Held Against You

by Season Vining

  The outside of the building is rustic wood and windows surrounded by uniform hedges. After four weeks on the run and mostly eating what I could steal from convenience stores, I’d be happy if I never laid eyes on corn chips and beef jerky again. The absolute thrill of sitting down for a meal in the company of another person feels irrational, but I can’t deny my excitement. This place looks like it has real food. The kind that you need utensils and napkins for.

  I watch Mr. Cold As Steel get out and search around the car. I decide I need a name for him in my head, because not knowing is driving me crazy. Looking into his blue-gray eyes, I decide on Steel. Cold, hard, and unbending, it seems fitting in every way.

  He kneels down behind the trunk and I wait to see if he finds anything. A family exits the diner and I’m distracted by their coordinating outfits of Hawaiian shirts and khaki shorts. I understand the mom and dad, but wonder how they got the kids to agree. There must be some kind of epic prize to endure that kind of humiliation.

  “Come on guys. We’ve got to stick to our schedule. I want to make it into Reno before dark,” the father says.

  The teenage daughter walks past my window and drops her phone. It tumbles to the ground and slides past the cars into the parking lot. She walks past Steel, her eyes glued to that electronic wireless device that rules her life and connects her to the rest of the world. He jumps up and sticks his arm out, blocking her path just as a large truck barrels through.

  The girl is dazed. She looks at her crushed phone and back to the towering man.

  “That could have been you,” Steel says, dropping his arm. “Pay attention.”

  “You just saved my life,” she answers. There’s a dreamy look in her eyes as she stares up at him, her mouth hanging open in awe. Tell me about it, girl.

  “Be more careful,” he says. His face is expressionless. The girl retrieves what’s left of her phone and climbs into the minivan, throwing one more glance at him. When she’s safely inside the vehicle, he slides over and sticks something beneath the minivan’s bumper while giving me a pointed look through the glass.

  He doesn’t say a word as he escorts me inside. There is no physical contact, only an understanding that I do as I’m told. With his threat to turn me over to the police, I am all too willing to cooperate. It may only be a few more days of freedom, but I have a feeling they’ll make all the difference.

  As we wait for someone to seat us, I take a look around the place. The crowd is mostly men clad in work boots and plaid shirts. They all seem to be hot and sweaty, just clocked out from some grueling physical labor.

  There’s a long counter across the front of the diner. The swiveling chairs mounted along it resemble something from Fred Flintstone’s car. They are pieced together Lincoln Logs that, frankly, look uncomfortable. We take a seat in one of the booths and wait for the waitress.

  “So what did you find? Was I right?” I ask.

  “Not that I owe you an explanation, but yes, there was a tracking device on the car. I moved it to the minivan.”

  “Was it from our friend Boots?” I ask. “Seems a bit advanced for him. He looks just one chromosome past caveman. What do you think he wants with me?”

  Steel ignores my question as the waitress approaches and hands over the menus.

  “Hi, my name is Mattie. I’ll be serving you today,” she says. Even though there’s two of us at the table, Mattie keeps her eyes on my companion. “What can I get you to drink?”

  “Water,” he says.

  I wait for Mattie to look at me, but she doesn’t, just keeps unashamedly staring at Steel.

  “I’ll have a Diet Coke, thanks,” I say too loudly.

  She nods and heads off to the next table. I blow my bangs from my eyes and stare her down as if I have some claim to the man across from me. She’s pretty, but this older woman with too much makeup doesn’t stand a chance in her Black Bear suspenders and orthopedic shoes.

  I finally tear my eyes away from Mattie and look over the selections. It’s a big menu and my appetite is on overdrive. Like a dog, my mouth salivates just reading over each item and its description. Steel sits across from me tapping his fingers on the tabletop while watching the parking lot. I wonder if this guy ever relaxes.

  A short time later, Mattie returns with our drinks.

  “What can I get ’cha?” she asks Steel first.

  I don’t miss the way she looks at him and leans over to show off her freckled cleavage. I realize I’m giving this cougar a death look and quickly shift to a neutral expression.

  “I’ll take the Tri-Tip Dip with fries,” he answers, ignoring her blatant flirting.

  “Alrighty, and for you?”

  “I’ll take Bob’s Big Bear Burger, add cheese, with potato salad, please.”

  Steel gawks at me, his eyebrows lifting toward his hairline. Mattie takes our menus and leaves to put our order in, shaking her ass so much I wonder if she’s got a medical condition.

  “You’ll never be able to eat all that,” he insists.

  “Wanna bet?”

  “What are the stakes?”

  “If you win, I won’t ask your name again. And if I win, you tell me.”

  “Why are you so interested in my name?” Steel asks.

  “I just want to know who to curse while rotting away on death row,” I answer half joking.

  “Too bad.”

  “Ugh! You’re such an asshole.”

  “But I’m a hot asshole, right?” he says. A tiny smirk pulls up the left side of his mouth and two dimples appear. It’s sexy without trying.

  “Wow, is that a sense of humor?” I ask, and his shoulders stiffen, a scowl pulling down on his face like a window shade. “I don’t know. On a sliding scale, your asshole to hotness ratio is quickly ruining any small amount of appeal you may have had.”

  Steel rolls his eyes and leans back in the booth crossing his arms. Those arms look so strong and hard. I picture them restraining criminals and flexing as he carried me over his shoulder. This thought leads to a plethora of positions in my naughty girl mental bank before I refocus on the conversation. He looks uninterested, but I can tell he’s still listening.

  “You were an asshole to that guy at the hotel.”

  “He had it coming,” he spits.

  “It wasn’t really fair, though. He was helpless. You’re the one who answered the door half-hard, jeans hanging off, looking like a sexual invitation. That whole temper thing tipped the scale toward asshole. I thought you were going to come after me next.”

  He stares at me with an expression that is meant to be offended, but looks menacing.

  “I don’t hit girls. Ever.” His voice is gruff and solemn. His eyes flick away and back toward me, a humorless lift to the corner of his mouth. “Though you love to tempt me.”

  My eyes widen and I swallow down the smart remark I had perched on the tip of my tongue. Instead, I try to appeal to his competitive nature.

  “Well, there are things you could do to tip the scale back toward hot. I doubt you’d be up for the challenge.”

  “Like what?” he asks.

  “Hotness points can be awarded for many things. Were you ever a firefighter?”

  “No. I’ve never been one to risk my own life for perfect strangers.”

  “Too bad. That’s major. Calendars are made of that kind of hotness. Have you ever poured a bottle of water over your head while shirtless?”

  “Guys actually do that?”

  “Hot ones do,” I confirm. I picture him shirtless and wet. It’s a thing of beauty.

  “No, definitely not.” Steel places his forearms on the table and leans forward. “Who sets the rules for this scale? These are ridiculous.”

  “You are completely out of touch with modern women’s desires.”

  “No argument there,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m very … observant. I know how to look at a woman and assess her short-term needs, if you know what I’m saying.”

  I swallow an
d lean back in the booth. A floating kind of tension moves inside me at the thought of this man taking care of my short-term needs. “I doubt you have to work for it at all. I bet the ladies just fall into your lap, right?”

  “I don’t have time for the ladies.”

  “The dudes?” I ask.

  He shakes his head and gives me a smirk. “I like being alone. No one to answer to. Plus, I work so much. I’m usually on the road.”

  “Do you enjoy what you do?” I ask.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I mean, this is your profession, right?” He nods. “Do you get satisfaction out of delivering people to their deaths?”

  “First, not all fugitives are being delivered to their deaths. I’ve found people who were wanted for unpaid child support and shit like that. Second, from where I started out in life, it’s a cakewalk. I learned early on how to deal with unsavory people. Plus, it’s not about satisfaction. It’s about doing what you’re good at. I have a certain set of skills that make me very good at this.”

  “If you’re that good, why did it take you so long to find me? I’m not a professional criminal, no street smarts, no skills. Four weeks ago, the only weapon I knew how to use was my AmEx card.”

  “I don’t really have an answer for that. I guess your pretty face got you further along than I planned.”

  I’m shocked at his statement and can feel the flaming heat in my cheeks. “You think I’m pretty? I bet you say that to all the fugitives.”

  Steel doesn’t answer my question out loud, but his eyes stay on me and the heat in his gaze makes his answer perfectly clear.

  I awkwardly pick at a jagged fingernail.

  “Anyway,” he continues. “I don’t have the ability to see myself doing anything but this.” He shrugs.

  While his face is resigned, his words come from a sad, defeated place that gave up on dreams long ago. He doesn’t elaborate, just stares out the window. His profile is lovely with a slight bump on the bridge of his nose, lips pursed. Light pours in through the blinds, painting his face in stripes of gold. His blue eyes look like glass.

  His phone rings and he answers it quickly.

  “What did you find?” I’m annoyed that I can only hear one side of this conversation. As much as I strain to listen, the noise in the diner keeps me from effectively eavesdropping. “Anything else?” A deep v appears between his eyebrows. His eyes become slits as if he’s staring into the sun. “Thanks.”

  Steel ends the call just as our food arrives. The plates slide in front of us as if summoned by my growling stomach. I’d been impressed with the description of this burger, but to see it in person is something else entirely. It takes up most of the plate and the potato salad sits alongside. It’s an afterthought, squished into a tiny space.

  We both attack our meals, not pausing for conversation or table manners. A young couple takes a seat at the counter in front of us. They hold hands and look lovingly into each other’s eyes like no one else exists. Their faces hold dumb smiles and I wonder if it’s love or post-coital glow. Steel watches them, too.

  “Wow. They’re obviously in love,” I say.

  “Or they just had sex for the first time. Devirginized bliss.”

  “Ugh, I wouldn’t have looked at anyone like that after my first time. It was awful, so awkward. I guess most first times are.”

  I roll my eyes and picture Jordan Webster’s sweaty face above mine, his glasses sliding down his nose and falling into my hair. He’s so into me, quite literally, that he doesn’t notice. Thirty-seconds later, he’s finished and I’m left wondering if what we did counts as sex. We have to work together to untangle his glasses from my hair. I sent him on his way with a kiss on the cheek and a turkey sandwich.

  “Mine wasn’t bad. When you’re a sixteen-year-old boy, all sex is good sex. You are so excited you’re getting laid, it doesn’t matter what goes wrong. Anyway, they’ll hate each other next week.” He takes a bite of his sandwich and hums in satisfaction.

  “You’re a pessimist.”

  “I’m a realist,” he argues after swallowing his mouthful of food.

  “You’ve never had anyone look at you like that?” He ignores my question and takes another bite. “You’ve never been in love?”

  “The only woman I ever loved was my mother.”

  I notice he uses past tense when speaking about his mother. The pain and anger in his eyes hints at a deeper story.

  “And no girlfriends either?”

  Steel shakes his head slightly and turns to the window again. “I had a girl. We were,” he pauses, as if searching for the right word, “intense. She worked in my field, so we understood each other on that level. I trusted her. She was hot and the sex was good.”

  “Wow. Are those your only requirements for a relationship? Trust and great sex?”

  “I didn’t say it was great,” Steel says, avoiding my question.

  “But you didn’t love her?” I ask.

  “No.”

  “What was her name?”

  He looks out of the window for a few seconds before turning back to me. I think he’s going to ignore me again. “If I tell you, you can never ask my name again.”

  I don’t like this bargaining, but my curiosity answers before I can mull it over. “Deal.”

  “Natasha,” Steel says.

  It’s not the name I really want, but it’s something. I celebrate the small victory in my head.

  “I thought I was in love. I had a boyfriend before I left town. His name was Paul. I met him my sophomore year of college. He came from a wealthy family. My mother adored him. It wasn’t fireworks and birds singing. It was comfortable and safe.”

  I stare down at my plate and think about the last time I saw him. It didn’t go quite how I had expected. When I showed up at his condo at two o’clock in the morning, he was more than surprised.

  “Katherine, what are you doing here?” he said. “When did you get out?”

  Paul stood in the door and rubbed his eyes. He was only wearing a pair of boxers.

  “I’m leaving, Paul. Marilyn is going to paint me as some kind of money-hungry trash after his money. I won’t stand a chance against that family. I can’t go to prison.”

  I had just made the decision an hour earlier. After a whirlwind of packing and saying good-bye to my old life, I stood on Paul’s doorstep with tears in my eyes.

  “Katherine, don’t be an idiot. You can’t run. You’ll never make it out there without your afternoon lattes and Four Square check-ins. Go turn yourself in.”

  He scratched his stomach and started to close the door.

  “I want you to come with me. I love you,” I declared.

  My hand shot out, pushing the door open. Paul looked down at his feet and tapped the doorframe just as a half-naked girl entered the room. She looked freshly fucked and a little drunk. While my mouth hung open in disbelief, he wore his defiance proudly.

  “You know who my family is, Katherine. I can’t be associated with a criminal. I’m sorry.”

  He closed the door in my face. It was one of many things that made leaving so easy.

  “Hey, maybe you’ll find a girlfriend in prison,” Steel says, breaking me out of my memories. “You’ll get matching tattoos or something.”

  “Asshole.”

  He forgets himself and smiles at me. My God, it’s a gorgeous sight, all perfectly straight teeth and matching dimples on each side. I wish he smiled more. I pat my pockets, looking for a phone I don’t have, just to capture the image.

  “You guys doing okay?” Mattie asks, appearing beside Steel. “Can I refill that water for you, hun?”

  He nods. As she pours water into his glass, she leans too far over, tucking her arms against her sides to push her boobs together. Smooth move, but it’s amateur. Steel doesn’t even look at her. I chuckle as Mattie stomps off.

  “What?” he asks.

  “Nothing,” I answer, shaking my head. “You really are clueless.”

>   After we clear our plates, Mattie appears and hands the check to Steel. He leaves cash on the table, and we head for the exit.

  “You’re going to pee before we leave,” he announces, pulling me through the women’s bathroom door and locking it.

  I sit in the stall and listen as he empties his bladder next to me. I will my body to cooperate, but nothing happens.

  “I can’t pee with you listening,” I whine.

  “Well, I’m not leaving.”

  “Turn the faucet on.” I hear the rush of water and soon I’m done. We wash our hands side by side and head outside.

  “Surely I can ride in the front now?”

  “Surely you are mistaken.”

  “What about our playful banter and sharing of personal information? We just peed together for Christ’s sake!”

  When we reach the car, Steel opens the back door and points. I grumble and crawl inside. Before we get back to the highway, I clap excitedly when one of my favorite songs comes on.

  “This song is my jam. Michael Jackson was the best of the best.”

  The sound of Smooth Criminal has me singing along and bobbing my head to the beat. I slide the USB key along the chain around my neck and think about my own criminal status. Sitting in the back of this car, things seem more clear, more final. My destination ends at a murder trial. Though I’ve lived a full life, I try not to think about all the things I’ll miss out on—like getting married, having kids, traveling the world, and growing old with someone by my side.

  “Do you have a bucket list?” I ask.

  “No.”

  “I guess you don’t realize how important they are until you could be facing life behind bars. Mine’s kind of long, because I’ve been working on it since I was twelve.”

  “That’s kind of morbid for a twelve-year-old.”

  “Well, my dad died, so things were put into perspective back then. Some of the high points are cliff diving in Hawaii, seeing the Egyptian pyramids, walking the Great Wall of China, eating curry in India, visiting Grauman’s Chinese Theater.…”