cold from the cold. You get sick from bacteria or a virus, not the cold,” Tyler says, staring at the ceiling and avoiding my gaze.

  The tone of his voice is detached and deadpan so it’s hard to know if he is serious or just lost in his ow
n thoughts.

  “What did Mac say?” I ask.

  “That he needed to get laid and that the only reason I was stopping him was because I had someone to lay with.”

  “Is that why?” I ask.

  “No,” he says with a sigh. “I mean, I would hope not but I can’t fault him. It’s been a really long time since he has been with a woman. He’s the kind of guy that has always enjoyed that, probably a lot more than the rest of us.”

  “Still. That’s no reason to jeopardize everything that you have worked for. Not just for him, but for you, too.”

  “I know,” Tyler says, sitting up. “I know all of that. I know where you’re coming from and I agree with you, but another part of me sees his position, too. If he were to get caught and not have this night as a free man, just hanging out, grabbing a beer at a bar, flirting with a girl or two, then what’s it all for? This could be our last night out here.”

  “It’s going to be our last night out here if you keep letting him act like this. First, you both go to the diner and now he’s going to a bar. We’re all going to get caught.”

  Tyler looks at me and tilts his head.

  “Let me ask you a question,” he says slowly. “Are you worried about us getting caught or are you worried about you getting caught?”

  “Both,” I say. “Of course, I’m worried about you and to some degree him, but I’m really going out on a limb here. I don’t think they’re going to believe that you kept me hostage even if we end up going with that story. If they don’t, then I’ll be facing years in prison. If we get caught because of something so stupid like eating at a diner or going to a bar, what am I doing this for?”

  “I don’t know why you’re doing this, Isabelle. I warned you that you wouldn’t want to be here. I told you that it wouldn’t be safe.”

  “No, correction,” I say, pointing my finger in his face. “You never told me about Mac. You didn’t tell me that we were going to pick up somebody who was so reckless and just out to have a good time. I know that he’s your friend and that he saved you in there and that you owe him, but you owe me, too. You should’ve told me the truth. You shouldn’t have kept him a secret. I deserve to know what I’m getting into before I risk my life and freedom to be out here with you.”

  Tyler glares at me and then leans forward.

  I want to push him away but suddenly I feel this magnetic pull toward him.

  I want to talk about this.

  This conversation isn’t over, but when our bodies collide, I know that we’re not going to talk about it for a while.

  Tyler kisses me.

  I am still angry so I kiss him back, hard.

  He presses his lips so hard against mine that it almost hurts, but in a good way.

  When we pull apart, I bite him. For a moment, he’s surprised, narrowing his eyes.

  “What do you think you're doing?”

  “Whatever the fuck I want,” I say, challenging him.

  His jaw clenches and his eyes evaluate me. They look me up and down before he opens his mouth.

  “Take off your clothes.”

  It's more of a command than a request and I like that.

  “You first,” I say, straightening my back and crossing my arms.

  Without a moment of hesitation, he pulls off his shirt.

  The muscles in his stomach protrude with each breath, flexing and relaxing.

  I'm mesmerized by their power.

  In addition to the six pack, he even has the V-shaped muscles on the sides leading down to his groin.

  His jeans hang low, right at his hipbones making me lick my lips.

  “Your turn,” he says casually.

  I shake my head.

  “Do you want me to make you?”

  I shake my head but smile at the corner of my lips.

  “If you don't do it yourself, I'm going to make you,” he threatens, but it's a veiled threat.

  He knows that I want this and I know that he wants this as well.

  The only thing that's stopping me is the fact that I'm still mad at him.

  I take a deep breath and gather my strength.

  “No,” I say sternly. “We can't do this.”

  “Why?”

  “I'm mad at you. We're not done talking about what happened.”

  “Since when does that matter?” he asks.

  I get up and walk away from him but Tyler takes a few steps closer and wraps his arms around my shoulders.

  “I love you,” he whispers into my ear.

  I feel myself melting before him, but I have to remain strong.

  “I want you,” he whispers.

  “I want you, too,” I say silently to myself, refusing to let the words escape from my lips.

  He presses his lips to the back of my earlobe and kisses me. This time, his lips are soft and effervescent like butterfly kisses.

  I turn around to face him and he kisses me hard on the lips.

  Suddenly, I can't say no.

  I want him so much that I throb for him in my core.

  I kiss him back, just as hard.

  Our lips are a perfect match. Our tongues intertwine.

  The kiss is messy and dirty.

  That's just like we want it.

  He pushes me toward the bed. We stumble over a chair and a bag, but eventually it catches us.

  He pulls down my leggings along with my panties and rubs his fingers between my legs.

  I'm wet and I want him.

  Tyler unbuckles his jeans and lets them fall to the floor. He presses against me.

  I feel the hardness and the largeness of his cock.

  We continue to kiss as I wrap my fingers around him and hold onto it like a joystick in a video game.

  He digs deeper inside of me with his fingers as I start to slide my hand faster and faster.

  “I need to be inside of you,” he says.

  “Yes,” I mumble. “Me, too.”

  He reaches over and picks up his jeans off the floor, reaching for something in the back pocket. He pulls out a little square and it makes a loud crinkling sound when he opens it to take out the condom.

  He slides it on quickly and effortlessly.

  Then he carefully slides in me.

  I'm not a small girl, by any stretch of the imagination, but the way that he handles me, it makes me feel like Tinker Bell.

  He pushes in and out of me quickly, going deeper and deeper each time.

  My legs wrap tightly around his torso and he holds himself with his arms, pressing me harder and harder against the bed.

  My whole body tightens just as I start to feel that familiar explosion building up.

  I moan his name over and over, letting my body go limp as soon as I’m consumed by a wave of pleasure.

  16

  Isabelle

  In the morning...

  The wind howls outside the whole night and my sleep is restless and uneven.

  I wake up every few hours and go to use the bathroom in complete darkness.

  I illuminate my way with my phone and the empty bed next to ours does not go unnoticed.

  Mac hasn’t come back.

  When I finally wake up for good around five o’clock from a bird chirping loudly on the railing outside, I stare at the untouched bedspread and a cold sweat runs down my back.

  Where is he?

  Did something happen?

  Did they catch him?

  Are they coming for us?

  Tyler snores peacefully next to me, completely unbothered by the turn of events.

  I’m tempted to wake him, but there is no point in us both worrying. There’s not really a point to me worrying either except that I can’t stop.

  I try to meditate, but when I close my eyes, all I see are police cars surrounding the motel with their lights flashing and their alarms blaring. A gun points in my face and I stare into its long barrel going further and further into the darkness.

  This is the end of us.

  Is this how my life i
s going to come to the finish line?

  I try to distract myself with my phone.

  I read the news and scroll down social media accounts. I put on The Office on Netflix, a show that I’ve seen hundreds of times, but even that doesn’t distract me from my own brooding thoughts.

  I consider going on a run, but after the heater shut off in the middle of the night, I’m too cold to even climb out from under the covers.

  I also think about taking a hot shower, but when I breathe out and see the path of cold air in front of me, I can’t bear to force myself to get undressed no matter how hot the water might be.

  Suddenly, the door swings open. Mac stumbles in, tripping over a chair and catching himself on the table.

  I can smell the booze on his breath from across the room.

  “I’m fine, I’m fine,” he says in a loud whisper, waking up Tyler.

  “You just got back?” Tyler asks, rubbing his eyes. “Shit, it’s fucking cold in here.”

  “Really?” Mac asks, taking off his coat and revealing nothing but a white T-shirt underneath.

  In this early morning light, with his newly dark hair swept back, and a cigarette hanging from his mouth, he looks like James Dean.

  “The heater broke,” I say. “You should probably put your jacket back on.”

  “So, how did it go?" Tyler asks.

  “I’ll tell you later,” Mac says, plopping down on the bed. “I just have to get some shut eye for a few minutes.”

  We don’t let him.

  Tyler insists on packing up our stuff and leaving as soon as possible. I agree except that I really don’t want to climb out of bed. Tyler keeps Mac awake, eventually helping him down to the car and forcing him into the back seat.

  “He stayed up all night. He’ll probably sleep until the afternoon if we let him. It’s better that he does while we’re getting hundreds of miles away from this place,” Tyler says.

  I like how he takes control of the situation. I was getting really tired of being the only reasonable one in this caravan.

  After watching him pack all of our bags and carrying them down to the car, I put on my most comfortable leggings with a thick sweatshirt along with two other long sleeve shirts underneath and climb into front passenger seat.