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My eyes move in time with each chug of the staggering rig, scanning the empty lot for more suits or anyone else who might have seen. But there’s nothing.
Just rain.
And her.
My impulse plan to intervene didn’t include those big, dangerously blue eyes of hers. Or that chest… Milky and soft under the torn collar of her shirt. Even in the dim glow of the cab, I can see at a glance that she’s not your everyday waitress.
She’s fucking perfect.
Don’t! Just don’t even think it… drop her someplace before the border and cash out. Get the fuck outta dodge and do it alone, cowboy.
“Are you hurt?” I ask her gruffly, “Are you hurt!?” I growl louder.
Her head vibrates in the negative but I need to hear her say it. I need her to tell me she’s not hurt.
I need to know I’ve got her in time. That she’ll be safe now. Plus, I want her just as perfect as the moment I saw her.
“I- I’m alright… I dunno where you came from, Mister. But you saved my ass. I owe ya one!” She exclaims nervously. Her mouth chattering at a million miles a minute, still amped up from her ordeal.
But she’s safe. She’s unhurt.
And she’s mine…
Oh no ya don't! Don't start with that again!
I can feel her eyes on me the whole time though, with mine stealing little sidelong glances of her shape once we’re moving at a speed slightly quicker than sitting duck.
Aware of how calm I feel despite everything, it’s too easy to pick up on her fear. But there’s something else… Something about her that I can’t figure out.
Almost as if she wasn’t too surprised to see her would-be captors.
Maybe waitress here has a past, just like you… And maybe like the past, I should keep it where it belongs.
We drive in silence, save for her rapid breaths that eventually die down. She’s hugging her elbows and dissolving into the corner of the cab for a few miles before it clicks that I’m not gonna do anything she doesn’t want me to.
“You got a name?” She asks, almost accusingly. Breaking the silence.
“Nope.” I reply dryly. Gripping the wheel harder, forcing my eyes front. My foot heavy on the gas to make up for the time lost already.
Christ, she’s got the voice of an angel… I could listen to her speak all day…
“I’m Petra,” She murmurs, making my brow knit.
“Peter?” I ask, making a face. Pivoting my head in disbelief.
“Pet-ra…” She explains, the same way she probably has a thousand times to people who don’t know. But it’s enough to make her smile just a little.
Her tiny white teeth like pearls in the light of the dash, glowing like a jukebox on the date we’re never gonna have.
Because she's a damned kid and she’s getting off at the next town… Remember!?
I murmur a grunt. But having a word to describe how she makes me feel only makes it worse. Or better…
Petra.
Strange name, but who am I to talk? Fake names and IDs Phony everything except the cash I have stacked safely someplace private. Cash I can use to start over once my debt’s repaid. Once this run’s finished.
That’sthe worldIlive in. So if she wants to call herself Peter, Petra or punkin’head that’s her business.
