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“I’m Carol and this is my husband, Ron, we’re from Oklahoma” she says and sticks her hand out. I give up trying to pretend I’m sleeping and shake her hand.
“Hi, I’m Paul, from Texas,” I say, using my middle name the way I do to make reservations, or order coffee, or anything that requires someone to write down or repeat my name back to me.
“That’s our daughter Bailey and her son, Emmet.” She points down the row at a young woman with a small toddler on her lap.
“That’s Eric, he’s Emmet’s’ father,” she says with a small frown before she sits back.
The man she’s gesturing to is staring straight ahead like his life depends on it. He doesn’t say a word or look in our direction. His ticking jaw is the only indication that he heard her.
“They’re just friends.” Carol conspiratorial whispers aren't remotely discreet.
“We didn’t bring her up like that. Don’t get me wrong, we love the baby,” she says baby like it’s a bad word. “We would have liked her to get married first, of course, but kids these days do things their own way. In my day, a man like you wouldn’t be all alone on a shuttle, Are you single?”
“Mother, stop!” Bailey snaps.
“Why? Look at him.” She gestures at me with a wave of her hand. Her husband’s groan is one of long suffering.
“Honey, please,” he pets her arm.
Carol is undeterred. She leans over him and points a finger at her daughter, “If I was your age and single, I wouldn’t need my mother to make a move for me.”
Bailey leans forward bypassing her mother’s glare and looks at me.
“I’m gay. Eric is, too. We had a baby together because we’re just friends. I’m sorry my mother accosted you. She’s going to leave you alone, now.”
“Don’t worry. I’m used to it. Congratulations on the baby.” I smile with empathy. Then, I pop my earbuds in. If it’s rude. Oh well, these people are giving me a damn headache.
Traffic slows to a crawl as we approach San Lucas and my eyes drift closed.
I’m roused by the squeaking of brakes and the jostling of the vehicle moving off the main road “I thought this was a direct shuttle.” I say to the driver.
He laughs boisterously. “Direct shuttle doesn’t exist, and we always stop for the ladies,” he says and waggles his eyebrows at me through the rearview mirror.
I glance toward the stop. Two women stand one facing us, the other with her back turned. The sea breeze pulls the floral-patterned sundress she’s wearing snug and I can’t help but notice the very nice ass she’s sporting. I give her an appreciative once over. She’s wearing a huge hat on top of a long dark, curling mane of hair that moves with the wind. I get a flash of Deja vu. But it’s gone as quickly as it came and next to me Carol fidgets. “It’s full already,”
I’m glad she said it so I’m not the one who sounds like an asshole. The driver ignores her.
He flings the door open and jogs down the short staircase. “Buenos noches, Señoritas. You were told about our occupancy issue, correct?” His voice is booming, and theatrical.
“Yes, we know. It’s fine,” one of the women responds in a much more subdued tone. I pick up a hint of a French accent in her English.
He claps and jogs back up the upstairs, calling to the women over his shoulder, “Thenclimb aboard and pick a lap. You will find several willing. Am I right?” The four men on board, including the previously mute Eric, all give their fervent agreement. His chuckle is diabolical as he takes his seat again.
I’m glad they’re so eager.
The last thing I need is to have a sweaty stranger’s ass on my lap. No matter how nice it looks in her very pretty sundress.
The odds of escape aren’t in my favor.
I’m the biggest man on the cart, and closest to the door. One of them could sit down before the four eager beavers even get to make their offer.
Recoiling in dread, I pull my hat down over my eyes and slump in my seat as they climb up the short staircase. I hold my breath and pray they walk past me.
“Thank you for stopping,” the other woman, who’s accent is one of those that is free of identifying inflections. Not Southern, not east coast, not cali, not midwest. Just… perfect diction. The likes of which I’ve only encountered once before.
My heart skips a beat, and everything freezes.
I haven’t heard it in fifteen years, but I know, as sure as I breathe that voice belongs to Regan Wilde.
