Focus on Me

by Megan Erickson

  And anyway, I can’t get involved with anyone.

  I’m going to stop tapping away at my phone now, because Colin’s done pumping gas and I don’t want him to see these e-mails.

  —R

  Chapter Two

  I opened my eyes and blinked at the bright shaft of light peeking through the middle of the drawn motel room curtains. There was a large stain at the bottom of the right curtain, and I stared at it, wondering how the hell it got there while also telling myself not to think too much about it.

  I’d driven until I couldn’t keep my eyes open. I told Riley I was pulling over to get a motel room, preferring to sleep in a bed than hunched over in my car. I’d learned that the hard way after freshman year. I’d stopped at a truck stop to sleep in my car, cracking the windows open. I woke to some drugged-out guy wiggling his fingers in the opening of my backseat window, eyes on my bags.

  Now I coughed up the forty or fifty bucks to stop at seedy motels along the way. Sure there were mysterious stains and bad mattresses, but at least there were locks on the doors.

  This was one of them, a forty-five-dollar-a-night hotel right along the Nevada/Arizona border. When I told Riley I was stopping, all he did was nod. We split the cost on a room with two double beds, the decision made in as few words as possible.

  As I fell asleep, he’d been on his laptop, typing away, his face illuminated by the glowing screen.

  I rolled over onto my back and rubbed my eyes with the heels of my palms. I actually didn’t mind the drive a whole lot. I listened to music and took different routes every time. Sometimes I stopped at stupid little trinket shops and bought something for Mama. She collected pigs. Well, not live ones. She liked stuffed ones and ceramic ones. Pictures of pigs and framed cross-stitches of pigs. Anything pig-related you could imagine, my Mama probably had it. She even had a cookie jar in the shape of a pig. It oinked when you opened the lid, which annoyed the hell out of Dad because then he couldn’t sneak his sweets.

  Since this was the last time I’d be taking this trip, I should probably stop and buy her a real one or something.

  I ran my hands down my cheeks and then looked to the bed beside me. Riley wasn’t there. Our room was tiny, just two beds, a dresser with a TV, and a bathroom. The bathroom door was open and the light was on. There was a mirror on the bathroom door, and reflected in it was Riley in the bathroom, shirtless, staring at himself in the mirror over the sink.

  I squinted my eyes, feeling like a voyeur but unable to look away. I could only see the back of his right side. He ran his hands from his hip bone over his side, up to his armpit, then back down. He fingered his ribs, his mouth moving like he was counting them.

  I’d thought he was thin before, but seeing him shirtless, I was shocked at how little body fat he had. Not in a Oh, that’s super hot way. But in a Get that dude a cheeseburger kind of way. His hip bones jutted sharply over top of his low-slung jeans. His collarbone was well-defined below his neck.

  And yet . . . as he touched his skin, I wished those were my fingers. I wished that were me feeling the smooth skin, the muscle and bone under the surface.

  I shook my head. Ridiculous. He was a guy who needed a ride. That was it. And I had to get him out of my head. It hadn’t been that long since I’d been with someone. A couple months or so. I’d had a boyfriend for most of my junior year back in college. But when we found out I was heading home . . . I just let him go. Shame, too. He was cute and funny, and his tongue was . . . eh, what was the point in thinking about that now? Brad wanted me to fight for him. For us. But I didn’t. It was easier this way than trying to have a long-distance relationship from opposite coasts.

  That relationship with Brad was just another thing to add to the fail list.

  I thrashed around in the bed a little, then dropped my feet to the floor with a thud, making as much noise as possible to alert Riley that I was awake.

  By the time I stood and stretched, he was out of the bathroom, a shirt covering all that smooth skin. He leaned a hand on the dresser and stared at me, biting his lip.

  I lowered my hands and scratched my stomach, now aware that I was wearing nothing but boxers and I had morning wood.

  Well, fuck it. He was a guy, so he knew how it was.

  His hair was damp, and I gestured to it. “You shower already, then?”

  He nodded, still biting his lip, his eyes locked on my face like he didn’t want to look away.

  Weird.

  “Can’t believe I slept through that.” I walked to the side of my bed, digging through my bag for some clean clothes. “All right, give me five so I can shower and then we’ll grab some breakfast.”

  He nodded again. No I’ll get another ride from here. No Thanks for the ride this far. I wondered how long he’d Velcro himself to me and Butch. And then I decided I didn’t care.

  With a fresh set of clothes in my fist, I walked by him and gave him a small two-finger salute, then closed the bathroom door behind me.

  My shower took more like seven minutes because the water pressure was damn good for a cheap hotel.

  When I walked out of the bathroom, dressed and running my fingers through my wet hair, he was sitting on the edge of his bed, reading a crumpled piece of paper. He shoved it in his pocket and then stood.

  I was wearing an old set of jeans, which were frayed at the ends, a plain white T-shirt, and my boots. Riley, though? Catwalk was wearing another set of tight jeans and a sky-blue V-neck T-shirt that sure as hell didn’t look like Hanes.

  I stopped and faced him, hands on my hips. I figured we needed to get a couple things out in the open. “So I’m just going to say this. I don’t care how long you ride with me. I’m heading to North Carolina, and you’re welcome to tag along. I don’t mind going out of my way to drop you off somewhere. I just need you to tell me.”

  He licked his lips and his hand gripped his thigh. “I’d like to ride with you into Arizona. Then I can find another ride where I’m going.”

  I cocked my head. “Where ya going?”

  He hesitated. “The Grand Canyon.”

  I tongued the inside of my cheek. It was a little out of the way, but truth be told, I’d never been there. After I got home to North Carolina, I’d probably spend the rest of my life standing over the smoker in the back of Patty’s. Might as well get some sightseeing done now. I never spent much money, so I had a decent amount of savings to make this trip stretch a little. So I shrugged and walked past him to grab my bag. “Cool, I’ve never been. Less than five hours, give or take. I’ll take ya there.”

  I slid my sunglasses over my eyes and put my hand on the door. “Ready?” I turned back and he hadn’t moved. “Ri?”

  That jolted him, and he licked his lips. “You don’t have to do this. I can grab a bus or another ride—”

  I took my hand off the doorknob and waved at him. “Hey, if you don’t like my company, I won’t be offended. My Jeep might, though. It can be sensitive.” I cracked a grin to ease any tension. “But if you want to head there by yourself, that’s okay, too. Thought I’d go along. S’okay if you want to go it alone, though.”

  He hesitated.

  I smiled to show him I wasn’t offended. Maybe he was a loner. Maybe he was meeting a friend or lover there. None of my business, really. “Forget I said anything. I’ll drop you off in Ari—”

  “Thank you.” He cut me off, his eyes a little wide.

  I paused with my mouth open. “What?”

  He nodded sharply and grabbed his packed bag off of the bed. “I . . . A ride with you to the Grand Canyon would be great. If you don’t mind.”

  I let my hand rest on the doorknob again. “You sure?”

  “Positive.”

  “Last chance to change your mind.”

  He grinned at that and I grinned back. Then I jerked my chin toward the door. “Well then, let’s go. I’m hungry and need coffee.” I opened up the door and waved my hand toward the opening. Riley ducked his head, a slight blush stain on his che
eks, then walked through ahead of me.

  I did not look at his ass encased in tight denim as he walked ahead of me. Totally did not do that.

  Okay, so I did.

  ***

  As we checked out of the motel, I spotted a greasy spoon across the street. So we stashed our bags in Butch and cut across the highway to get some grub.

  As we walked inside, a bell dinged over the door. I looked around, noting that the place was mostly half empty and a typical diner—pleather booths and Formica countertops. A sign told us to seat ourselves, and a waitress at the kitchen window waved to us over her shoulder.

  I found a booth in the corner and slid into one side, while Riley took the one opposite.

  I grabbed the menus tucked behind the ketchup jar and salt and pepper shakers. I ignored the sticky substance on mine and opened it up. There was a handwritten sheet inside announcing the day’s specials. They had huevos rancheros, which was what I’d been hoping for. So I slapped the menu shut and dropped it back in its place. I watched Riley across from me, perusing the menu. His brows were furrowed.

  I tapped the top of the menu. “Hey, this isn’t a chemistry textbook, you don’t have to look so intense.”

  He looked up, startled, and I grinned so he knew I was kidding. He chuckled softly. “Yeah, I just . . . I’m not that hungry, I guess.”

  The waitress came and took our drink orders. I got a coffee and a large orange juice. Riley ordered coffee and water.

  “When did you eat last?” I asked him, grabbing a packet of sweetener from the small plastic container on the table.

  He shrugged and looked away from me, eyes scanning the diner.

  I didn’t prod. I wasn’t his mother. Hell, I was barely his friend.

  He drank his coffee black, and quickly. I’d barely had two sips of mine before the waitress was back, filling up his mug and taking our breakfast orders. Riley ordered a bowl of yogurt and asked if they had granola. The waitress looked at him funny, pencil hovered over her pad. When she didn’t answer, he mumbled “Never mind” and instead went with a fruit cup and an egg-white omelet. No cheese or bacon or sausage in it, either. Just . . . egg whites. The waitress kept glancing at him like he was going to grow a tail, but he busied himself arranging his silverware neatly.

  When she dropped our orders at the window, I heard the cook bitch about separating the eggs. I knew Riley heard it, because I could, but he pretended like he didn’t, running those long slender fingers of his down his knife.

  “You a health nut?” I asked.

  “What?”

  I waved toward the waitress, who was hovering at the kitchen window. “You like healthy food?”

  He blinked at me. “Yeah, I guess so. I’m particular about what I eat and how much.”

  I ran my hand over my chin, my stubble rasping along my knuckles. I hadn’t bothered to shave. “Huh, well maybe you can teach me some things.”

  He eyed me. “You look like you eat just fine.”

  “Well—” I cut myself short, about to tell him that the only reason I was in shape was because I had to be to play collegiate football. Instead I just said, “I think I could eat healthier.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “After you down that heart attack on a plate you just ordered.”

  I laughed. “Sure, after that.”

  We lapsed into silence until I spoke up again. “So . . .” I scratched my head. “Where ya from?”

  Riley glanced up and dropped his hands in his lap. “Back East.”

  I waited to see if he’d elaborate, because that was a pretty broad answer. But he didn’t, and instead blinked those wide brown eyes at me.

  So I shifted in my seat and starting talking. Which wasn’t really like me. I was usually the quiet one, content to sit back and let others guide the conversation. But something about Riley made me want to talk and share.

  So I did. I told him all about my parents’ restaurant, Patty’s BBQ. And how I grew up smelling like smoke. I told him what kind of rub we used on the pork, which cuts were the best to use.

  I told him about my mom and her pig collection. I told him I rarely wore shoes until I turned six and had to go to school. And even then, I kept taking off my shoes and socks on the playground and getting in trouble for it. My dad threatened to tape them on with duct tape if I didn’t knock it off.

  I still hated shoes.

  And Riley was a good listener, too. He kept all his attention on me, occasionally sipping his coffee, nodding at appropriate times and asking questions. He acted like he was genuinely interested in my life. And it could have been an act, I guess. But . . . it didn’t feel like it.

  I didn’t tell him about why I was leaving California. I didn’t tell him about how I tried to make a go of being a fancy businessman, but it wasn’t for me. How I would zone out during class and wouldn’t come to until everyone stood up to leave. How my last transcript had a horribly low GPA, along with a letter that I was kicked out.

  It wasn’t that I was embarrassed, but Riley seemed more interested in barbecue, so I talked about that. It was a hell of a lot less depressing, anyway.

  When the waitress delivered our food, I quieted down. Because the whopping plate of huevos rancheros deserved a moment or two of silence.

  I dug in, barely looking up until I’d finished three-quarters of it. Riley ate most of his fruit and about half of his egg whites—cut into tiny pieces. He shoved his plate to the side and sipped his third cup of black coffee.

  “You—” I realized my mouth was full and swallowed. I didn’t want him to think I was lacking in manners. “You done already?”

  He eyed me over the rim of his cup. “Told you I wasn’t that hungry.”

  I stabbed a piece of tortilla and swirled it in some salsa. “Yeah, guess ya did.” I took a bite. “So how’d you get to that little gas station in the middle of nowhere?”

  He blinked at me and then slumped forward with a sigh, bracing his forearms on the table. “I hitched a ride and that’s where the guy left me.”

  “Where’d you hitch a ride from?”

  He chewed his lip. “California.”

  I smiled. “No way! That’s where I came from.”

  “Why were you in California?”

  I cleared my throat and focused back on my food, gauging whether I could shove any more of it into my stomach. “I . . . uh . . . was in college there.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You left North Carolina to go the whole way to California for college?”

  Yeah, I wasn’t hungry anymore. I dropped my fork on my plate, pushed it to the end of the table, and wiped my mouth with my napkin. “Yeah, dumb idea.”

  His furrowed brows were questioning.

  I took a deep breath. What did it matter if he knew? “I had a scholarship. Guess I’m pretty good at football and stuff. So when my coach in high school told me I was wanted at Granger University and they’d pay my way, I thought, okay then. So I went, but college wasn’t for me. I failed out, lost my spot on the team along with my scholarship, so now I’m coming home about thirty credits shy of a bachelor’s degree.”

  His face softened. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  I shrugged. “S’okay. I have work back home with my parents, so it’s no big deal.”

  “Are you okay working with your parents? Is that what you want to do?”

  “It’s nice to help out the family. Been doing it since I was a kid, so at least I know what I’m doing.”

  “So it’s easy.”

  “I guess.”

  He studied me and I resisted squirming, glad when the waitress came over with our bill and his attention was diverted.

  After we paid and as we were walking toward Butch, I squinted at him in the morning sun. “What did you do in California?”

  He darted his head toward me. “What?”

  “What’d you do in California?” I repeated. “Like, for a job?”

  He scuffed his shoes on the ground. “Oh, odd jobs here and there, whatever I
could find. Mostly bartending.”

  He didn’t look at me, and his voice was low, a little too low. And I wondered if he was telling the truth or if there was some deeper meaning to his words. When we reached Butch, I placed my hand on top of the passenger door, preventing him from opening it. His gaze jerked to mine. “Look,” I said. “I don’t really care what you did or where you’re going. That’s your business. We’re practically strangers. I just want to make sure you’re not mixed up in anything illegal. Anything that’s gonna blow back on me.”

  I held his gaze as he eyed me. His jaw muscles ticked, and his eyes hardened. I wondered if he was going to punch me. Or tell me to go to hell. But I held firm. Finally, his face softened and he blew out a breath. It coasted over my face, smelling like coffee and the strawberries he’d had at breakfast. “I’m not mixed up in anything illegal. There’s nothing to blow back on you.” And then, as if he needed me to know he wasn’t happy about that, he narrowed his eyes at me. “Happy now?”

  I smiled. I couldn’t help it. He looked cute all flustered and pissed off. I tongued the corner of my mouth. “Happy as a clam.”

  He rolled his eyes, but I saw the corner of his mouth twitch, like he was holding in a smile. He turned his back to me and tried to open the door, but I hadn’t moved my hand. He glared at me over his shoulder. “You going to let me in the car?”

  “It’s a Jeep.”

  “What?”

  “His name is Butch.”

  “You named your Jeep?”

  “Don’t you think he looks like a Butch?”

  Riley stared at me with one eyebrow raised. “What did I get myself into?” he muttered under his mouth.

  Which made me grin harder. “Hey, you’re the one who risked your life on the off chance I’m a serial killer and agreed to ride with me.”

  “And Butch.”

  I pointed a finger at him. “Now you’re learning.”

  He took a deep breath. “Okay, so can I get into Butch now?”

  I patted a rust spot and stepped back, performing a mock bow. “Of course.”

  He curtsied. Honest to God, he did a little curtsy to my bow. “Why thank you, Jeeves.” Then he winked at me and opened his door, slipping inside and shutting it behind him.