I climb into my truck, and she’s got her feet up on the dash. She’s looking out her window, avoiding eye contact with me. I don’t want her to feel awkward. That’s the last thing I want. I reach over and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “You okay?”
She nods, but the nod is stiff, and so is she, and so is her smile. “I live next to Cefco.”
That gas station is almost two miles away. She told me earlier she lived close by, but two miles at midnight isn’t close. “Cefco off Bellview?”
She shrugs. “I think so. I can’t remember all the street names. I just moved here today.”
That explains why she isn’t familiar to me. I want to say something like, “Where’d you come from? What brings you to town?” But I say nothing, because she seems to want me to say nothing.
Two miles only takes two minutes when there’s no traffic, and two minutes isn’t all that long, but it sure does feel like an eternity when you’re spending it in a truck with a girl you almost fucked. And it wouldn’t have been a good fuck. It most certainly would have been a quick, sloppy, selfish, couldn’t-have-been-good-for-her fuck.
I want to apologize, but I’m not sure what I’d be apologizing for, and I don’t want her to think I regret it. The only thing I regret is that I’m taking her home and not to my house.
“I live there,” she says, pointing at Paradise Apartments.
I don’t come to this part of town very often. It’s in the opposite direction of my house, so I rarely drive down this road. I honestly thought they condemned this place.
I pull into the parking lot, and I intend to kill the engine and open her door for her, but she’s already out of the truck before I even get it turned off.
“Thanks for the ride,” she says. “And . . . for the coffee.” She closes the door and spins around like that’s how we’re supposed to part.
I open my door. “Hey. Wait.”
She pauses but waits to turn around until I’ve reached her. She’s hugging herself, chewing on her lip, scratching nervously at her arm. She looks up at me. “You don’t have to say anything.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean . . . I know what that was.” She waves a hand at my truck. “You don’t have to ask for my number, I don’t even have one.”
How does she know what that was? I don’t know what that was. My mind is still trying to process it. Maybe I should ask her. “What was that? What does it mean? Can it happen again?”
I’m in uncharted territory. I’ve had one-night stands before, but things were discussed and agreed to prior to the sex. And it’s always happened in a bed, or something close to it.
But with her, the make-out just happened, and then it was interrupted, and it was in an alley of all places. I feel like an asshole.
I have no idea what to say. I don’t know where to put my hands because I feel like I should be hugging her goodbye, but it seems like she doesn’t want me near her now. I slip my hands into the pockets of my jeans. “I want to see you again.” It’s not a lie.
Her eyes flicker from mine to her apartment building. “I’m not . . .” She sighs, and then she just says, “No, thank you.”
She says it so politely, I can’t even be upset.
I stand in front of her apartment building and watch her walk away until she goes up the stairs and into an apartment and I can’t see her anymore. And even then, I stay in the same spot because I think I’m shocked or, at the least, jarred.
I don’t know her at all, but I find her more intriguing than anyone else I’ve met in a long time. I want to ask her more questions. She never even answered the one question I asked about her life. Who the hell is she?
Why do I feel the need to find out more about her?
CHAPTER SEVEN
KENNA
Dear Scotty,
When they say it’s a small world, they aren’t kidding. Tiny. Miniscule. Overcrowded.
I’m only telling you this because I know you can’t actually read these letters, but I saw Ledger’s truck tonight and I thought I was going to cry.
Actually, I was already crying because he said his name and I realized who he was and I was kissing him and I felt so guilty, so I embarrassingly ran outside and almost had a panic attack.
But yeah. That damn truck. I can’t believe he still has it. I still remember the night you pulled up in it to take me on our first date. I laughed because it was such a bright orange that I couldn’t understand what kind of person would willingly choose that color.