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“Wasn’t there someone you could’ve called?”
“Nope,” she chirps. “I’m new, remember?”
“You don’t know anyone?”
She hits me with that smile again, and I expect rainbows and glitter to shoot out of her eyes on laser beams. “I know you.”
Not possible. I did everything but change my name when I went off the grid.
I take a deep swallow from the mug in front of me. “Nope,” I say as I wipe my mouth. “You don’t know me. I don’t know you.”
She drops her shoulder and leans into me. “Emily, remember? And you’re Jack.” She points at the stool beside her. “We met a few minutes ago when I was sitting over there.” Amusement dances in her eyes. “Did you forget? Maybe I should have you cut off.”
I drain my mug. “No need.” I stand and yank my wallet from my back pocket and pull out a few bills to toss on the bar. “I’m outta here, sweetheart.”
Her smile dims as she grabs my arm. Her pale hand looks stark against my sun-burnished forearm. “Please don’t go. I really don’t know a soul here. I’ve come a long way, and I really don’t want to be alone.”
“Look, sorry to disappoint, but I’m not good company.”
She rolls her lips and her brows lift as she scans the near-empty room. When she looks back at me, she’s still smiling, but only a fraction as wide as when she’d first arrived. “All things considered; you’re my best option.”
I’m no one’s best option these days but given the three drunks lining the bar and O’Brien, who keeps sneaking peeks at Little Miss Sunshine between innings of the Mets-Phillies game on the TV above the bar, she isn’t wrong.
“Stay and eat with me.” Her eyes grow bigger and rounder. “I’ll buy you dinner.”
“The food here sucks.”
She shrugs. “Beggars can’t be choosers.”
“No need to beg.” I tuck my wallet into my back pocket and decide that the minute I get the chance, I’m kicking my own ass.
“C’mon. Least I can do is take you somewhere that the food won’t make you sick.”
TWO
JACK
The sun has set, but the day’s heat radiates off the stucco walls of O’Brien’s and rises from the cracked macadam. I don’t need shades, but I slip them on anyway. They’re another layer between me and the rest of the world.
Emily hesitates, not knowing which piece of crap belongs to me. I place my hand against the small of her back and guide her toward my Ford F-150 pickup. The truck is older than me, but it gets me back and forth to work. It’s not like I’m going anywhere else.
“Over here,” I say. “The red truck.”
I feel the urge to apologize for the shitmobile, but before I can decide if I will or not, she’s skipping up to the door. “A pickup truck! I’ve always wanted one,” she gushes. “I’d paint it pink and put the name of my farm on the doors.” She holds up her hands, framing my truck as if she’s imagining its reincarnation. “And I’d paint my name right under the window so that everyone would know who I am.”
“You have a farm?”
“Not yet, but someday.” Her smile grows wistful.
She has no home and is staying in the shittiest motel in the city. She doesn’t own a vehicle of any kind, let alone a pickup truck, and it appears she’s also jobless. She should be as miserable as I am, but instead, she’s bubbly and bouncy as I unlock the door and she climbs up into my truck. I’d think she was on something if her eyes weren’t so clear and bright.
She’s probably a little off her rocker.
“I can’t find the clicky thing for the seatbelt,” she says after I get in on my side.
“Don’t usually have anyone riding with me.” I lean toward her and jam my hand into the space next to her hip and catch a whiff of vanilla with a hint of something floral. My dick twitches, and I inhale deeper.
She swivels toward me, watching me fish out the seatbelt, and in the process, exposes her creamy, white neck. I fight to keep my head from dropping to her shoulder like a fucking creep.
