by Raen Smith
“DUCK!” The woman screams behind me.
But it’s too late. I’m already ducking and missing the Cowboy’s hand by just inches. I pop back up and finally extend my fist to wipe the shock from his face.
And damn, does it hurt. The pain explodes through my knuckles and runs up my arm, but I know I have to hit him again. He’s been around the block, more than once – he’s definitely double my age – with a set of old man muscles I know I can’t compete with. I pull back again to crush his face and probably my pinky finger right along with it, when I see a bright pink shoe kick up in front of me.
Piper.
The shoe connects with the Cowboy’s groin and he doubles over in pain, giving us just a few seconds of lead time.
“GO!” I yell to Piper, but she’s already running down the thin space between the parked semis. The lights alongside the trailers illuminate the path like a marked runway, and I follow her bouncing blonde hair as she grabs the woman in the red heels.
“Come back here, you –” I hear the Cowboy groan as he clutches his groin in agony. His words are slurred, and I don’t catch the end of his threat because I’m already thirty feet ahead and winding around the front of a truck. I follow those streaming locks of yellow like a NASCAR white flag.
“Over here,” Piper yells and points to Cash Money just a few trucks over. Even though I know I should care that I’ve broken a cardinal rule of trucking – never leave your truck unlocked and idling – I couldn’t be happier.
By the time I get to the driver’s side door, the woman has already climbed in. She crawls in between the seats and moves to the bed in the back. I swing open the door and meet Piper’s glowing eyes.
God, I love those eyes.
I could stare at those eyes all night, but the Cowboy is coming, and I sure as hell don’t want to know what his fist feels like in my face or even worse. Piper breaks eye contact first as we pop into our seats across from each other. I release the break and hit the gas as the truck slowly responds to my touch. It’s a straight shot out of hell, away from the Cowboy and his fist.
“Come on, baby,” I coax as the engine gives a little and the tires begin to roll. I shift as I hear a bang on the back of the trailer.
“Go,” the woman whispers behind me. I can’t see her, but I can smell her. It’s an intoxicating mixture of brown sugar, vanilla, and something else. I can’t pinpoint the last element although the scent is tickling the tip of my nose. It’s right there.
The thumping soundtrack of Games of Thrones is blaring through the cab. Swords are clanking and the drums pound harder and harder, reaching the pinnacle of a fight scene.
The side mirror shows a reflection of the Cowboy staggering beside the truck with a gun in his hand. Blood is spilling down his nose – manhood achieved with whistles and cheers by yours truly – and onto his mouth. Hell, he’s chasing us like I stole a load of gold from him. He’s absolutely crazed and his arms and legs are moving wildly in jerky movements. I cringe just thinking about the bullet holes that he’s going to put into Cash Money. But we both know he can’t knock out enough tires for me to stop. There’s no way in hell I’m stopping now no matter how many tires he blows out.
The popping echoes of the gun disappear under the roar of the engine.
“Is he shooting at us?” Piper screams as she pounds the dash. “GO, GO, GO!”
I hold my breath as the engine revs, and I shift again. I’m waiting for the sound of the first tire to blow out, but it doesn’t come. He’s losing ground now, according to my trusty mirror, and his arms aren’t pumping as fast.
“Give up, Cowboy. Give up,” I mutter.
Another round of popping sounds rings out, but I never hear a ting against the trailer or the blowout of a tire. I’m not sure if it’s a hopeful delusion in the rush of adrenaline, but I hold my breath, grip the wheel, and pray this jerk gives up for the sake of all of us in this cab and for Viv. She would kill me if I brought Cash Money back with bullet holes in him. That would be a first for Viv I didn’t want to achieve.
“COME ON!” The woman yells in my ear.
“I’M GOING, I’M GOING!” I holler back. “COME ON, CASH MONEY!”
The tires start rolling faster and faster, and I think for a second that we might have a chance. I thrust my foot on the pedal, feeling Cash Money respond underneath me.
And finally the man stops about thirty feet behind the trailer and kicks the ground with his boots. I hope they’re real nice, expensive snake leather, and I hope like hell that he’s scuffed them.
Right on cue, the Game of Thrones fight scene ends and a crowd erupts in hardy cheers on the TV behind me. I can feel Piper smiling before she lets out a huge “WHOOP!” She pounds the dash and erupts in clapping hands.
“YES!” The woman yells behind me and joins Piper in clapping.
“HELL YES!” I yell and hold my hand out. Piper slaps my battered hand and sends a dose of pain shooting up my arm. “OW.” I flinch, but I don’t move it and wait for the woman behind me. She slaps it softer before she starts to clap again.
“Thank you, thank you,” she says softly.
“Cash Rowland, you just became a real man!” Piper yells as she grabs my biceps and shakes it. “My God, I thought my heart was going to explode. That was awesome. Did you see that guy’s face? One, two punch from Cash and Piper.”
“One punch, two kick,” I laugh. “My Badass Badge has officially been achieved. I have to call Hudson. And thanks, by the way, for not listening to me right away. You saved my ass by kicking him in the balls. I knew I brought you along for a reason. I saw that pink shoe fly up and all I could think was, thank God I don’t have to punch this Cowboy again.”
“How bad does it hurt?” Piper asks.
“Not that bad.” I move my eyes back to the open road and rest my swollen hand against the wheel. The only thing that’s taking the edge off the pain is the excitement of impressing Piper. I know it’s all macho and lame and everything, but I can’t help it. I just punched some scumbag and if that doesn’t impress her, I don’t know what will.
“How bad?” The woman asks. Her voice is motherly and concerned and something in it makes me relent like I do with Hudson’s constant badgering. Piper’s impression aside, I have to tell the truth.
“It hurts like hell, and although I know I didn’t break all twenty-seven bones in my hand, I swear to God it feels like I did,” I say with a laugh as I move my fingers back and forth.
“Ooh, Cash.” Piper lets out a low whistle and the urge to take her floods over me. But I’m driving a thirty-ton eighteen wheeler down the highway so I lean over my seat, stretch as far as I can and plant a kiss on her cheek.
“You saved us all,” the woman says. “Thank you. We should stop and get ice the first chance we get.”
“I think we should get the hell out of here and away from that Cowboy. My hand will be fine,” I say to the woman. A woman I saved from who and what I wasn’t sure, and to be honest, I don’t want to know. I punched a man for the woman in the backseat whose name, age, and occupation I don’t know. Hell, I don’t even know what she is wearing beside those red heels. The only type of women trolling around truck stops and wearing red heels like that is the Lot Lizard variety. And I steer clear of the prostitutes and their high heels.
My heart crawls back out of my throat as I turn on to the open road of Interstate 24. The blaring dialogue of the TV silences as the woman turns it off, and we’re left with just the humming of the tires against the asphalt. I put my hand over the taped picture on my dash, thanking the blue eyes and brown locks of Luella for keeping us safe.
I inhale deeply, and this is when it dawns on me that the missing element to the concoction behind us is a cherry cigar.
“Are you two making love?” she asks behind me. Her voice is soft and low, like a mother singing to her child before bed. For whatever reason it doesn’t strike me as odd that the Lot Lizard, I’m guessing she’s one anyway, says “making love” ins
tead of having sex or taking her out back or rolling in the sack or any other term used to describe the act. And it doesn’t strike me as odd that I just punched a random guy with a gun, escaped with his woman, and will, most likely, be in a hot bed of hell if the Cowboy has anything to say about it.
What strikes me in this moment, for whatever reason, is how I managed to get Piper Sullivan to sit in the seat only a foot away from me.
“No.” I respond truthfully. I want nothing else than my answer to be a yes.
“He wishes,” Piper says.
“Well, if you aren’t, you ought to be,” the woman says in the same sweet tone as before.
“I couldn’t agree with you more,” I whisper.
I hope Piper Sullivan is listening. I hope she’s listening real close.
“Are you okay?” Piper turns to the woman behind us.
“Yeah, I think so. Thankfully, he missed my eye. He knocked me on the side of the head so all he left me with is a headache. I can deal with that,” she replies. “I can’t thank you enough.”
“No problem. It was all this guy,” Piper says as she hits my armrest.
“I can’t take all the credit,” I reply.
“You’re like a modern day Bonnie and Clyde out on the open road,” the woman says.
“Except we don’t steal stuff or kill people,” Piper says. “I hope we have a better outcome than they do. I really don’t feel like being pumped full of bullets. It’s too tragic, plus I have finals to take in a couple of weeks. You know, I’ve got more important things to do than to become one of the most epic couples of all time.”
Couple. The word drips in my ears like honey. I like that Piper is talking in terms of us being a couple and I think, for a moment, I’m getting close. I’m breaking the walls down, and there’s no stopping me. Hell, I just punched a guy.
“What’s your name?” I ask the woman, glancing down at the fuel gauge. We won’t make it too far tonight, but hopefully far enough. I secretly thank Viv for her resistance to adopt technology with open arms. The manual log books will come in handy since I’ll drive more than the regulated eleven hours in a twenty-four hour period. Electronic log books automatically track your hours, and it’s impossible to skew the amount of time you drive. I’ll make Piper write the numbers for me on my books since that whole Tourette Syndrome of my conscience won’t let me fudge the paperwork.
“L,” the woman says.
“Elle, like the magazine?” Piper asks.
“No, like the letter.”
“Your parents named you L? The letter L is the only thing on your birth certificate?” I ask. “Did they forget to write the rest or were they just too exhausted after writing the L? Did they not realize how confusing that is? Just L?”
“It’s just L,” she says, her voice as smooth as silk. It sounds like a voice from a sex hotline, not that I’ve ever called one or anything. It’s almost as if she is purring, yet somehow, it’s tactful. This woman has skills.
“Some of the boys call me Lady Luck. You can call me that if you prefer.”
I don’t want to know what kind of luck any “boys” were having with L. I could only imagine who her customers were in the truck stops. I always thought if you were going to be a prostitute that a truck stop would offer the worst clientele and locale. Filthy trucks paired with unkempt, lonely men is a recipe for disaster and disease. I’m really beginning to think that L is in the wrong line of business. She should be on a phone somewhere, distancing herself from these guys.
“I like L,” Piper replies as a declaration. “A beautiful mystery wrapped up with one single letter. I’m Piper by the way and the hunky man who punched the Cowboy is Cash.” She points to me with a coy smile. I’m glad she’s savoring the moment because my hand sure the hell isn’t.
“So, where you kids headed?” L asks.
“Miami,” I say.
She’s silent at first and the only noise in the cab is the rumble of the engine and the hum of the road. I’m about to recite some random fact about Miami when she beats me to it.
“Ah, the Magic City of the sun and Atlantic Ocean,” she replies with a longing in her voice. “I’ve never been to the Gateway of America before.”
“One of the cleanest and richest cities in America,” I add. “Also dubbed as the Cruise-”
“Capital of the World,” L finishes.
Piper snorts. “Awesome. I’m in a truck with two info-geeks. No worries, L, you can enjoy this ride as long as you would like. We can bring you down to Miami if you want to devirginize yourself.”
I cringe at the mention of virgin. Not only is devirginize not a word, the vernacular of virgin and this woman don’t exactly match. L sounds like the type of woman that’s seasoned. Plus, the thought of another woman riding between Piper and me the rest of the trip is agonizing.
“No, that won’t be necessary,” she answers as if on cue. “I’m not in the mood to head to Miami, plus I don’t want to ruin your trip. You don’t want me tagging along. I have some clients in the Nashville area that probably won’t mind picking me up. It’s about an hour away from here, which is probably a good distance if you know what I mean. I don’t think any of us wants Jack coming after us. Although, I doubt he’s even got half his mind about him to start that rig and get on the road.”
I finally get the courage to turn around to see the woman behind me, but all I can make out in the dim lighting of the cab is that she has dark hair and a pale, almost glowing face. She looks beautiful or maybe she just sounds beautiful. I’m not really sure.
“Nashville sounds great,” I reply.
“Are you sure that’s far enough?” Piper asks. “I mean, I don’t know what that guy wanted, but I want to make sure that we’re far away from him. I don’t want him to hurt you anymore, and I’m sure Cash doesn’t want any more bullet holes in his beloved Cash Money.”
“Yeah, Nashville should be far enough. He isn’t coming after us, and trust me, there aren’t any holes in Cash Money. Jack has the aim of a drunk goat wearing a blindfold,” L says.
“I hope you’re right. I’m pretty sure my boss Viv would kill me if I came home with bullet holes in one of her babies,” I reply.
“Yeah, I would be angry if there was any damage to one of my assets as a business owner. If any jerk ruined one of my pumps, I would kill him,” L says.
Piper leaks a small laugh, and it spreads to me just seconds later. Then L joins with a sweet laugh until all three of us are rolling. I imagine L stabbing at him with one of her pumps and then wiping it off carefully before putting it back on. It’s bizarre, disturbing, and hilarious all at the same time.
“So what’s your story L? We’ve got an hour until Nashville, and Cash and I aren’t exactly boasting tabloid worthy news over here. He’s a truck driver, and I’m a student. He’s trying to convince me that we should be together, and I’m trying to convince him that he should go to college. We have five days to do our deeds,” Piper pauses, and I can feel her eyes on me again. “After tonight, we have four more days.”
“What happens after the five days are up and the deeds aren’t done? Cinderella goes back to being a scullery maid?”
“Well…” Piper starts.
“That’s not an option for me,” I reply. “Plus, Cinderella won’t ever be a maid because her daddy is a neurosurgeon.”
“Ah, I see,” L says as she leans closer so her head is in between the seats. I glance back to see her flawless, porcelain skin poured like milk over her face. From what I can tell, she’s wearing just enough makeup to enhance her already natural beauty and is quite a bit older than us. I would peg her around Big Dave’s age even though she’s aged incredibly well. And she’s staring at me with these eyes that are so clear and filled with a sweet sadness as if she’s consoling a small child. Her body is still, her eyelashes fluttering once before her lips curve up into a dreamy smile.
As much as I should hate this woman who has abruptly appeared between Piper and me, it inexplic
ably calms me. Somehow it doesn’t matter how much pain she has brought my right hand. It’s glorious and infuriating at the same time. I turn my eyes back to the road.
“Don’t remind me about the neurosurgeon father,” Piper grumbles from the other side of the cab.
“So what’s your story, L?” I ask again, watching as the road signs flash by, one after the other, each another signal that the time with the mysterious L will be ending. I want to hear her story before she goes.
“My story?” she asks. “Well, my story isn’t exactly much of a story but broken bits and pieces of a life not exactly worth remembering.”
“Don’t say that,” Piper defends, sitting up in her seat. Her voice is harsh. “Don’t ever say that your life isn’t worth remembering. Every single piece, no matter how broken, damaged, or ugly, when you put it together, that’s what makes your song. That’s what makes your life a beautiful melody that’s worth singing, remembering and holding in your heart. Without sadness, you can’t have love and hope.”
I listen to Piper finish and wonder what part of her melody I belong to. I want nothing else than to belong to the part filled with love and hope.
“You’re probably right,” L says slowly, reflecting on Piper’s words. “I can be a little hard on myself every once in a while. I think we all can be too hard on ourselves sometimes.”
“Amen to that,” Piper says. “So what were you doing hanging around there? You seem like an intelligent, beautiful woman. It seems to me like a truck stop isn’t the best place to find the world’s most eligible bachelors.”
“Well, it’s not exactly what you think it is,” L replies. “I’m not a prostitute if that’s what you’re wondering. I don’t have sex for a living. I’m a companion for a living.”
We’re all silent, waiting for more.
“A companion?” Piper repeats.
“Yeah, I’m a companion to the drivers. Men –” she pauses, “and women, don’t forget about women. They’re some of my top customers. They pay me to ride with them. Wherever they go, I go with them. I’m entertainment for them, just like a movie, video game, or crossword puzzle.”