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She straightens, and the stranger smiles.
“Kyson, it’s good to see you.” The husband offers him his hand, and Kyson looks at it like it might burn him. The cogs are turning in his head—should he or shouldn’t he—but then he reaches out and shakes it before he pulls back and slides his hand into his pocket.
“Congrats are in order, I guess,” Kyson says.
“Yes, now if you would excuse me, I need to take my wife.” The husband looks behind him at someone else, clearly wanting his wife away from Kyson. Not that I blame him. Kyson is very attractive. Cocky as well.
“Be careful with that one…” Kyson’s jaw clenches. “She’s feisty.”
The bride pales at his words, and I stand there smiling as the newlyweds walk off with a single, worry-filled backward glance from the bride.
Then he says, “You.” Kyson is in front of me. Way too close for comfort. “Do you sneak into weddings often?”
I go to turn away, but he catches my wrist, and I pale. He should not be touching me. Quickly, before I can even think, I lift my foot and kick out, landing a direct hit on my intended target—the spot between his legs. He drops my hand and cups his balls, and before I even worry about possible consequences, I’m hurrying out of there.
His eyes track me, but I don’t care.
I need out.
I shouldn’t have come.
But I was hungry.
And hunger makes you do silly shit.
“Miss…” one of the dreary-suited guys with a walkie-talkie calls out. I don’t stop until I’m outside, where I kick these ridiculous shoes off and start running.
This is something I have experience with. I ran away from my hometown months ago, but I had money then. I swear I did. But when you can’t find a job and don’t want to give the government any personal information, you run and you hide, and now steal.
Is it really stealing, though? Especially if they have the means to replace it.
Because I don’t—
Okay, yes, it is stealing. But I do try to justify it to myself, not that it works well, but I have figured out an easy way to get a full stomach.
And the best place to steal food? Weddings.
This is my third wedding this week, and I’m lucky I haven’t gotten caught.
Until him.
I don’t know him.
And I’m not sure I want to.
Kyson is a mystery and one that can fuck right off. I have enough shit happening in my life—I don’t want nor need the worry of a man.
I manage to make it back to the shitty-ass motel I’m staying in and fall onto the bed. All the money I had left has gone into this place, which means I have no money for food. At the time, a place to stay seemed way more important than food.
I’m not sure I was right.
But I have this place for another few days, which gives me time to find another job. The problem is that it’s incredibly difficult to find someone to hire you when you don’t have references or a permanent address. I guess I could put this motel down, but then I leave a trace, and if he finds out where I am…
Well, let’s just say I have to sleep with a knife under my pillow, and it’s not just because of the neighborhood.
This neighborhood is not good—it’s why the nightly rates are so cheap. Next door there is a strip club, and I’ve spoken to a few girls who work there as they came out for a cigarette break. I’ve dabbled with the idea of getting a job there.
The thing is, though, I’m not built like them.
