Vern ventured out to the parking lot. Since there weren’t too many cars, he went to the restroom. When public places were too busy, sometimes he went into the women’s side and slid into a stall, locking it. No one had ever said anything to him about it, and it felt safer than using the men’s room. He feared getting beat up in the men’s room. But it was quiet enough for the moment. He went in the men’s side and used the urinals. Four units lined up along the wall with one lower to the ground on the far side. He used that one.
He pissed as fast as he could, then as he left, he practically ran into another man. “Oh, sorry. Sorry.”
“Hey, it’s okay.” The guy held his hands up and smiled. He seemed nice. Not threatening, which was a huge change for Vern. He was so used to being attacked by everyone he met, he’d come to expect people to be mean. Thankful it didn’t happen this time, he headed out of the bathroom quickly before the guy could change his mind.
Vern lingered around the rest area, not wanting to go anywhere else if he could get away with sleeping on a bench overnight.
“Hey. What’s going on?” The man he’d run into asked, approaching him. “Are you like lost or something?”
Vern shook his head. “Trying to get to Miami.”
“Oh. I’m going to Daytona. I can give you a ride there.”
Vern smiled. “Thanks, but I’m headed south.” He tried to be polite, since the guy hadn’t beat him up or called him any names. He didn’t want trouble.
“Listen. I know I’m going in the wrong direction, but if my next load is going south after dropping off in Daytona, I’ll take you. If not, you’ll still be on ninety-five. You have to get to ninety-five. It’ll still be faster than taking the back roads all the way to Miami, right? Sound like a deal?”
Vern went over to the map posted in the center of the rest stop. He ran his finger along the line indicating the highway. It didn’t appear faster for him, but it might still be better than walking, even it took him a little out of the way.
“I’m Lance.” He stuck his hand out, and Vern shook it. “You’re better off with me, anyway.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, I don’t want anything from you besides your company. Other guys, though? They might not be so nice.”
Vern shrugged. He was going with Lance, whether he wanted something from Vern or not. He questioned the guy’s motives, but he also trusted his gut, and it told him Lance was okay.
He followed Lance out to his truck. He’d never been in a big rig. He climbed up and dropped his bags on the floorboard in front of him before fastening his seat belt. He bounced in his seat and looked around. “This is pretty cool.”
“Yeah, sure. It’s all good. It’s my dad’s rig, you know? It’s natural for me to follow in his footsteps.” He tugged at his hat, nervously.
“I guess.” Vern pushed his glasses back up his nose. He wouldn’t know anything about following his father. He had no intentions of ever seeing his father again.
“What about you?”
“Uh, no, um. I’m going to Miami to be an actor.”
Lance cranked his beast of a truck up and shifted gears as he pulled away from the rest area. “Hm? Shouldn’t you go to California for that? Or New York or something?”
“Eventually, I guess. But, uh, they’re too far away.”
“Why Miami?”
“There’s a school.”
“Ah...I see.”
Lance didn’t understand at all, but as long as he didn’t ridicule him, didn’t attack him—Vern could hang out with him and feel somewhat secure.
They’d switched to Interstate Four, heading toward Daytona, and drove on until the sun had sunk below the horizon behind them. They stopped for burgers, and Lance went inside to get the food since he couldn’t take the rig through the drive-through.
The huge steering wheel took up damn near half the cab, and instrument readouts and dials lined the dash. Vern reached over and grabbed the keys hanging from the ignition. He screwed the neon-green bottle-opener key chain off of the ring and stuffed it in his backpack, hoping Lance wouldn’t notice. He wished he’d had something of the angel-demon to remember him by, but he’d been left with nothing but the memory. It’d have to be enough, but he vowed to have something of Lance and anyone else who helped him along the way going forward.
His angel-demon’s hair had been long and blond, and his muscles had been like Thor’s. He glowed, and his wings had fluttered when he came, making a soft rustling sound. He wished he’d had one of his feathers, but he couldn’t even think about plucking one. It would be like sacrilegious, or maybe the opposite...blasphemous? That didn’t sound right, either, but Vern knew what he meant, even if he couldn’t name it.
Lance opened the door and climbed into the cab. He handed over a bag with burgers and fries, then slid the drinks into the cup holders on the center console. “I hope you like Coke. Most kids do, right?”
“Sure. It’s fine.”
“What do kids like you drink besides Coke?” He held up his hands, questioning with mock curiosity.
“I’m eighteen.”
“Okay...”
“That’s what you were getting at, right? You wanted to know if I was still a minor?” Truthfully, he’d turned eighteen, celebrating all by himself during his midnight walk down a lonely road...only hours before meeting his guardian-whatever-the-hell-he was.
“Sort of. Maybe...”
“Well, I’m not.”
“Okay. Eat your burger.”
“Thanks.” Vern devoured the burger and fries, thankful it had been a large.
“I got an extra one. Here.” Lance handed him the extra burger, wrapped in tinfoil.
Vern hesitated for a second, but then grabbed it, his hunger winning out. No way could he refuse food. He was starving. It meant he would probably have to blow Lance later. What did that make him? A whore? If it turned out to be half as hot as his angel had been, he could get through it. If it meant one day of rest, of peace, of not being so damned hungry. He liked the guy enough, anyway. He would do whatever he needed to get where he wanted to go. Guess it did make him a whore. It would only be one time. He could live with it.
After he scarfed down the burger, he dozed a little with his head against the window.
“Hey!” Lance got his attention. “Why don’t you crawl back there and get some sleep.”
The tiny bed could hardly fit two people. “I’m not taking your bed, man.”
“It’s fine. I won’t be stopping to rest until we’re almost to Daytona. So, relax. Okay?”
“Okay.” Vern couldn’t resist a safe place to sleep any more than food. He had to take each moment as it came. It didn’t take much for him to fall asleep, and he felt well rested when Lance climbed up next to him sometime later.
“Is this okay. There’s enough room. If, uh...we’re close.”
“Yeah,” Vern whispered. “It’s fine.” He relished the nice, warm body holding him. A comfort he hadn’t had in a long time—so long he couldn’t remember. Maybe he’d never had it.
“Sure?”
“Yeah. It’s nice.”
They lay together in the dark, bodies pressed tightly together.
“Where are we?” Vern asked quietly.
“Outside of Daytona. At a rest stop.”
“Okay.”
“Go back to sleep.”
“Okay.” Vern snuggled up next to Lance. He smelled like tobacco and oak. Vern liked it, memorized it. He drifted in and out of sleep.
A warm hand ran up his back inside his shirt. Vern stirred but didn’t fully wake. A tug at his shirt.
“Lean up.”
Vern listened and let Lance pull his shirt off.
“Better?”
“Yeah.” They lay close, bare chests touching. Lance ran his hands over Vern’s bare skin. “Nice,” he murmured.
“Want more?”
“Mmm...”
“Whatever you want, Vern. Say stop, and I stop. Okay? I mean it. I
don’t have to do anything. You don’t owe me, but if you like it, we’re cool. Yeah?”
“Okay,” Vern said. He didn’t want Lance to stop. It felt too good. And when he unbuttoned Vern’s jeans, he liked it too. His dick loved it, showing its appreciation by waking up and taking notice. Maybe this whore thing wouldn’t be too bad.
Lance pushed Vern’s pants down, Vern wiggling the whole time, trying to help. Lance’s hands skimmed over his hips. His groan made Vern shiver. “Can I?” he asked.
“Please.” Vern’s word sounded like a moan. He wanted Lance to touch him desperately. Desire built inside him like a physical thing. He could almost reach inside and grab hold of it—the want—massage it, direct it. At Lance.
Vern thought he might explode when Lance’s fingers gripped his cock, but he didn’t. He thrust his hips, humping into Lance’s hand and feeling unlike anything he’d ever done. Sure, he’d jacked off before, but this? This was different. Better. “Oh, God!”
Lance laughed. “No. Not God, but I can see you like it.”
“Yes...”
“Good.”
Lance kissed down Vern’s neck, then flicked his tongue across his nipple. An unreal twinge excited him. Then he bit Vern’s nipple, nibbling and sending electric currents throughout his body. Lance gripped his cock tighter, sliding his hand through the sticky pre-cum. Vern bucked and moaned, his body releasing years of tension, and he came hard with stars shimmering behind his eyes.
He lay there relaxed for a moment. “Lance, uh...what do you want?”
“Nothing, Vern. I, uh...I came, too. It’s fine.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. Was nice. Hold on.” Lance rolled away and came back with a pack of baby wipes and used them to wipe them both up. Afterward, he pulled Vern close and held him tight. “This is nice.”
Vern had no arguments.
Lance dropped Vern off at a restaurant with some money. He’d said if he didn’t make it back by five, he wouldn’t be back. Vern didn’t wait. He tucked half the money in his shoe and shoved the rest in his front pocket, then started walking. The highway wasn’t too far away.
Soon enough, he stopped at one of those big truck-stop gas stations off an exit. Big rigs crowded one side of the pumps, and regular people circled the other. Inside, Vern bought a candy bar and headed to the trucker’s lounge.
He glanced at the clock on the wall to see five had already rolled away, and Lance would have discovered he’d left. If he’d even gone back for him. Vern doubted he had, but that still made him an asshole for not waiting. Lance had probably only said that because it made shit easier, and Lance was a nice guy.
Still, Vern had his key chain to remember him by, much like his mother’s locket. He didn’t know what made it so important to him, but he could figure it out in Miami.
He took out his journal and jotted down some notes. Things about Lance he didn’t want to forget. Things he hoped to have with someone else in the future—someone real. Lance still seemed like a dream, maybe an idea or aspiration Vern had made up. The first guy who’d ever treated him with respect. He was so different than Calvin and the other jerks from high school. The encounter almost made high school feel like the dream. In reality, Lance had wanted something from Vern like anyone else, but he’d been sweeter about getting it. He tucked his notebook back in his bag and sat back with his eyes closed, letting the world go on spinning around him.
“Hey. Hey, kid. You’re up.”
Vern opened his eyes. An older man, wearing a checkered shirt and wire-frame glasses stood beside him.
“What?” Vern asked.
“The shower call. It’s your go...” He pointed to the red lit numbers indicating whose turn came up for a shower with one hand and handed Vern a ticket with the other. “Go on. You look like you need it, young man.”
Vern snatched the ticket and headed toward the shower. “Thanks,” he called over his shoulder not questioning the generosity. He had learned quickly to take what he could and not look back. Maybe his luck with people was changing. First Lance, and now this?
Hot, steamy water sluiced over him, and the pressure pounded into his tired shoulders—exactly what he needed. Afterward, he looked for the guy who’d given him the spot but couldn’t find him anywhere. He bought a pastry and a Coke so he could sit in the lounge a little longer, hoping to be left alone, but he didn’t count on it.
True to expectations, it didn’t take long for someone to bug him. He must have some kind of metaphysical target on his back like a kick me sign everyone else but him could see.
The guy had dark hair peeking out from a wide-brimmed cowboy hat and dark glasses. “What’re you doin’ hangin’ round here?”
“Not bothering you.” Vern let his sarcasm act as a shield. Sometimes it worked. He hoped it would work on this guy, and he’d piss off.
“Yeah, you are.”
“Man...” Vern held up his hands, one of them still had a half-eaten pastry in it. “I’m sitting here, minding my own business, dude.”
“Where are your parents?”
“Hell, for all I know.”
The guy chuckled and smiled. His teeth were straight and looked very white in the midst of the dark scruff around his cheeks and chin. His clothes were rumpled as if he’d been wearing them a few days straight, and he was the one who needed a shower. “You know, ‘s not good for a kid to be all alone out here.” He circled his finger around in the air, indicating the truck stop.
“I’m not a kid. Good thing, huh?” Vern went back to his pastry, hoping the guy would take the hint.
He didn’t.
He sat on the bench next to Vern. “Hey. I’m lookin’ out for you.”
“Uh, excuse me, what?” Vern mumbled, licking sticky sugar from his fingers.
“There’s a lot of guys who would...not be so nice to someone like you hanging around here. I’m not one of them. I don’t like seeing that. Bullies and shit. You think it ends in high school?” he scoffed. “Wrong.”
Vern finished the last bite and took a swig of his Coke. “I can look out for myself.”
“Maybe we got off on the wrong foot. I’m Randy.” He held his hand out.
Vern inspected it as if grabbing it could electrocute him or something, but it was only a hand like any other. A little grimy around the nails but generally presentable with a strong grip when Vern shook it. “Okay. I’m Vick.”
“Vick, huh?”
“Yeah, Vick.” Vern narrowed his eyes, challenging Randy to question him on it.
“Okay. Vick. So, honestly, what’re you doin’ here? It worries me to see a guy like—”
“Like me what? You said that before. What do you mean? A guy like me?”
“Little. Lookin’ young and vulnerable, and those big eyes begging to be taken advantage of. The eyes say a lot, Vick.”
Vern snorted. “I can take care of myself.”
“So you said.”
“Yeah. I said.” He focused on the last of his soda, wishing he hadn’t drunk it so fast and wondering why he attracted these men.
“I don’t mean you any harm. I’m trying to be nice. I’ve seen other young guys like you, and they’ve been abused. They’ve disappeared.”
“Are you a cop?”
Randy shook his head, and his hat shook too. He wasn’t a bad looking guy.
“A priest?”
“I drive a truck,” he answered with another shake of the head and a chuckle. His smile made him come across as genuine.
“What kind of a truck?”
“Now I feel like you’re shakin’ me down, Vick. You shakin’ me down?”
Vern couldn’t help his smile. “No. I’m making conversation. You’ve heard of it? Conversation? Take off your shades.”
The smile slid off the trucker’s face, and he slowly pulled the sunglasses off, more like a seduction than a change of accessories. His eyes were dark with dark eyebrows, and they looked into Vern as if they saw all the way to his soul. “Better?”
“Yeah.” Vern let his hand rest gently on Randy’s knee, taking a chance, but Randy seemed sincere and interested and maybe safer than some of the other men would be. A weird tingling fluttered in his chest, his throat, his hands...when he focused on it, the warm feeling wrapped over his entire body. He didn’t know what it meant, but it moved him, gave him confidence. Vern took control. “Better. You can tell a lot by a guy’s eyes, Randy. You know?”
“I think I said somethin’ like that to you, earlier.”
“Maybe I believed you.” Vern slid into a role. What better place to test his acting skills.
Randy smiled. “I drive a big rig. It’s gassed up and ready to go.” He thumbed toward the door to the side of the building leading out to where the eighteen-wheelers lined up for gas or parked for the night.
“Are you headed south?” Vern asked.
“Yeah. Miami. I have a stop in Cocoa on the way.”
“Well then, you’re in luck, Hero.”
Randy’s mouth quirked up on the side. Not quite a smile. “How do you figure?”
“I’m going to Miami. I can keep you company. Yeah? What do you think?”
Randy crossed his arms over his chest. His shirt sleeves bunched up around his vest. Vern wouldn’t mind seeing Randy out of his clothes. This wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe it would be like Lance or better—like his angel.
“You’re assuming I want that, Vick.”
“Don’t you?”
“You think I’m gay?” He threw the words out there hard and fast, making Vern think twice. Randy might be a bit more dangerous than he looked. If he didn’t want Vern sexually, he could be more interested in killing him.
Vern grabbed his bags and moved to leave. “Never mind,” he muttered.
“Hey.” Randy grabbed his shirt. “Relax. It’s all right. I’ll give you a ride—I mean I’ll take you to Miami.”
Vern looked up at him, questioning. Had he meant that as a joke? Vern hadn’t had a lot of experience deciphering innuendo. He didn’t have a script, had to trust his gut. He wondered if it knew more than he did, but he couldn’t lose faith now.
“You look scared. I’m not going to hurt you, Vick. Not ever. I wouldn’t. I only wanted to help you. So let me get you safely to Miami. Okay? That’s all.”
Demon or Angel (Age of Exilum Book 1) Page 8
