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As we approached Constantine’s ridiculously shiny vehicle, Justin lifted his chin in greeting and gave me a roughish smile. Surprisingly, it reached his pretty blue eyes.
He was a cutie too; I’d give him that. I normally didn’t find guys with long hair attractive, but Justin was an exception. The tattoos helped. He was leaning against the hood of the Hummer with a nearly smoked-down blunt that smelled potently dank clasped between two of his shaded fingers.
I was positive there was some kind of safety regulation about smoking right next to a gas pump, but I wasn’t going to be the one to point out the obvious.
“What’s up?”
“I need you to drive Earl’s truck back. I’m taking her home.”
“Alright, the keys in it?” Justin directed the question at me.
“Yeah,” I replied, stealing a look at his face.
“I’ll get it there then.” He brushed by us with a wink aimed at me, not seeking a better explanation, or voicing any complaints.
I gnawed the inside of my cheek and watched him go. “Is he going to be okay to drive that?”
“Unless it finally combusts on the side of the road, he’ll be okay.”
“Finally?”
He chuckled and led me the rest of the way to the Hummer. I shot him a glare. “I think your privilege is talking. And honestly? it’s not a good look.”
“I see someone has a problem with constructive criticism.” I could tell by his tone he was trying not to smile.
“I don’t think you know what that means.”
He released my hand and opened the passenger-side door for me. I approached the bar that would help me get into the passenger seat, my stomach flipping when he lightly touched the center of my back to make sure I cleared it.
I settled against the leather, trying not to laugh when Justin pulled Rusty perpendicular to us and began to roll the driver-side window down, his hand rotating in rapid circles.
“I’ll be just a second.” Constantine shut my door and walked over to his brother. As the two began to talk, I took the liberty of looking around.
The stark difference between Rusty’s interior and this one almost made me begin to feel bad for Justin. It was like a spaceship in here. There was a screen in the center and another just behind the steering wheel. Cool air blew from the vents, circulating the lingering notes of Constantine’s woodsy cologne.
I one-handedly buckled my seatbelt and peered into the backseat. There was a partially unzipped duffel bag on the floor behind the driver’s seat.
At first glance, I didn’t think anything of it, but then I looked again. Hedge clippers, which admittedly wasn’t anything shocking. The rusted chains, a box of nails, and a padlock were questionable. As was the 12-inch saw-backed machete resting on top of all those things. It was the oddest combination of stuff. I may not have gotten out much, but I knew most people wouldn’t normally ride with that in their backseat.
I twisted around and looked out the passenger window, pretending I didn’t see that both Moretto brothers were watching me through the windshield. From my peripheral, I saw them look at one another. Constantine said something that made Justin laugh, and then he pulled off. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what. I was still staring out the window, sipping on my drink with feigned disinterest in my surroundings when Constantine slipped into the driver’s seat.
“Are you okay?”
“Mhm,” I hummed, around my straw.
He didn’t say anything more. With one hand casually resting on his steering wheel, he pulled away from the pumps. I immediately noticed Justin was already long gone. As Constantine pulled out of the parking lot, I wondered how fast he was going. There was but a blimp of Rusty’s taillights visible, steadily getting further away.
Silence stretched between us, and darkness replaced the vibrant lighting of the petrol station. I did my best not to openly stare, pretending to be interested in the wheatfield that ran alongside the long winding road. Thanks to the Hummer’s soft interior lighting I was able to study him through the reflection in my window.
He had really nice lips. I wasn’t sure of his ethnicity exactly, but it’d always been obvious he wasn’t Caucasian.
I bounced between admiring how good he looked and debating if I should mention his homicidal goodie bag. As curiosity ate away at me, I told myself it was nothing. There was a logical explanation for it being there that was no concern of mine.
For as hot as he’d look wielding a machete, Constantine wasn’t dangerous. He was one of the town’s golden boys. Even if I personally didn’t fully buy into that, the majority did. I’d always thought there was something about him at odds with it. Of course, I could be off by a long shot considering we’d hardly ever spoken.
