Page 44 of Detour

He finally unfolds his arms only to adjust his hat, facing it backward. The move strikes me as a nervous tic but that doesn’t make any sense. Why would he care whether I was home or not?

The little scruff on his face makes him look utterly adorable—as adorable as a 6’6” man can be— added with his lips turned down and I have to fight the urge to laugh. I pity his future daughters already. And he will have daughters. Only the baddest of boys get rewarded with daughters. It’s the most surefire way to make them pay for their transgressions. To spend their life trying to protect their daughters from the same indiscretions they themselves committed to others. It’s genius, really.

Obviously, my dad chose to skip his penance altogether by ignoring my existence from the start.

“I’m not the only one, you know? We were worried.”

His forest green shirt reads Ride The Beast and I wonder, not for the first time, if he has a monthly subscription of tacky motorcycle shirts made just for giants like him.

A throat clearing has both our heads turning. Coty, jacket unzipped and hanging open with his helmet propped under an arm, approaches us with eyes glued to his roommate’s. Beckett breaks into a grin, bringing his gaze back to me though.

“Looks like you found her after all.”

My eyes shift between them, confusion wracking my brain. Apparently, neither feels inclined to elaborate further though because all they do is play a round of The Topic’s Lava, refusing to even touch the subject.

“Well, I’m home now. Thanks for the concern?”

A chuckling Beckett leaves, giving us some privacy.

Coty meets me at my door instead of going to his own like I knew he would.

He leans his arms against my doorjamb, taking up the frame like I hoped he would. I peruse his body, from his badass boots up his ripped jeans to the all-black jacket over his plain tee. How does he always make simple outfits look so damn attractive? His lips remind me of our sweet kiss made even sweeter by the candy we’d eaten. I reach his mocha swirl eyes that are already on mine. He was watching me check him out.

He’s too tempting and I’m a mess. He’s beautiful and I’m defective. I don’t want to risk corrupting him which is why I close the door softly after a whispered goodbye.

Light and easy.

He’s like a fantasy slowly consuming me while I’m living a nightmare I can’t seem to purge. Yet.

I hear a soft, “goodnight, Angela,” followed by the distinct click of a door closing across the hall.

Hitting repeat on “Head Above Water” by Avril Lavigne, I jump in the shower, hoping to scrub off today’s residue. I scrub my body like a criminal cleaning their crime scene. No fingerprints left behind. No trace—visible or otherwise—of Joe’s touch to be found, I clean my body again. And again. And again. I scour my skin, wishing a new layer would form in its place with each brush. My vulnerability combined with the vigorous cleansing leaves me feeling raw and exposed.

With scalding water pounding my chest, I lean my head against the wall, breathing through my mouth. The steam coats my throat like the heat steeping my skin. A hiccup escapes followed by another, then another.

I stay there until the water runs cold. Until Joe is no longer a phantom haunting my disinfected form.

My head, however, is a different story.

CHAPTER 18

Angela

Predictably, the car wash doesn’t need my help for the next few days, giving me time to look for another job. After my lengthy shower the other night, a plan began to form. One where I take matters into my own hands before they can fall into anyone else’s.

Not wanting Coty to know what I’m up to, or why, I’ve been going to the library to use the computers. Ever since seeing that wedding, I look forward to coming here now. I even checked out some books about ethics in the workplace. Spoiler alert! Hot Shots is failing—miserably.

Drew calls one day as I’m leaving.

“Where are you? I don’t see your car.”

“Where are you?” My heart jumps to my throat, thinking he’s at the wash.

“At your apartment. I wanted to see if I could talk you into some Chinese tonight.”

“Oh.” My pulse steadies. “I’m driving there now. I…had some errands.” It’s true. Mostly. “Can we go to my place again?”

Drew groans dramatically. “Last time their sweet and sour chicken was so dry I almost choked.”