She sweeps the shredded napkin aside. “Sometimes there’s more to life than just loving what you do. Sometimes you have to do things in order to make it through life.”
“Yeah, but you only live once, right? And why not do something that makes you happy?”
“It’s more complicated than that,” she says, scratching her head, giving me a glimpse of the cross and Survivor tattoo on her forearm. “What about you?”
I don’t like where this conversation is going. “What about me?”
She props her elbows on the table. “What do you want to do with your life?”
I reach for a mozzarella stick to busy myself and hush the emotions stirring inside me. “Drift.”
She’s unamused. “I’m being serious, Tristan.”
“So am I.” I stuff the entire mozzarella stick into my mouth then give her my best grin. “I’ve always wanted to be a drifter.”
“Fine, don’t tell me.” Her shoulders hunch as she slouches back in the seat. “But everyone wants to be something, Tristan. Now, whether they do that is a whole different story, but everyone wants something.”
I want you. “You might be overestimating the human race.”
“Nah, I know you want something and sooner or later, you’ll discover it yourself if you haven’t already, and then you’ll tell me.”
“You seem so sure of yourself,” I say smugly. “And so sure of my trust in you.”
She matches my smug grin as she leans over the table and I get a straight view down her shirt. “Oh, I am.”
I have the strongest urge to move closer to her, slide my hands across her breasts, feel her soft skin, taste her lips just like the night in the alleyway.
“And P.S.,” she says with a cocky grin. “You have cheese on your chin.” She reclines back in her seat as she taps her finger against her chin. “Right here.”
I dab my chin with a napkin. “Ha, ha, you’re a fucking riot. How long have I had it on there?”
“Just a couple of minutes.”
I shake my head. “What else aren’t you telling me? Do I have sauce on my face? Stuff in my teeth?”
She smiles, but there’s a trace of sadness to it. “Actually there’s a lot I’m not telling you.” Before I can ask her what she means by that, Avery throws a napkin at my face. “The cheese is still on there,” she chuckles. “You need me to get it off for you?”
I consider her offer but then decide that her touching me might not be the best idea. “No, I can get it myself.”
I wipe the cheese from my chin with the napkin. What is she not telling me? By the look on her face when she said it, I’m guessing a lot of complex and personal stuff. And it stings because she knows more about me than most, even in the short time we’ve spent together.
She never gives me a chance to try to pry into her life some more though, because she keeps the rest of the conversation light. Talking about school. Asking me questions about Wyoming. Telling me about fun places to go around here. By the time we’re pulling back up to the motel, I’ve almost forgotten why she picked me up in the first place.
“Thanks for this,” I tell her as I open the door. “And I mean that. I needed to get out of that motel room and out of my own head.”
“Anytime,” she replies then genuinely smiles. “And I mean that. If you need me at all Tristan, you can call me. In fact, I think we should exchange numbers.”
Our friendship feels official as we trade cellphones to type in our contact information. I smile as I hand her phone back to her and she returns my elation. But I want more. I want to ask her to come inside, stay a little longer, continue talking because it makes everything so much easier. But fearing she’ll say no, I climb out of the car.
“See you tomorrow?” she calls out as I’m getting ready to shut the door.
“Yeah, see you tomorrow. I never should have missed so much work in the first place.”
The biggest and most beautiful smile I have ever seen graces her face. “Good.” She bites on her lip, letting her gaze linger on me before she blinks and shoves the shifter into reverse.
I close the door and watch her as she backs away, unable to look away until she’s pulled out onto the road and the Jeep is out of sight. Then I turn to go into the motel room, but slam to a halt when I spot my neighbor hurrying in my direction.
His eyes are glazed over and he keeps scratching at his frail arms. “Hey Tristan, you got that stuff I told you to hold for me?”
I blink at him. “What stuff?”
He stops in front of me, reeking of cigarette smoke, B.O., and ripe garbage. “That stuff that I gave you the other night.” His paranoid gaze darts around the parking lot, to the main office, and then to the nearby room doors before landing back on me. “I gave it to you to hold for me because I was worried about the cops. You said you would guard it like it was your life until I needed it again. And I want it back now.”
Fucking shit. God dammit. Why? Why? Why? How do I always end up in these messes?
“Yeah, look… about that.” I flex my fingers, feeling tense because I know whatever I say isn’t going to make the situation any better. “I was pretty drunk that night and I honestly can’t remember anything that happened.”
He blinks confusedly. “So… Where are my drugs?”
I shrug. “Gone.”
His eyelids lower as he narrows his eyes while his hand stops scratching and balls into a tight fist. “Gone where?”
“Probably in the sewer system.” I glance at the motel room, wondering if Nova and Quinton are home and if they’re watching this scene unfold. If they are, they probably think I’m trying to score drugs, like I used to do all the time.
He inches toward me, and part of me wants to match his move, intimidate his scrawny crackhead ass. Then I remember how many times I nearly got killed over drug disputes. All those months of getting my ass beat and I wasn’t happy. And while I’m not necessarily happy right now, I feel decent after spending time with Avery. And I’m not ready to lose that feeling yet, so I decide to try to smooth the situation over, be smart for once.
“I can pay you for it,” I tell him, even though I have hardly any money. “How much do I owe you? Like a hundred?” I’m basing my calculations on how much crystal was in that bag.
His expression darkens. “Five hundred.”