“Is this your ride?” I ask.
“Yeah,” Preston answers, pulling out a pair of Ray-Bans from his front pocket and sliding them on. “Been working on it since I was fourteen.”
“Wow.”
He walks to the passenger door and swings it open for me. I give him a smile and hop up onto the bench seat, dropping my bag on the floor. Preston shuts the door, walks around the front of the truck, and climbs in behind the wheel. He snaps his seat belt into place and tugs on it. It looks like he’s not satisfied, because he unhooks it and slides the metal back into the buckle. Preston tugs again, and a sigh escapes his lips. He repeats the process three more times as I watch his frustration grow.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, both hands on the wheel now.
“No apologies, Preston.” I click my seat belt into place.
When the engine roars to life, I really appreciate the beauty of this truck. Preston’s posture is tense as he backs out of the space. Soon we’re out of Crowley, heading west on Highway 70. I roll my window down and hang my arm out of the truck. The wind whips through the cab, making my shirt flap around me. Preston looks over, and even with his sunglasses in place, I can feel his eyes on me. In this truck with him, I feel more free and content than I have in a long time. Even the sight of those loathed crop fields does nothing to squash my giddiness.
“What did you do yesterday on your day off?” I ask.
He pouts, which only improves his already handsome profile. One hand leaves the steering wheel, and he touches a dial on the dash. Then he touches the others before returning to the wheel.
“Worked in my shop.”
“Shop? What kind of shop? What are you doing in there? Where is it?”
He gives a grin at my excited chatter and adjusts his side mirror.
“I’m refinishing old furniture in the attic space above the apartments.”
“Really? I knew I heard power tools yesterday. Thought I was losing my mind. I forgot about that place. It’s so creepy up there.” I pause before seizing such a great opportunity. “So, you must be good with your hands.”
“I’m good at a lot of things,” Preston answers.
I turn to find his eyes still on the road, but even in profile, that teasing smirk kills me. Houston, I think we have flirting.
“What kind of truck is this?” I ask.
“It’s a 1954 Chevrolet 3100 5-Window pickup. It was my grandfather’s project. We used to work on it together. Then he gave it to me for my sixteenth birthday.”
“It’s beautiful.”
Preston grins and subtly relaxes against his seat. He’s got one hand on the wheel and the other arm resting out the window. There’s a chasm of space between us, and more than anything, I want to slide over and tuck myself beside him. But we’re still strangers, and I have mostly learned to control my impulses. Mostly.
“Where is Bennie today? I’m sure you would much rather go shopping with her, right?” Preston asks.
“She’s spending the day with her friend Laney. I didn’t want to ask her to drop everything just because I’m back in town. I’m glad she still has her best friend after all this time.”
“What about you?”
I turn toward Preston. “What about me?”
“Do you have a best friend?”
“I used to,” I answer, frowning at the scenery flying by outside my window. “Bridget and I were inseparable after she moved here in tenth grade. That was until I found out everything she ever told me was a lie. After years, I found out that she’d only befriended me to get closer to Sawyer. She fed me lie after lie, while I confided everything in her. She was a hard lesson in trust.”
“Does that have anything to do with honesty topping your list?” Preston asks.
I nod. Memories of that traitorous relationship sit heavy on my brain, and I scramble to change the subject.
“What are you doing in Franklin today?”
He keeps his eyes on the road and takes a deep breath. “I have an appointment,” he says through tight lips.
I’m taken aback by the sudden change in demeanor, but I try to appear unaffected.
“Okay, well, if you could just drop me off at the shopping center near campus, I’d appreciate it.”
Preston nods. The rest of the drive is silent and a bit awkward. Preston pulls into the parking lot, and I hop out, not wanting him to have to get out to open my door.
“You can just pick me up right here when you’re done,” I tell him.
“Should be around three o’clock.”
“Perfect.” I give him a wave and watch as the truck rumbles through the lot and turns back onto the highway.
My shopping experience is pretty great. I buy some new bras and panties, a couple of pairs of shoes, some skinny jeans that make my ass look fantastic, and a vintage Beastie Boys T-shirt. A few times, while hidden away in a dressing room, I find myself looking at an outfit and wondering if Preston will like it. I want him to like me a little more than I’m willing to admit. It’s the uncertainty that’s killing me. Just when I think he’s coming around, something snaps him back in place.
I stroll through the food court, looking for something to fill my growling belly when a black leather jacket catches my eye. Dylan. My feet freeze in place as my heart leaps into my throat. The guy wearing the jacket has wavy blond hair and black boots, but I can’t see his face. I want to run and hide, but my body does not cooperate. I now understand the deer in headlights.
Someone bumps into me, and I am nearly knocked off my feet.
“Sorry!” a lady yells as she chases after her kid.
“It’s okay,” I mumble, righting myself.
When I check for the guy in the leather jacket, he’s gone. I shake my head and spin in place, searching the area. It can’t be him. Dylan is far away. I am home. I am safe. Once I’ve convinced myself that I’m in no danger, I grab my shopping bags and make my way toward the exit.
“What kind of idiot wears a leather jacket in the middle of summer anyway?” I ask myself, stepping out into the heat.
A little before three, I sit on a bench near the entrance of the shopping center. Bags of wardrobe loot surround me. I hear Preston before I see him. That engine signals his approach as I gather up all my stuff. While I’m collecting my things, he throws the truck in park, hops out, and comes around to help me.
“Hi,” he says, giving me a smile. He seems to be in lighter spirits than when he left, and I wonder about his appointment. I absolutely hate that he’s wearing those Ray-Bans. The best thing about his smile is the tiny lines he gets in the corners of each eye. Preston gives great eye crinkle.
“Hey,” I answer.
We slide my bags into the truck, and I hop in. Preston waits until I’ve buckled my seat belt before closing my door and running around to his side. After only buckling his seat belt twice, we’re back on the highway, heading toward Crowley.
“Did you get what you needed?” he asks, keeping his eyes on the road.
“Yep. I got this,” I say, reaching into a random bag and pulling out my jeans. “And this,” I repeat, showing him the T-shirt. “And these.” I grab a handful of panties and lift them out. Preston stares at the mixed colors of lace and satin for too long. We hear a thump, thump, thump, and realize the truck has drifted onto the shoulder. I giggle as Preston’s gaze snaps forward and he corrects our place on the road.
“How was your appointment?” I ask.
“Fine.”
“Just fine?”
“Yes.”
“Okay,” I say, drawing out the word. “I feel like we should get to know each other, Preston. All I know about you is you have my old job, my old apartment, and a sweet truck. What if you’re some kind of crazy person?”
Preston seems to flinch. His grip tightens on the steering wheel and loosens again. I watch the flex and movement of muscles in his arms and try not to drool. There’s another round of touching all the gauges before he glances my way. This reaction make
s me consider going easy on him.
“What if I am some kind of crazy person?” he asks.
“Well, there’s crazy and then there’s cra-ay-zee. You know?”
“What’s the difference?”
“The first one might drink too much and do a table dance at Millie’s while the second one would smear peanut butter all over their naked body and quote Samuel L. Jackson movies while riding a unicycle through town.”
“Oh,” Preston says, though I doubt my explanation helped at all.
“So, you won’t mind if I ask some questions?” I ask. He shakes his head. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-four.”
“What did you study in college?”
“I have a bachelor’s in merchandising and consumer studies.”
“Wow. That sounds impressive, Preston-who-has-a-degree. Are you the one who talked Bennie into expanding beyond records at the store?”
“I did. I figured even with the new rise in vinyl sales, having other vintage inventory could only help bring in the ideal crowd and increase our visibility in the right market.”
I stare at him. I believe that’s the longest string of words he’s spoken to me since we met.
“Makes sense to me,” I say. “Why work at Vinyl, though?”
“My mom used to listen to records all the time. She has a huge collection. Some of my best childhood memories include vinyl soundtracks.”
I nod, knowing exactly what he means. “Me, too. What’s your all-time favorite album?”
“Too hard. There are albums that represent different things in my life.”
“Yeah, I get that. It’s strange,” I say, looking over at his profile. “Most of my favorite albums came out before I was born. I guess that’s from having a much older sister.”
“What album changed your life?” he asks.
“I don’t even have to think about it. Siamese Dream by Smashing Pumpkins.”
Preston smirks out at the road and nods. “Interesting.”
“Don’t judge me,” I tease. “What’s yours?” I ask.
“The Velvet Underground.”
“Oh, that’s a good one. That’s one of Bennie’s favorites.”
We are quiet again, listening to the wind whip through the cab and rustle my bags. A few minutes later, we pull into the alley behind Vinyl and park. Preston grabs half my stuff and runs around to open my door.
“Such a gentleman,” I say.
He waits for me to climb out. I do so ungracefully and head in through the back door. Preston follows me up the stairs, and I make sure to shake my ass just a little more than usual. I unlock Bennie’s apartment and head for my room.
“You can just drop them off right there,” I say, pointing to the corner.
I watch Preston closely as he crosses the threshold into my bedroom and gently sets down the bags. He lines them up neatly and pushes them against the wall. The sight of him, here in my space, makes me want to tackle him onto the bed. I’m sure the old wrought-iron furniture could take it. Something about this guy makes me crazy. Sure, there’s the physical stuff—and he’s got plenty of fantastic physical stuff—but there’s also this feeling of wanting to look closer.
“Well, thanks. For everything, I mean.”
He stares at the bed and the wall behind it.
“Preston?”
He blinks a few times and shakes his head before turning toward me.
“You’re welcome,” he says. There’s a beat of silence and then, “My bedroom is on the other side of this wall.” Preston kind of blurts this like he’d been holding it hostage on his tongue.
I grin and nod my head. “Yeah, I guess I knew that.”
Preston looks at the floor and then into my eyes. “These walls are pretty thin. I hope I don’t disturb you.”
I step toward him now. We stand at the end of my bed facing each other, too far apart to touch. The tension surrounds, constricting us into a tighter space.
“I welcome any and all disturbances, Preston.”
His tongue sweeps over pursed lips, and I pray that he will kiss me. Instead, he ducks his head, mumbles a good-bye, and escapes my room. A second later, I hear the front door close. I lie down in bed and kick off my shoes, staring up at the uninteresting ceiling. I wonder about Preston and his strikingly handsome face, his tall form, and thick arms.
“What is my fascination with this guy?” I say out loud.
A few minutes later I hear the beginnings of Smashing Pumpkin’s “Cherub Rock” filtering through the wall and can’t help the wide grin that takes over my face.
Even with her eyes on me
Today it is the seat belt
My nemesis du jour
For most, a simple snap into place
And done
For me, a mechanical device
That is bound to fail
Metal buckle pieced together
With nylon straps of inadequacy
Even with her eyes on me
I can’t shake free that
The click wasn’t perfect
A tiny sound with resounding effects
I test with a tug but
The weight feels faulty in my hand
Every bit of strength I possess is stolen
By embarrassment and the inability to let go
I know all the probabilities
I know all the scenarios
I know they mean to stifle me
Even with her eyes on me
I let them
- Preston
Chapter Five
New Jersey
“What are your plans today?” Bennie asks as I hop up onto Vinyl’s front counter.
“I don’t know. I might hang out and bug you all day.”
“Well, I can’t afford to pay you, so don’t expect a check.”
I lean forward and hold her face between my hands. “No worries, B. I have enough money to last me a while.”
“Really? You have money? And you’re wearing those boots?”
“Ha-ha, smartass. I love these boots.”
“I’d love to burn those boots,” she says.
I pull my feet up and wrap my arms around my knees. “Don’t listen to her, boots. She doesn’t mean it.”
“Where did you get this money?”
“Oh, you know. I had odd jobs here and there.” The lie escapes so easily it makes me sick.
Preston passes by carrying a large box. I can see the muscles of his arms straining from the weight of it. In an unconscious decision, I hop down from the counter and follow him to the storage closet. Today he’s wearing a thin CBGB T-shirt and jeans that look soft and worn in. His boots look like mine, but clean.
“Hi,” I say.
He straightens but doesn’t turn toward me. I stand there quietly waiting to be acknowledged. Preston faces a metal panel on the wall and touches the top left screw holding it in place. His index finger slides to the other top screw and then down to the bottom where he touches those two.
He has no reaction to my presence except for the telltale stiff shoulders. I sit on a stack of empty crates and tap my heels against the floor. Preston turns, his eyes land on my feet and stay there.
“Wren.”
“You’re looking extraordinarily pretty today, Preston-who-carries-heavy-boxes.”
“I thought we agreed on ruggedly handsome.”
“I never agreed on anything.”
Preston folds his arms across his chest and leans against the wall opposite me. The curve of his biceps beneath that shirt makes me want to sink my teeth into his flesh. He looks so big and strong there, it seems as though he’s holding up the wall, not the other way around.
“You’re staring,” he says. His words sound harsh, but the sugar-coated smirk he’s wearing tells me he’s teasing.
“There’s a lot to take in.”
I slide off the crates and walk toward him. There’s no look of panic, no visible instinct to flee. Instead, he watches me. His eyes stay on min
e until I’m standing too close. My fingers curl and flex, wanting to touch him so badly. I fight that feeling, afraid of pushing him away.
“You’re staring,” I tease.
He exhales slowly as his hand reaches for me. I think, this is it. He’s going to pull me into his arms and kiss the hell out of me. Instead, he seems to inspect the buttons on my shirt. He touches the collar button and then each one gets a gentle poke, trailing his hand between my breasts and down to my stomach. Preston pulls a thread hanging loose and tucks it into his pocket. There seems to be a rather victorious smile on his face.
“You had a thread,” he says simply.
“What if that thread was the only thing holding this shirt together? What if you pulling that thread causes my shirt to fall apart and leave me topless at some point during the day?”
I look up at him through my lashes and wait. I don’t expect Preston to humor me, but people seem to be doing a lot of things I don’t expect these days.
“I’d say, if that were the case…” He pauses. His eyes drop to my chest and return to my face. The tip of his tongue peeks out and sweeps over his bottom lip. “I’m going to have to follow you around all day.”
I laugh and watch him make a quick exit through the swinging door.
Around lunch time, I’m parked on the front counter again, flipping through new inventory. Bennie and I have been messing around, and it just solidifies how much I’ve missed her. She leaves to grab some lunch, so it’s just me and Preston in the shop. He keeps to himself, always staying busy cleaning or rearranging the stacks for the hundredth time. I watch him work, and while he doesn’t acknowledge me, I know he knows. I think he likes my eyes on him. I think he might like my everything on him.
The bell chimes, signaling a new customer, and I hop down to do my part. I’m surprised to see Sawyer there. What’s even more surprising is the uniform he’s wearing. It’s dark blue with patches sewn on, his name stitched above one pocket and a badge above the other.
Chaos and Control Page 4