Finding A Way

by T. E. Black

  I fish out my iPod and plug the auxiliary cable into the truck’s stereo. I scroll through my music. Mac lets out a loud groan from the driver's side.

  "You better not set my ear drums on fire with shitty music, Red."

  I hold in a chuckle, looking for the most feminine song in my library I can find. I have to have a little fun with him. After all, he insulted me last night, and although I'm over it, payback's still a bitch.

  I can't contain my excitement when I see I still have John Mayer's “Your Body is a Wonderland” saved on it. I tap the screen, hitting play, and the lyrics pour through the truck’s speakers. I watch Mac's reaction turn humorous. He flicks his head in my direction, letting out a hearty, deep laugh.

  "John Mayer, really? I haven't heard this song in a long ass time."

  Dammit. He doesn't even seem to mind. What kind of self-respecting man would listen to this? I mean, I just love old music otherwise I probably wouldn't listen to it myself. I let a scowl take over my face, searching for another song. I will get you, Mac.

  As I'm scrolling, I catch sight of what may be Mac's male demise, and I actually scream a little inside. Time to pull out the big guns. I tap play, and Patrick Swayze’s “She's Like The Wind” plays. I figure for the full effect, I might as well lip sing the lyrics to him and make some obscene hand gestures at him. All is fair in love and war.

  I look over, seeing a very anxious Mac trying to bite his tongue, and not complain about my music choice. At least he's not a total cry baby. He hasn't looked my way yet, so I lean over a little farther, motioning with my finger in a “come here” motion. He catches my movement out of the corner of his eye and glances over to look at me. His face is telling all right now as he lets out a laugh while I attempt to perform a full on ballet routine in the small cab of the moving truck. I try to twirl my body for added effect, but the seat belt crushes that dream.

  After my pathetic attempt to audition for Juilliard, he reaches for the volume knob, turning off the sweet sounds of Patrick's voice.

  "Okay, you win. I can’t listen to that shit for one more second without handing ya my balls on a silver platter, but that was an impressive performance. The sway in your hips is pretty damn seductive." He smiles at me with an amused look, and I laugh to myself, curling my legs underneath me on the leather seat.

  The more I listen to him talk, the more I notice he barely has the accent like Evan has, and I wonder why. I'd imagine living in Boston, eventually you'd pick it up when you talk.

  "You didn't like it?" I ask, playing innocent.

  He glances my way again, his beautiful white smile attracting my attention. "Well, I don't think you have a career as a ballerina if that's what you're gettin' at."

  I brace my hand on my hip, scowling at him.

  "I'll have to remember that. My dad always said I could be whatever I wanted. So, I was planning on going with ballerina as a career choice. But, now since you stepped on my dreams with your big fat foot, that's obviously out of the question. So, I guess I'll have to go with option number two: princess it is."

  He lets out a scoff, eyes set on the road. "Are ya gonna hold that over my head for the rest of my life? I shouldn't have said it. Really, it was an asshole thing to say. I thought we pushed it under the rug."

  The smile on my face grows wider as I watch him become agitated. "I'm just kidding, macho man. Calm yourself. Friends kid around with one another, right?"

  I see the smile slide back onto his lips. He shakes his head at me regretfully. I know it's a silent apology on his end for being a dick, and I silently accept it too.

  Scrolling back through my music, I end up settling for a band everyone enjoys, The Goo Goo Dolls. As “Come To Me” fills up the space, I study him tapping his fingers on the leather steering wheel in a repetitive motion. The more I think about it, there is no way listening to music from Dirty Dancing could even dent the amount of testosterone which seeps from this man. He's as manly as they come.

  I inspect the beautiful and colorful ink that graces his arms. My eyes don't know where to look first; they're all mesmerizing. He must feel me staring because he lets out a gruff noise.

  "Ya got any?" he asks, referring to his tattoos.

  I've always wanted one, but my parents would die before they let me permanently mark my skin. That would have ruined the perfect family image. I was made to look my best anytime we had company over or attended any kind of social events, not that I went to many.

  "Nope. Always wanted one, though. My parents aren't fans." I smirk to myself thinking about their reaction to Mac. They would keel over if they ever saw him in their house. I would have paid to see it. To them, he would look like trouble. To me, he just looks like eye candy. Chances are they would have accused him of stealing something, even if he didn't. They are judgmental pricks like that.

  "Well, maybe now since you'll be five hours away from them, I can take ya for your first. My buddy owns a shop downtown. He's done quite a bit of mine." He concentrates on the road as he drives, but the look on his face is one of hope.

  "I'd like that. Yours are beautiful. So, as long as your friend did those ones, I'd be happy to go."

  He nods his head slightly, the infectious grin still playing on his lips.

  "Good, just let me know when ya want to go, and I'll call him to set up an appointment."

  I'm excited after hearing him suggest this. I have a million ideas of what I would get. It will be impossible to choose just one. I mean I could just get them all, but then I'd look like Mac.

  "Great, I'll let you know," I reply. I feel the mood shift between us.

  We're only an hour into this trip and I'm already deaf from the silence. Figuring we need to get to know each other anyways, I suggest a game of some sort. I haven't done this since I was freaking twelve, but being trapped in a truck with him for the next four hours, it's worth a shot.

  "Do you have a girlfriend Mac?"

  He seems a little confused by my question, probably wondering why a semi stranger would ask such a random, yet personal, question. He doesn't answer me. So, I clarify where it came from.

  "Twenty Questions."

  He laughs at me. I also crack a smile at my ridiculous attempt to get to know him a little better. I feel like I need to know every detail about him. It's a hunger I need to fill; otherwise, I will go insane here. He's mysterious, unreadable, and totally intriguing.

  "Nope, never really found anyone I wanted to settle down with. Was that a boyfriend you were texting when I snuck up on you last night?" he counters, clearing his throat uncomfortably.

  Dammit. He had to notice me on my phone. I could tell him I was texting a friend, but from the way he asked the question, I'd assume he would just think I was trying to cover it up. So, I guess my only option is to tell him about therapy. It's not like it makes a difference anyway. He already knows I'm a basket case.

  "Nope. I was doing a therapy thing." I give him an uneasy smile. He glances over at me, and again, I see his eyes fill with remorse.

  "What kind of therapy thing?" he asks, turning his attention back to the road. I look down toward my sneakers, fingering the laces as I tell him.

  "Well, my therapist said because people with depression are bound to see only the bad things, I should write a couple good things in my life every day. That way, if I ever need some cheering up, I can just look back over my words."

  He doesn't speak at first, but I hear him swallow hard through the silence.

  "That's a really good idea. Are you, uh, you know, depressed?" he asks, almost choking on his question. I look up at him, watching the way his jaw ticks slightly in anticipation.

  "No. I'm not. A little sad maybe, but I'm not depressed. I think I was at one time in my life, but not here, not now," I tell him softly.

  The truck goes silent as neither of us come up with a word. It's not an awkward silence, but more of a comfortable one. My best guess is he's processing what I just said and that's fine by me. Three years ago, I could
barely understand it myself.

  At least ten minutes pass by and I break the silence, finishing the last part of our conversation before I made things quiet.

  "Why no girlfriend? You seem…" I wave my hand up and down, as if I'm selling his body at an auction. "...fit."

  He smiles, looking toward me as he chuckles. "Fit? I work out a lot, so I hope I'm fit. Hell, I better be considered ripped with all the hours I spend at the gym. There's a lot of work put into these guns." He flexes his arm for me to admire.

  I let out a genuine laugh, watching him to see if he answers my question.

  "As far as women, I've had a couple who tried to latch on but none stuck. They’re usually a one night kinda thing. I'm good with it."

  Interesting.

  "As far as your nightly activities, which seem full of strenuous activity, I make a pretty mean wing-woman. So, if you ever need help picking out the tens from the ones, let me know."

  He looks over, doubt playing up his features. "You, a wingman? I don't think I can see that. No offense, Red."

  I do take a little of bit offense. In high school, I used to help all Derrick’s friends pick up their nightly conquests. Once those guys got their beer goggles on, they wouldn't be able to count to ten, let alone pick them out of a crowd. That's where I came in, always saving them from waking up to an ugly ass girl and a hangover from hell.

  "Hey!" I squeak a little too loudly, crossing my arms over my chest. "I used to help the guys out all the time. I may be rusty, but I have a damn good eye. You never lose that shit," I tell him in my most convincing voice.

  "I'll have to try you out on that one. Evan is a pretty sucky wingman now that he's held down, and my buddy Trent is just fucking obnoxious. So, he isn't great for business either," he teases lightly.

  "Your turn. I'm an open book. Ask me anything." I open my arms wide. He seems to ponder for a second before he speaks.

  "All right, I know this is a little out the friend-zone ya stuck me in without my approval, but I have to know, being a man and you being a beautiful woman. Last night, when you were lying on the bed next to me, did you or did you not have anything under that oversized shirt of yours?"

  My face pales, pink pigment spreading over my cheeks. I’m thrown off guard by his boldness. I didn't think he noticed last night to be honest. So, this comes as a surprise. Speaking in a tiny voice, I answer him, while I look out the passenger side window instead of at him. "Uh…no."

  I hear him swallow a lump in his throat, and exhale a long deep breath before speaking in a deep voice. "Didn't think so."

  After the sexual tension leaves the truck, I tell Mac I’m going to get some sleep, figuring if I close my eyes, I could pick apart his motives for asking me the last question. At that point last night, I still hated him for judging me. So, I did my best to ignore him until I heard a full and meaningful apology spill from his lips. His apology wasn’t exactly the best being he never said the actual word, but it did the job. He apparently watched close enough to notice my shirt and my bare legs underneath it. Any other woman would drool over him, and I'm sure they do. From the way he talks, he has a different woman every night. Not that I blame him. No commitment and no worries. Having a broken heart sucks. I let myself get lost in thought, thinking about how amazing in bed he probably is with his muscular body and his deep voice which lets you know he's all man. He would probably be the best sex I'd ever have. A little spark of lust ignites inside me and I shoo it away again. This is going to be a long ass drive. Deciding sleep is the best option, I close my eyes, letting myself drift into another world.

  I grab a smoke from the pack in the cup holder of the truck and light up. The smoke fills my lungs as I inhale deep, letting it soothe my spinning head. I can’t get the damn image out my head of Callie not wearing anything under her shirt last night. I mean, I kind of assumed, but I didn't know for sure. Hearing her confirm my suspicions just made me more intrigued by her. Fuck. I sigh. I need to back off for now. She wants to be friends, and that’s what we’ll be until I can have her. It’s better than nothing, right?

  Her iPod shuffles through what I assume is her 90s playlist as she sleeps peacefully, lying across the bench seat with her head resting near my leg. I glance over and see she still has her seatbelt on, but just around her waist with the shoulder strap against the seat. That can’t be fucking comfortable at all. The Goo Goo Dolls still flood the speakers, shuffling from one song to the next. “Without You Here” plays, the lyrics sinking into my mind like fucking quicksand. I scoff to myself. How true they are right now is pitiful. I didn’t plan on getting sucked into her vortex, but I can’t help it.

  Her beauty is actually painful. She’s so damn tiny. Small like a helpless child, but grown in all other ways like a woman should be. Her body is beautiful just like her personality is.

  I flick my smoke out the window and place my hand in her hair. I force myself to stifle a groan when she stirs in her sleep from my touch. The last thing I need is for her to wake up and wonder what the fuck I’m doing. I can only imagine what would come out of her smart ass little mouth I’ve become so fond of. I pull my hand from her hair, scowling at myself. What the fuck is wrong with me? I barely know this goddamn girl, and she is apparently fucked up from what I gather. When she spewed shit about her boyfriend splattered across a fucking highway last night and when she said she used to be depressed, I felt that shit deep in my body. She has to be fucked up from seeing shit like that. Not to mention she was apparently seeing a shrink until two days ago. I can’t deal with shit that goes on in my own head, let alone someone else's.

  Checking the exit signs, I see we’re already getting close to the city traffic. Times flies by when you're having fun, right? I didn’t realize she’s even been sleeping this long, and as much as I wanna wake her up, city traffic can be a bitch. Chances are we’ll be sitting here for a good hour being it’s the weekend. All of the damn tourists jam the highways, trying to take their little vacations, and indulging in all the historical sites Boston has to see. Personally, it's a pain in my ass. The streets become more crowded, and things like getting a pack of smokes takes ten minutes longer than it should.

  I’ve been living in Boston for the past seven years now. I moved here when my adoptive parents retired. They wanted to move by the ocean and I didn’t want to hold them back. They deserve every bit of a happy retirement. When I first moved here, I fell back into a life I didn’t want. I hung with the wrong crowd, and it took a lot for me to clean myself, and my life, the hell up.

  Being twenty-eight and living in a college town is a challenge sometimes, but I thank God every day for those damn college girls. They keep me young and intensely satisfied. There’s never a shortage of pretty girls batting their long eyelashes at me, and hoping to make a terrible mistake for the night. I’m that for them, their mistake. Their story to tell their friends. Their one night stand. I don’t mind, but once you’ve fucked every girl on campus, it gets pretty damn repetitive. I even fucked some of the college professors for Christ's sake. Who am I to deny a sexy woman who wants a piece of me? I’m only human.

  I own a small auto body shop a couple blocks from my apartment. It’s my oasis. There’s something about being covered in oil and dirt at the end of the day which makes me proud. Just being off the streets is an accomplishment on its own. I can't say I get much business from the students around campus being none of them really drive. The universities around provide taxis for all of the students as long as they have a proper college ID, which is smart and practical, but it sucks ass for business. I have my usual customers, though. They’re mostly residents that have been living here their entire lives. Hell, even a couple of the professors bring their shit to me—not the ones I've screwed.

  I spend most of my free time fixing up my baby, my 69’ Mustang. I’ve been building her for a while now, and she's going to be a bad ass piece of machinery when I'm done with her. My buddy Trent, who does my ink, helps me out at the shop every now and then w
hich gives me time to work on her, too. While I’m there, he’s at the shop, handling the customers and the projects we have going on.

  I break free from my thoughts as we hit the heavy traffic. Some asshole decides not to put his blinker on and cuts in front of me. I step on the brakes hard enough for it to jolt the truck. I blare the horn, yelling viciously at the driver who almost caused a fucking accident. Some people just shouldn’t fucking drive. They make blinkers and tail lights for a damn reason. Hearing a small squeak from the other side of the truck, I turn to find Callie half awake and about to have a panic attack any minute. Her eyes are huge with fear.

  “The asshole in front of us cut me off,” I snap. I'm still seething with anger. She keeps taking deep breaths to calm herself. I see a lone tear slip down her cheek as she stares straight ahead, looking out of the windshield into the traffic. I have no idea what to do except comfort her

  “You okay, Red?” I ask her.

  She tries to form words, but with the way her bottom lips quivers, we both know she can’t. I take one hand off the steering wheel to grab her hand and enclose it in mine, bringing it into my lap. Her hand feels so small inside of mine. It's delicate and beautiful, just like her.

  “Come here, sweetheart,” I plead again as softly as I can manage.

  She unclips her seat belt, sliding over to the middle of the bench seat, and buckling herself into the middle belt instead. She’s so close, our shoulders bump together. Having her this close is testing my control. I don’t want to scare the girl, but fuck if I don’t want to pull her into my arms and keep her there where I know she'd be safe.

  She pulls her hand away from me and for a second I think it’s because she doesn’t want it there. Once again this girl surprises the hell out of me by wrapping both hands around my upper arm which faces her. She rests her head on my shoulder just the way I wanted her to. I pull my arm away from her grasp, putting it around her shoulders, bringing her body closer into mine. Her smell surrounds me, it devours me. She smells like lilacs. It’s the sweetest fucking thing I’ve ever smelled. It’s intoxicating.