by N. S. Moore
Then I suddenly remember something. “Wait.” I reach over and put a hand on his forearm.
He stops at my gesture, looking down at my hand, which is resting just over part of his tattoo.
I swallow hard and pull my hand away. “I have a friend from high school who lives in San Antonio. Maybe she can help us.”
“Yeah, right. She’ll help us right into the welcoming arms of the cops.”
“No, I don’t think she will. She was always kind of wild and rebellious, and she never seemed to believe much in law and order.”
“But she’ll have seen the news. She’ll know you’ve been kidnapped. Even if she’s not a do-gooder, she’ll have the basic decency to call the police about having seen you.” His tone is dry, almost bitter, and I can’t tell who the bitterness is directed at—my friend, whom he’s never met, or himself.
I think maybe himself. More and more, he doesn’t seem to even want to have taken me at the bank. Maybe he’s confused, like I am. Wanting two opposing options at the same time.
“I can tell her that I’ve run away with you and the cops have got it wrong. I can sell this whole story about us being in this doomed, destined love affair. I really think she’ll go for it. Maybe she’ll come pick us up and take us to the bus station or something.”
He stares at me for a minute, as if weighing the risks and rewards. Then he nods, and I realize it means he trusts me enough to let me make a call on his phone.
He trusts me. Me. How ironic is that?
And how ironic is it that his trust isn’t going to be broken. Not right now, anyway.
I can’t turn on my phone without cluing the authorities into our location, since they’re almost certainly trying to track me by my phone. So I call information on Code’s phone and ask for the number for Jill Mulroney.
If she’s not listed, then we’re screwed.
They connect me through, and Jill sounds absolutely thrilled to hear from me. She’s been watching the news and has been worried about me, but I assure her it isn’t what it sounds. I tell her we’re in love and are trying to get away from my dad, and that’s how this whole kidnapping story has gotten out. I feel bad for throwing my dad to the wolves like that—he’s been too busy to be a dad most of his life, but he’s never hurt me—but I don’t really have a choice at the moment.
We can hardly just hang out on the side of the road like this.
Jill is at work, but she says she’ll take some time and come get us, no problem. I do the best I can to tell her our location, and she says she’ll be here in a half-hour or so.
So Code and I wait. I can tell he’s kind of tense, since his shoulders are stiff and he won’t look at me much. I wish I knew what he’s thinking. Maybe he’s trying to decide whether I’m more trouble than I’m worth and he’s considering dumping me and taking off on his own.
It wouldn’t be a bad idea, since the cops are looking for a guy with a girl. I try not to think about whether I’m hoping this will happen or not.
“So where should we tell Jill to take us?” I ask after a while. “The bus station? We have the fake ID’s, so we might be okay.”
“Yeah.” He rubs his hand over his jaw. “But they’re going to be checking all the buses, trains, and cabs for us really closely. What we need is a way to get down to the border that they’d never expect. Something people on the run wouldn’t consider.”
“Like on the bus of a traveling rock band or something,” I say, mostly joking. “With our hair, we’d fit right in.”
He gives a huff of something close to a laugh. “Yeah. Something like that.”
“Or like a school bus. Maybe we could blend in with a bunch of high-schooler’s going site-seeing in Mexico. Although I guess they probably don’t take field trips to Mexico.”
He straightens up, his expression changing.
“What?” I ask. “It’s really not a good idea. We’d never blend in with high-schoolers, even if they let us on the bus, which they’d never do.”
“Not a school bus, but what about a tour bus. They have bus tours sometimes that cross the border. Maybe we could find one of those. We’d buy tickets for both of us, and then I could pretend we broke up or something and cross the border on my own. It might work. They’re not likely to be looking for us on a tour bus.”
“It might actually work.” I try to think through possibilities, a strange sort of excitement roused inside me—and also an irrational poignancy at the thought of his crossing into Mexico on his own. “We’d have to do some research to find a tour that’s leaving soon that goes where we need it to go. I’m not sure they’re so common that we can just drop in and assume one will be leaving.”
“Maybe your friend can let us use her phone so we can look them up.” He looks different now. Less resigned. Like he sees a way out of this.
I feel that way too. For some reason, this is starting to feel more like an adventure than an ordeal—and I’m sure it has something to do with my changing feelings for Code.
“Yeah. I’m sure she will. But maybe we can be vague about our plans. I trust her as much as anyone, but still…”
“We won’t give her any details. I don’t trust anyone.” I can tell from the sound of his voice that he means it.
I trust my dad—for the most part—but he’s really it. Maybe Code and I aren’t as different as we seem.
I’m still thinking about this when a car pulls up beside us and the window opens to reveal a familiar, grinning face. “Wren,” Jill says, “I love the hair! You were always such a little princess—I can’t believe you’re running away like this. But I’m definitely impressed.” Her eyes linger on Code. “And I’m glad to see you’ve found yourself a real man at last.”
***
Jill is happy to let us use her phone while she drives us toward San Antonio.
After much searching, we finally find a tour that is leaving tomorrow at noon. It leaves from San Antonio, and it goes to Laredo, then across the border and ends up in Mexico City for two nights before it heads back to San Antonio.
Code and I ask Jill to drop us off at the travel agency who is arranging the tour. That way, she’ll know what agency we used but not why we are using them, in case she decides to go to the police. Jill looks disappointed, since I can tell she was hoping for more of an adventure, but it’s clear that Code wants to get rid of her as soon as possible.
I can’t really blame him. I’m pretty sure we can trust Jill, but he doesn’t know her at all.
So I thank Jill profusely and promise to drop her a note as soon as I can to let her know we’re okay.
Then we go in and arrange for tickets for the tour. Code has to pay cash, but they don’t seem to think it’s strange, so maybe other people pay for tours like this in cash too.
Then we’ve got to wait until tomorrow, so we do the only thing we can do—find a motel nearby that doesn’t have much security and get a room.
We order pizza and watch TV and it really isn’t that bad a day. I start to feel a little more relaxed, like my whole world isn’t going to fall apart because this thing has happened.
Code is acting different too. Like I’m a partner instead of a hostage.
I kind of like it. I’ve never been a partner before.
I eventually take a shower and get ready for bed. It’s a little early, but there’s nothing much else to do.
Code is watching me when I come out of the bathroom wearing nothing but a t-shirt. His eyes are intense, serious, deep.
“One more day,” he says. “We’ll get to Laredo tomorrow.”
“I know.” For no good reason, the words feel almost bittersweet. “I guess we’ll have to do the site-seeing stuff they have planned for Laredo tomorrow. If we don’t, it will look too suspicious.”
He nods. “We’ll spend tomorrow night in Laredo with the tour, and then I’ll let you go the following morning.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
It is a plan. I seems like it would work fine. I try to
be excited about getting rid of Code at last, about going back home to my college classes and the people who are supposed to be my friends.
To people who don’t understand me at all.
As if he’s reading my mind, he adds, “I guess you’ll be glad to get back to your real life.”
I sigh and climb into bed. “Yeah.”
He’s been sitting in bed, propped up against the headboard, but now he rolls over on his side to look at me. “You aren’t relieved?”
“Of course I’m relieved.”
“I guess your boyfriend is really worried about you.” A different kind of tension has tightened in his face, one I don’t really understand.
“I don’t have a boyfriend.”
He frowns. “Then who fucked you the other day, before you came to the bank.”
Oh. Philip. I’ve almost forgotten about him. I give a little shrug and am embarrassed to admit the truth the Code.
He reaches over to take my chin in his hand and turn my face to look at his. “Who fucked you?”
“Just a guy.”
“He’s not your boyfriend?”
I suddenly realize he’s not happy about the idea that I had sex with someone else. The tension I see on his face is possessiveness, maybe jealousy.
I really shouldn’t like it so much. “I’ve gone out with him a few times.”
“But you liked him enough to fuck him?”
“I sometimes fuck guys I don’t like.” There’s no reason in the world for me to admit that to Code, but for some reason I just did.
His frown has intensified and he leans closer to me. “Why do you do that?”
“I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do. You just don’t want to tell me. Why do you fuck guys you don’t like?”
“Just because. It’s easier.” I pull my face out of his hand and roll over on my back, staring up at the ceiling. “I never really cared about sex one way or the other.”
“Is that why you fucked me?”
I can’t begin to understand the edge to his voice. He might be angry, but it’s not really at me. I feel guilty suddenly—for so many reasons. “Maybe at first.”
“What do you mean, at first?”
“At first, maybe I thought about fucking you to get you on my side or to distract you or something. You suspected that, right?”
“Right.” He doesn’t sound happy and, when I glance over, he doesn’t look happy either.
“But then it changed.”
“Did it?”
“Yeah.” I close my eyes and tell him the truth. “I never even liked having sex before…before…”
“Before what?”
“Before you.”
And those words seem to change something. He makes a guttural sound in this throat and reaches out to grab me, pulling me over on top of him and claiming my mouth in a deep kiss.
I kiss him back. I can’t help it. I just seem to want him to so much, whether I should or not.
Soon, he’s urgently caressing my body until I’m practically sobbing with desire. Then he’s pulling out his cock, rolling on a condom, and sliding inside me.
He takes me hard and fast and really good. My knees are bent up toward my chest and my whole body shakes with his vigorous motion. I come on a choked scream, needing not just the feeling but the intensity with which he’s taking me—as if I’m somehow important, as if I’m really what he wants.
He pulls out and turns me over onto my hands and knees, and then he takes me again from behind, until I’m on the edge of coming again, clawing at the headboard, begging him to make me come.
And he’s panting and telling me over and over again, in thick, choppy mutters, how much he wants me, how much needs me, how good I feel, how he wants to make me come over and over again, how no one else will ever make me feel the way he does.
I know he’s right—even as I reach another uninhibited orgasm. I know he’s right. Before Code, sex was never this good. And, after Code, sex will never be this good again.
Twenty-Six
Code
“You have got to fucking be kidding me.”
It’s just becoming more and more obvious that the fucking universe hates me. There’s no other explanation for it.
“It’s not that bad,” Wren says from beside me, but I can hear that she’s on the verge of laughing.
I glare at her—hard—but her eyes are bright, and between the pink hair and the ridiculous clothes, all I can think is that she looks kind of cute and that she really needs to smile more. It’s not easy holding on to my anger, but I try.
“It’s a fucking senior citizen tour, Wren,” I say, even though I’m aware that she knows this. “How could that travel agent book us on a senior citizen tour?”
Wren looked around at the group. “They’re not all senior citizens.” She pointed out a few younger people—even a couple that were close to our age—but the majority of the damn group was well over seventy.
“Fuck.”
“It’s really not that bad.”
Now I am pissed. I face her head-on. “How the fuck are we supposed to ‘blend’ with this group? Between the age gap and the way that our hair stands out we might as well be wearing tracking devices and neon fucking signs to draw attention to ourselves.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah…oh.” Shit. This is so not the way that this was supposed to happen. Not the way that it was supposed to end. It should have been simple—a bus ride. How hard was that? Looking around at the geriatric crowd, obviously very hard.
“Nothing we can do about it now except go with the flow,” she says, still looking around at the crowd.
A few minutes later we’re all herded onto the bus—we let the older folks go first, and it doesn’t look like the tour is full to capacity so that’s good. There is no way I can stand hanging out on a crowded bus full of tourists.
Once we’re boarded, I take Wren’s hand and pull her toward the back of the bus. I don’t want to interact with any of these people, so the sooner we’re tucked away, the better.
We take our seats, and no sooner are we settled than some douche with a guitar comes strolling back and takes the seat opposite ours. He smiles at Wren and I can see her smile back.
What the fuck?
The bus hasn’t even fucking left and I’m ready to jump off and walk to the damn border if we have to—and I’m taking her with me.
I take Wren’s hand in mine—not so much because I want to sit holding hands, but I want guitar-boy to take a hint. Mine. Back off. She looks at me with a bit of confusion, so I lean in close and run my tongue along the shell of her ear. “Just making sure the old folks know we’re a couple. Just in case.”
She shivers as I continue to tease my tongue along her skin, and it gives me a bit of a thrill. I’m almost tempted to take my other hand and trace the hem of her skirt—just in case this guy isn’t too bright—but I’ll save that one for later.
The bus finally leaves and we sit back and relax. It kind of feels good—knowing that there’s light at the end of the tunnel. That the promise of freedom isn’t too far away.
I rest my head back and close my eyes, and I guess I fall asleep because the next thing I know we’re coming to a rest stop. Damn. There’s a bathroom on the bus, but not everyone is comfortable using it. Besides, I’m kind of looking forward to getting out and stretching my legs.
I’m all in my own head, and I don’t realize that there’s a hushed conversation going on beside me. I try to keep it like I’m still sleeping, but I shift slightly closer to Wren.
“Oh, no,” she says with a small giggle. “I don’t play any instruments. I’m totally musically challenged.”
“It’s not that hard,” guitar douche says. “Maybe when we stop for the night, I can teach you a few chords.”
Seriously? This is the line this asshole uses to pick up women?
“That’s okay,” she says. “It won’t really matter. I’m not really interested in playing guitar.�
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Ha! Take that, douchetard.
“Well, you don’t have to play…if you don’t want to,” he says smoothly. “Maybe we can just, you know, hang out a bit.”
I’m seriously about to climb over Wren and put my fist through this guy’s face. I cannot believe that I’m sitting right the fuck here and he’s hitting on her!
Turning my head, I reach up and caress Wren’s cheek. “Hey, Baby,” I say sleepily, doing my best to sound sexy and then think of how badly I want to kick my own ass for doing this shit. “Where’re we at?”
She turns to look at me and her eyes instantly soften at my sleepy expression. “Um…I’m not sure. They just announced that we’re stopping for a restroom break.” People were already getting off of the bus. “Do you want to get up and walk around for a bit?”
“Yeah,” I said and stretched. We both stand and I gently turn her to face me and cup her face in my hands. Her eyes widen at the look in mine. “Mine,” I murmur against her lips right before I kiss her.
It’s a brutal kiss, completely out of line, but I’m so fucking pissed that this jackass is hitting on her and she’s being a little friendlier than she needs to be. She’s mine. At least until fucking Laredo.
Then I have to let her go.
Until then, she belongs to me.
I release her and take her by the hand and practically drag her off the bus. Once we’re outside in the blinding sun, I look around to see where exactly we are.
“You’ve got an hour, people!” the bus driver yells. “There are restrooms and places to eat, but we leave in an hour. If you’re not here, then you’ve missed the rest of the tour!”
An hour. That’s a lot of time, and we’re already taking longer than I had planned. If things had gone like I’d planned, I’d already be in Mexico.
Then again, if things had gone as planned, at least by Deke’s plans, I’d already be in the morgue or in the ground.
Shit.
I don’t let go of her hand, and we walk down the block a bit to a small Mexican restaurant. I’m hungry and I’m tired of eating food that comes out of a vending machine so I haul her inside.
The hostess seats us in a booth and once she walks away, Wren pulls her hand from mine. We’re sitting opposite one another, and I can see that she’s pissed. “What the hell?” she hisses.