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“No.”
“Then why do you need the address?” His tone is cold and I know he’s seconds away from hanging up in my face.
“I’m looking for a job.” I spit out and he goes silent again.
“Age?”
“What?”
“Your age.”
“Twenty one.”
“Height?”
“Five six.”
“Hair color?”
“Black.”
“You’re available to come right now?”
I look at where the gas needle is sitting on my dashboard. Empty. “Yes.”
“Good. We’re sixty miles outside of Blythe. You’ve got an hour and a half.” He gives me the address and hangs up without saying anything further.
I reach under my seat and pull out my emergency twenty dollar bill—the only money I have left, and make a mental note to pick up my last check from Starbucks later.
Knowing that there are only three gas stations in Blythe, I head for the cheapest one and pull up to the pump. Just like in New Jersey, the gas pumps aren’t self-serve so I have to wait for an attendant to come out of the store and do it for me.
No one comes.
Three minutes pass.
Still no one.
I honk my horn as hard as I can, and then I see a shirtless man walking towards my car in the rearview mirror. Instead of coming to my window first and taking my money, he pops open the tank and places the pump inside.
Annoyed, I roll my window down and stick my head out. “I’m only paying for ten dollars’ worth so please don’t think you’re doing me any favors.”
He looks up and slowly pushes his shades off his face, revealing a pair of deep blue eyes.
Carter.
What the hell is he doing here?
If it wasn’t for the fact that I have somewhere to be, or the fact that I swore not to have sex with anyone in Blythe, I would be stepping out of my car and trying to seduce the shit out of him.
In broad daylight.
He steps closer to my window with his eyebrow raised and smiles at me. “You need to get your brakes fixed.”
“You need to finish pumping my gas.” I hand him the money. “I never thought you’d be a gas station attendant.”
“I’m not,” he says. “I’m helping a hometown friend. And you don’t have to pay for the gas, it’s on the house.”
I glance at his sweaty chest for a second and look into his eyes again. “You may want to reconsider that. I need ten back.”
He gives me another swoon-worthy smile and softly pushes my hand away.
“I missed seeing you at Starbucks yesterday.” He leans down, bringing his face at level with mine, showing off his full and defined lips. He presses his hand against my face and softly brushes his thumb against my cheek. “I went three separate times...Did you quit or did they get smart and fire you?”
“They fired me.”
“Shocking. Did your friend give you my note?”
“She did.”
“Do you know how to read?”
“Your handwriting was too terrible.”
He grins and moves his face even closer—so close that we’re nearly lip to lip. “Am I going to have to chase you, Emerald?” He stresses every syllable of my name. “I will.”
I can’t think of anything sarcastic to fire at him because for whatever reason, my heart is racing and I’m pretty sure he just made me wet.
“I’m looking forward to it,” he says as he steps away.
He taps the gas nozzle against the edge of my tank as he pulls it out, and then he pats the back of my trunk—signaling for me to drive off.
I don’t hesitate to speed away, but I glance in my rearview mirror to get one last look at him—watching him smile as he slides his shades over his face again.
Damn...
I speed off towards the backstreets of Blythe and follow the directions I’ve scribbled on the back of a receipt.
Turning the radio up, I groan as the sound of country music blasts through my speakers. I have yet to get used to that twangy-yodeling and I doubt I ever will.
As I cruise down the open lanes, I notice that there’s not much to see on my left or my right—just barren fields and a small wooden house here or there. Up ahead I see what appears to be a herd of cows grazing in the grass; one of them lifts his head and moos when I get closer.
I honk at him and throw up my middle finger.
Satisfied that I’ve shown him who’s boss, I turn off the radio and decide to listen to the sound of my tires against the street for the rest of the drive. Even that sounds better than country music.
An hour and twenty minutes later, I find myself outside of a colossal black building. It’s hidden behind a clove of trees and a random brick wall with climbing ivy.
There’s no sign on the outside that says anything about it being The Phoenix, but this has to be it.
