Southbound Surrender

by Raen Smith

  “Cash Rowland. I wondered how long it would take you.” The Piper Sullivan standing before me is better than my best sketched memory of her. Her eyes are more endless and her hair is more golden. And those peach lips, they’re faultless. She’s leaning against the doorframe in a pink shirt and tight jeans that hug her delicious hips.

  I imagined this moment for five years – FIVE FREAKING YEARS – and I played it over a million times in my head. I rehearsed the lines over and over. The reunion went something like this: First, there’s a cue of violins and time stands still while our gazes meet. I brush a strand of hair out of her face and trace my hand across her flushed cheek. I tell her that I’ve been waiting for this moment for the last five years. I miss her smile. I miss her everything. And she tells me the same and falls into my waiting arms. The rest is history.

  Nothing even remotely close to that is about to come out my mouth, but there is nothing I can do to stop it. It’s coming now, that instinctual crap that makes me way too honest and completely unlikable in this moment.

  “You lied to me.”

  I can hear the air deflate from your balloon. Sorry about that. I want to kick myself, too.

  “I exaggerate to a lot of people,” she says as she rests her head against the doorframe. Her hair falls down her shoulders in a golden cascade that makes my chest throb.

  “You never went to Princeton,” I say, shoving my hands in my pockets. This is just getting worse.

  “I didn’t,” she says slowly. “I never said I was going to go there. I said I applied and thought I would have to go there.”

  “Do you have an Aunt Belinda?”

  God, where am I going with this? You can feel free to scream at me. I’m screaming at myself.

  “Yes.”

  “Does she live in California?”

  “No.”

  “Have you been in Madison the last five years?”

  “Yes and no.”

  “Should I believe anything you tell me?”

  “Yes and no.”

  “Come on, Piper,” I groan and bounce my knees. She drives me wild, and I know that I should probably just turn around and leave. I should shut Piper out of my life for good and piss on fate and everlasting love and all that other stuff. But she pulls me back in with four little words.

  “Can we start over?” she asks.

  “Yes, please.”

  She disappears into the house and shuts the door. I pull out my wallet, take out a five dollar bill and wipe my hands on my jeans. I roll my neck a few times and inhale through my nose like Big Dave showed me when I was a kid, breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth. I repeat this two more times before I knock on the door.

  She opens it with a sweet and irresistibly, sexy grin. It’s going much better already.

  I don’t open with the line I’ve prepared for the last five years of, Piper, I never imagined seeing you again, but here you are. It sounds lame and fake and all wrong because I did imagine seeing her again. Instead, I tell her what I never got the chance to say five years ago.

  “You’re beautiful.”

  “You’re not so bad yourself,” she says, giving me a head to toe once-over before an approving grin flashes on her face.

  I breathe easier.

  “You’re easy on the eyes, Cash Rowland. Always have been, but now –” She reaches out and brushes her fingers along my bicep.

  I’ll admit it I flex my arm. Okay, I squeeze the hell out of my bicep. I want to pull her into me, but that’s crossing a line that we haven’t even established. I have standards I’m trying to uphold here so I let her step back into the doorway.

  “Here’s your five dollars that I owe you.” I hand the crinkled bill to her. “For the-”

  “Pen,” she finishes as she takes the bill. Her hand grazes mine, but she never takes her eyes off me. She shoves the five dollar bill into her jeans pocket.

  “I have five questions for you that I want you to answer honestly,” I say as I put my hand over my chest. “One-hundred percent truth. No exaggeration. No pausing to answer the questions. Just answer them as they come from your heart.”

  She puts her hand over her own heart. “Okay, I will.”

  “Do you have a boyfriend and is his name Kelly?”

  A laugh escapes from her lips before she stands up straighter. “No. And you’re wasting good questions already. I thought you would have learned by now. Five years is a long time to mature and become more adept at asking useful questions.”

  “Five years is a long time. That’s a relief about the boyfriend. That guy seems like a meathead, but I could have sworn your face is tattooed on his arm.”

  “His name is Kelly, but he’s not a meathead. He’s my roommate. The tattoo is his girlfriend, who also has blonde hair. Anyway, Piper and Kelly don’t exactly make a quintessential couple name.”

  “Plus his name is Kelly,” I repeat with a nod of my head. God, I love everything about her.

  “Question two, have you thought about me, at all, over the past five years?”

  “Yes.”

  Jackpot. My head is about to explode and I wonder if this is how people feel when they win the lottery. I want to win the Piper lottery every day.

  “I hate that you only give me one-word answers,” I say.

  “You’re needy,” she whispers. “By the way, why is there a semi parked in the middle of the street behind you?”

  “Shh,” I whisper. “You’re ruining my train of thought.”

  She clamps her lips, still holding her hand on her heart.

  “Question three, why didn’t you leave me any contact information?”

  She stares at me and replies evenly, “Because I had to. I didn’t have a choice, and I knew that if we were meant to be together, that you would find me again. You did the first time, you would do it again. And here we are.”

  This is going better than I ever dreamed, and I’m feeling the load of the next question heavy on my shoulders. I try to shrug it off, but it’s waiting to be asked. I feel brave and honorable and confident and all that stuff, so here goes. It’s now or never.

  “Will you ride with me to Miami in that eighteen-wheeler idling behind me? Give me a shot at winning you over. Let me convince you that we belong together. I want you to know the real Cash Rowland, and I want to know the real Piper Sullivan.”

  It’s silent while she taps her fingers against her heart in rapid succession.

  “I can’t-” she stops her fingers.

  That’s when I feel a pang near my right nipple. I panic because it’s happening again, and I haven’t felt it in years. My Luella Intuition all but turned off since I first set eyes on Piper. I hold my breath, waiting for the next phase and waiting for some lame excuse that I’m not going to buy. I try to shut off the pang that is turning into a spark because I don’t want to know how this is going to end. I don’t want to feel the darkness seep in again. I don’t want to think about Piper Sullivan’s peach lips blowing away the dust of what has become my heart.

  “How many days?” she asks.

  “Five,” I reply with a rush. “Just five days. I’ll have you back by Friday, and then you can decide if we say to hell with the universe.”

  “The universe?” she asks before her eyebrows furrow in concentration. I don’t want her to concentrate. I just want her to feel. “It’s just that I have a ton work to do over spring break. I have to start getting ready for a Biochemistry final that is going to kick my ass next month.”

  “Biochemistry?” There’s bitterness in my voice that I try to suppress, but it snakes its dirty way in despite my best efforts.

  “Yeah, Biochemistry. I’m a Genetics major going to med school next year,” she says as she breaks eye contact and looks down. I’ve never seen her break eye contact before, and she’s about as steady as a whore in church. Guilt oozes from her body, but I try to ignore it.

  “It’s spring break?” The Luella spark is almost nearing its peak.

  “
Yeah, spring break,” she repeats slowly, still looking down as she rubs the point of her toe against the threshold. Her pink toenail polish glows against the dull wood.

  I hold my breath as my chest is about to burst. Beads of sweat bubble on my upper lip and drip down. I taste the salt in my mouth.

  “It’s perfect,” she finally whispers. “It’s a deal. Five days, one last chance.”

  The next phase courses through my body, but I’m not going to tell you what it feels like because I’m the kind of guy that doesn’t like ruining the ending whether it’s good, bad, or otherwise.

  ***

  “So this is it, huh?” Piper says as she climbs into the passenger seat next to me. During the ten minutes it took her to pack a bag and somehow look even more stunning than she did when she opened the door, I warded off a dozen honking car horns accompanied by middle fingers. And here I thought Madison was the fun-loving, liberal city of Wisconsin. I guess I was right about the liberal part. I would have waited all day for Piper and waved off hundreds of pissed-off drivers.

  “Welcome to Cash Money, the most thrilling ride east of the Mississippi.” I flash my best carnie grin as she shuts the door.

  “Are you kidding me? Only the east side of the Mississippi? I signed up for the most thrilling ride of a lifetime. You better not sell me short,” she warns as she fishes in her pocket and pulls out her phone. “I expect great things. Monumental things from Cash Money, which by the way, is quite the name.”

  She holds her phone up, and the flash flickers in the cab before I can protest.

  “You could’ve warned me,” I say.

  She turns the screen toward me before laughing. My mouth’s gaping wide enough to fit a burrito as big as my head inside.

  “I look amazing.”

  “Yeah, you do,” she says before stuffing her phone back into her pocket.

  “Wait.” I’m not going to let this opportunity pass by again. I tormented myself for the last five years for not taking a picture in the closet. I grab my phone off the dash and turn it toward her. She sticks out her tongue and covers her eyes with her hand.

  “Come on,” I complain. “I waited five years…”

  She pulls her hand away from her eyes and smiles just long enough for me to snap a picture. I put my phone back on the dash, but not before I consider texting the picture to Hudson. Somehow I don’t think he’ll believe that I have her in the truck, but I decide against it because I don’t want to jinx myself. “Thank you. The thrill of a lifetime noted. There is only one rule in this truck.”

  “And that is?” She lifts her eyebrows in that sexy u-shape. Who am I kidding? Everything about her is sexy. I should probably stop using that word to describe anything and everything about her. She just is so sexy.

  “There are no lies, no exaggerating the truth, no stretching the truth, no manipulating the truth,” I say.

  “Got it. So be the opposite of what I am.”

  “Yes and no.”

  “Yes and no, I accept the challenge.”

  “You accept the rule,” I correct before adding, “Hudson named my truck Cash Money the day I got my job, and just like everything else Hudson says or does, it stuck.”

  “It looks like we have Hudson to thank for a lot of things, including this introduction to the glamorous trucking industry. It seems Hudson doesn’t know how to follow instructions very well,” she says before tossing her bag in the back next to mine. The bag is pink if you’re wondering, but you already probably know that. And you probably already know that I look at the bags resting on each other, hers leaning up against mine, and think that this is exactly how it is supposed to be.

  “Intercontinental transportation industry,” I correct as I shut off my hazards. “Welcome aboard, Piper Sullivan. Have you used the restroom recently?”

  “Yes, I just did.”

  “Good, fewer breaks means an on-time delivery, which means keeping Viv happy, which means keeping a mediocre job which makes me relatively happy. Holding it as long as you can is a prerequisite for this ride. Are you up for the challenge?”

  “Yes, definitely. Consider me a camel.” She finally clicks her seatbelt, releasing the last bit of trepidation that clings to me like a shadow. I shift Cash Money into gear before she can change her mind.

  It’s really happening.

  “So five days of this,” she says, running her hand along the dash. She lets out the same low whistle she did on the first day I saw her, and it sends me whirling. It’s going to be a long, excruciating five days with her sitting in that seat. All I want to do is wrap her in my arms, explore those lips again, run my fingers through those luscious locks, and ….

  “How big is the inside of this truck? Square feet wise?” Her voice interrupts me.

  I clear my throat. “About fifty square feet.”

  “Five days. Fifty square feet. One last shot at love,” she says. “Sounds like it should be a movie.”

  God, I hope so. One just like Pretty Woman except Piper isn’t a hooker or one just like the Notebook except Piper doesn’t get Alzheimer’s and forget about me. Yeah, I shamefully have seen both those movies. Hell, anything that has a happy ending with a healthy dose of sex would be the right comparison. I’m a guy, what can I say?

  “I think it would be a good one,” I tell her.

  “I hope so.”

  It’s taking all of my willpower not to swerve Cash Money onto the side of the road and swallow her. I don’t have to tell you that the tension is off the charts; I’m sure you feel it, too. I’m sure the twenty cars surrounding us feel it.

  “So, you asked me four questions back at the house. You have one more left,” she says.

  “I know.”

  “You want to ask it now?”

  “No, I’m saving it.”

  I glance over to see her lips curve at the corners. “We have five days of questions to ask.”

  “I know. I’m still saving it.”

  “Then I’ll take my turn. I have five questions for you,” she says as she pulls her knees up and turns toward me. I can feel the emerald cutting through me so I straighten up in my seat.

  “It’s going to be a long five days if you keep flexing every time I look at you.” Her laughter sings above the rumble of the engine as I shift another gear and merge onto the highway. “Trust me, you look good. You’ve successfully morphed from the sweet boy I remember to a rugged, hot man.”

  Yeah, she called me hot.

  I relax my body and she laughs again. I could get used to that sound, real easy.

  “Question one, did you go to Princeton?”

  “Yes, for a year.”

  “Ugh. Since I think it’s important for you to keep your eyes on the road because I don’t feel like dying today, I’m going to tell you what I’m doing – what my facial reaction is. I’m cringing right now.”

  “Good, you should be. I’m twenty grand poorer because of you,” I reply.

  “You seriously went there? I’m raising my eyebrows.”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, God. I’m rolling my eyes.”

  “I looked for you, and you can stop telling me what you’re doing. I’m sure your facial expression is priceless right now.”

  “Oh, God. Let’s move on. Question two. Why are you driving a truck?”

  “It’s kind of a long story,” I start.

  “We’ve got nothing but time, Cash Rowland. Nothing but time.”

  I glance over to see Piper slip off her shoes and press her feet against the dash, and I’ve never felt more exhilarated about pink toenail polish than in this exact moment.

  We spend the next four hours talking about nothing and everything under the sun. I’ll spare you all the playful banter that had me squirming in my seat and give you the rundown about Piper since you already know about my not-so-impressive last five years.

  She’s in her last year of undergrad at the University of Wisconsin-Madison majoring in Genetics. She’s already been accepted into thei
r medical school and plans to become an oncologist. Yes, her father was disappointed that she didn’t go to Princeton. No, her father isn’t a huge jerk. He’s just sometimes a jerk with good intentions. She does have an Aunt Belinda, but said aunt doesn’t live in California. This is where the conversation got sticky. It was somewhere near the middle of Illinois, close to Urbana, about four hours into our trip. I’ll bring you back in.

  “So he ships me down to live with his sister, my crazy Aunt Belinda who has way too many cats and drinks way too many herbs, roots, and God knows what else she grinds up in that blender. All day long, whoosh, whoosh, whoosh,” she says. I catch her waving her hands in my peripheral vision. “I took all my classes online that year, finishing most of the high school crap that semester and then moving onto the college intro classes in the spring. By the time I got to UW, I had a solid semester already under my belt. I should have graduated this past winter, but the extra boost gave me some leeway during my first two years when, you know, I was adjusting to school.”

  “Adjusting?”

  “That’s code for drinking too much and running wild. You can’t go to one of the top ten party schools in the nation with a ridiculous rate of binge drinking and not get caught up, at least for a few weeks,” she says.

  “Did you know that seventy percent of the students at UW admit to binge drinking?”

  “I believe it. How do you know that kind of stuff? Seriously, how many useless facts and statistics are rattling through that head of yours?”

  “A lot. So…”

  “So, you’re wondering how crazy it got. It wasn’t as bad as you might think, and I’ve only slept with three guys,” she starts.

  “I don’t care about the guys,” I say trying to hide my disappointment. Three is one more than my two, not that I’m keeping track or anything. “Let’s get back to Aunt Belinda.”

  “What do you want to know? She’s a fifty-seven-year-old, tree-hugging, organic eating, Scorpio who lives with too many hairballs to count. I really hope you aren’t into cats or anything. You don’t seem like the type, but if you are, that should change immediately. Under no circumstances should there be any cats near me,” she replies.