by Salsbury, JB
Before I have a chance to scream, his body disappears as some unseen force rips him from the seat. I cover my mouth at the sudden violence, then stare in amazement as the barefoot, denim-clad legs of the blond Big Bird fucker come into view.
“Stay the fuck down, Ethan, or I swear to God I’ll break your jaw.” The growl came from the blond one.
Faux-hawk’s eyes soften toward me again. “We’re gonna need you to come out from under there.”
The sound of heavy footsteps closes in, and I shudder hoping it’s not Ethan.
A pair of familiar boots and jeans come into view, and my breath comes a little easier. When the kind eyes of the man from the truck stop meet mine, his brows pinch together. “I remember you. My name is Charles.”
Charles is much older than the other men. He must own this RV.
“Look, I’m really sorry, okay?” The thought of disappointing this man makes me nauseated, probably because he looks a lot like my uncle who used to take me to the zoo every birthday. “I had to get out of there, and I had nowhere to go, and—”
“All right, all right,” he says soothingly. “Why don’t you come on out of there and get something to eat.”
My stomach growls on cue.
“Come on now,” he says in a voice as if he’s calling a timid dog.
Best way to get a feral animal to come to you is to offer it food.
Is that what I look like? Some kind of rabid beast? I don’t need the answer to that question. I probably smell like one too.
I gently unfold my cramping muscles, wincing a little as blood redistributes to my legs after hours of being folded against my body, and crawl out from under the table. The older man offers me his hand, but I refuse it and stand on my own strength. I may be weakened, but I am not weak. I glare at the four men who each look at me a little differently, the one with the chilling blue stare my biggest threat. Even more threatening than the guy who thought he’d get a blowjob, which is saying something.
The blond steps forward. “How did you get on the bus? Have you been here since New York? Have you been stealing from us right under our noses?”
I hold my hands out dramatically. “You got me. Yep, I’ve been stealing. See all the many things I’ve stolen?” I motion to my pockets, my tight, dirty sweater. “I’ve got your fifty-inch TV in my back pocket and your bags of diamonds shoved into my underwear.”
A soft chuckle comes from one of the guys, but the one accusing me of thievery tightens his glare.
The guy with the bird kink looks me up and down and laughs, but I don’t think it’s because he finds me funny. “I know how this works. Women stealing dirty socks and underwear to auction off on eBay.”
“I don’t know what kind of women you hang out with, but that’s disgusting.”
He chuckles, the sound dark and mocking. “That’s rich coming from you.”
This fucking prick, rolling around in a million-dollar house on wheels with his perfect hair, flawless skin, and lips that look like they’ve never seen too much sun or a day without Chapstick. His teeth have definitely been perfected by some fancy-assed orthodontist, and he’s passing judgment on me. Not worth the energy. “Asshole,” I whisper.
“Okay, just calm down and have a seat,” the driver says, motioning toward the couch.
The Ethan guy sits first and pats the spot next to him.
I look back at Charles. “No, thanks. I’m good.”
The blond prick is punching numbers on his phone. “There’s no use in her getting too comfortable. She’s getting off as soon as the cops get here.”
Ryder
I’m not really calling the cops. We’re probably a hundred miles from any town with a police department, so waiting for a cop would take hours. I want her to think I’m calling the cops. Let the fear of incarceration teach her a lesson. I’m also not convinced she doesn’t have one of our shirts shoved down the back of her pants.
I look up from my phone and find her scowling at me, and damn… the woman has a death stare that could melt steal. She also has a bruise on her cheek, just under her left eye. “Someone needs to check her for weapons.”
Ethan hops up. “On it!”
I shove him back to the couch and fix him with a warning glare. “Not you.”
“Weapons?” The girl—or rather, judging by her curves, woman—shrieks. “What makes you think I’d be carrying a weapon?”
Is she joking? “John Lennon. Gianni Versace. Selena!”
Her body grows deathly still. “It’s because I’m black.”
“What?”
She steps closer, and Chris hides his grin behind his hand while Ethan watches, looking just as confused as I feel. Charles doesn’t take his eyes off her, and they soften with understanding.
“Yes, I snuck on your bus for a ride. I’m guilty of that. But in the two minutes of being caught, you’ve accused me of stealing and having a weapon. Next you’ll think I’ve got drugs on me, right?”
I open my mouth to tell her she’s wrong, but I’d be lying. The thought did cross my mind, so I slam my lips shut.
She shakes her head, her lips curling in anger. “You rich white men are all the same.”
“Hold on, just calm down,” Charles says wedging a shoulder between us.
She looks at him and nods, backing off, while I stand there completely dazed.
I study her again. Her skin is the color of light caramel, her curly hair the same shade but highlighted with streaks of golden honey. Her eyes are a shocking combination of blue and gray. “You’re not black.”
Those light eyes tighten again to slits. “You’re an idiot.”
“What did I say?” I look at Charles for a defense, but he shakes his head and motions for the woman to have a seat at the table she was found hiding under.
She sits and Chris places a fresh waffle in front of her and offers her my coffee. Dick. She thanks him and then stares around at all of us. We watch her as if we’d never seen a woman eat before.
Charles clears his throat. “Listen, we’re about eighty-seven miles from Chicago. I’m not dropping her off here in the middle of nowhere, so why don’t we let her eat and we’ll bring her as far as Chicago.”
“Fine with me,” Ethan says from his reclined position on the couch, though this time he’s not facing the television. He’s facing our unexpected guest.
“That’s cool with me,” Chris says as he scrapes our mostly untouched, now-soggy waffles into the trash.
All eyes come to me, eyebrows raised.
“Whatever.” I stomp past them all, straight back to my bunk to hide away for as long as it takes to get rid of the hitchhiker.
“Great,” Charles says. “Does that work for you, um…”
“Yes.” Her voice is softer with Charles, friendlier, and for some reason it makes me want to put my fist through a wall.
My legs freeze halfway into my bunk when Charles asks, “What’s your name?”
My ears tune in. I have to know what she’s called, even if I don’t fully understand why.
“Jade,” she says softly, as if she didn’t want anyone but Charles to hear, as if giving away her name was equivalent to giving up some of her power or showing her cards.
“Welcome aboard, Jade. We’ll be in Chicago in roughly and hour and a half.”
I crawl the rest of the way up into my bunk, close the curtain, and after obsessing about the mysterious stranger for who knows how long, I text Rachel.
I’m sorry about last night. You’ll never believe what I woke up to this morning…
My finger hovers over the keypad, then settles on the backspace key.
No use telling Rachel about our stowaway. Soon she’ll be gone and nothing but a tour memory.
3
Jade
With the blond guy gone and faux-hawk guy sitting in front of a laptop with his back toward me, Charles returns to the driver’s seat. I’m with my free meal and one pair of eyes that won’t back off.
“Do you m
ind?” I say to the one they called Ethan.
He pushes up from his sprawled-out position on the couch. I jump a little when he takes the seat across from me and then curse myself for being so transparent. “Look, I’m sorry about what I said earlier.” He keeps his eyes on the table as if he’s truly embarrassed by his earlier behavior. “I assumed you were a crazy groupie.”
Unable to resist the sweet scent of a fresh breakfast, I fork a bite into my mouth. Wow, either I’m much hungrier than I thought, or this is a damn good waffle. I spear another chunk and shove it sloppily into my mouth, spilling syrup down my chin.
“You eat like a welfare kid.”
Steven’s words tumble through my skull, and I frown at how clearly I can still hear him.
“They’re good, right?” Ethan motions at the waffles. “Chris here was two years in at some fancy culinary school before he quit to play music.”
I lick my lips and realize I’m hovering over my plate like a hungry lion over a fresh kill. I back off and swipe my mouth with the back of my hand, feeling my face warm. “It’s delicious.” Resisting the urge to shovel the rest in my mouth, I take a more delicate bite. “So you guys are in some kind of traveling music group?” I say through a cheekful of food. Whatever. Ethan doesn’t seem to mind.
He tilts his head and smiles, and amusement dances in his eyes. “Something like that, yeah.”
“Cool.” That would explain the acoustic guitar on a stand in the corner. They look like they could be some kind of country western trio with the blond asshole as their front man singing Shania Twain covers to rich college kids. I drink the lukewarm coffee and finish my food in record time, my insides warm, and I relax with the job of digesting a full meal. Before I can bring my plate to the kitchen sink, faux-hawk guy, or Chris, scoops it up for me.
“You want another one?”
Yes. “Oh, um, no thanks. I’m full.”
His gaze settles briefly on my cheek, and the kindness in his expression turns sad. Panicked at what he might see or, worse, what he might assume, I slide out of the seat. “Can I use your bathroom?”
Ethan and Chris share a look.
“You guys are unbelievable,” I mumble and reach into my pockets to pull them inside out. “I literally have nothing.” I turn around and pat my back pockets. “Nothing to my name.” Facing them again, I slam my arms to my sides. “I just have to pee, swear to God.”
“Yeah, of course,” Chris says with a tight smile and points toward the very back of the bus. I pass through the narrow kitchen to a hallway lined with fancy bunks. each with their own small flat-screen TV. The privacy curtain on one is completely closed, and I glare at it hoping the jerk inside is dreaming of Big Bird getting his revenge.
“The door on the left,” Ethan calls out. “Open a window and courtesy flush if it’s number two, okay?—ow! Why’d you hit me?”
I turn around and catch Chris smack Ethan upside the head. I point to one of the two doors, and Chris nods.
I push the handle and step inside but don’t allow my jaw to hit the floor until after I’ve closed the door behind me. “Damn, this is no joke.”
The space is as big as a hospital exam room. Glass shower with one… two… three… four… five different sprayers. I’d give anything for a hot shower. The tile is frosted blue glass, and the countertop looks like fake white marble. I touch the cool surface—nope, it’s real. I cross to the toilet wondering where all the toothbrushes, toothpaste stains, and wet towels are. With four grown men sharing a bathroom, I would’ve expected as much. It’s spotless. I slide open a drawer and find the toothbrushes and toothpaste, all of them neatly arranged, the tubes squeezed from the bottom. Another drawer reveals hairbrushes, combs, tubs of gels and sprays. Makes sense, these guys look like they move through some hair product. The towels hanging on the wall are thick, soft, and although they look like they’ve been used, they’re all hung up properly. Evenly.
I glare at the toilet. “No way you’re not a mess.” The seat is down—first indicator I might be wrong. I flip the lid up with the toe of my boot and… spotless. “Amazing.”
I pop the button fly of my jeans and sit, my eyes taking in the ornate mirror above the double sinks. Country music pays better than I thought.
Reaching for the toilet paper, I see a stack of dirty magazines folded and shoved between the toilet and the wall. Ah-ha, so they are normal, human men.
I wash my hands and take a quick peek in the mirror. The thermostat has to be set to at least seventy degrees, and I look ridiculous wearing a beanie. I pull it off and shake out my hair feeling a little more like myself after a decent night’s sleep. My teeth feel like they’re growing fur. I borrow a strip of toothpaste and finger-brush. It doesn’t do much for my teeth, but it makes my mouth feel a lot fresher. Tucking my beanie in my back pocket, I stare longingly at the shower, shake my head, then leave before the guys think I’m ransacking their cologne stash to pawn for drug money.
“You know the movie Speed with Keanu?” Ethan calls to me from the couch.
I tiptoe past the closed-off bunk and toward the front of the bus. “Yeah, and Sandra Bullock.”
He twists around to look up at me, his smile falling instantly. “Damn, you have a shit ton of hair.”
“Thanks?”
He blinks and shakes his head. “I mean, it’s really fucking hot—”
“Ethan!” Chris says, glaring over his computer screen. “I’m sorry, Jade. He means well, I promise.” He sighs heavily as if his friend is a lost cause. “He’s never really been taught how to properly speak to women.”
“Dude.” Ethan’s grin is all pride and swagger, and I imagine even with his lack of finesse, his face and body attract plenty of women willing to warm his bed. “Your wife loves me. What does that say about my ability to speak to women?”
Chris looks up at his friend, boredom clear in his expression. “She also loves stray dogs, especially the really sad ones with deformities.”
That’s when it happens.
I got too comfortable. I let it slip.
My own personal siren’s call.
I smile.
The instant I register Chris’s reaction—his slack jaw, glazed-over eyes, rapid blinking—I know I fucked up.
I blame my deadbeat dad. I never met him, but Mom told me he’s the one who passed the dimples down to me.
And for some ridiculous reason, they manage to stupefy even the most faithful of men.
I frown and replace the dimples with my resting bitch face before addressing Chris. “So uh… are you watching Speed?”
Ethan blinks, focusing back on topic. “I’ve seen it a dozen times. It’s Keanu’s most impressive film.”
“Not hard to be,” I mumble.
“He’s the most underappreciated actor in Hollywood. Him and Ben Affleck.”
He’s got to be joking. Right?
With a smirk that is all cocky pride, he motions toward the couch. “Have a seat and prepare to be blown away.”
Ryder
I don’t know how long I slept, but when I rolled out of my bunk and saw our hitchhiker on the couch, her knees tucked under her body and her eyes fixed to the TV, I knew it was the last place I wanted to be. I grabbed some clean clothes and took a shower. I even dried my hair, to kill time and avoid the woman who uses her words like a viper strike and has made me her target.
We must’ve hit Chicago by now.
After tidying up the bathroom, throwing my clothes in the dirty hamper, and pulling my phone off the charger, I have nothing else to do, nowhere else to hide, so I brave the bus’s living space.
“You’re up,” Chris says, lifting his eyes from his phone. “Brent called.”
I drop into the seat nearest Chris, ignoring the woman who seems happily entertained by Ethan. “Let me guess. His plane is delayed because all first class was sold out, and his pampered, self-inflated ass can’t possibly fly coach.”
“No, but close. He’s early and he’s angry we’re
late.”
“We have today off.”
“I know.”
“Is Jes there?”
Chris shakes his head. “Not yet. They got slowed by the same storm we did.”
“Sorry we couldn’t make a deal with Mother Nature and get there early just so we could sit around all day.” I rub my palms on the thighs of my jeans, and my gaze is drawn to the woman. Jade.
She’s no longer wearing her hat. With her hair out and falling down her back and around her face, she looks a lot younger. If I had to guess, I’d say she’s in her early twenties. The cuffs of her sweater are dirty as are the knees of her jeans. And the bruise on her cheek…
“What’s your story?” I blurt the words without thought. She seems innocent enough, but I’m not ruling out that she’s some kind of psycho fan out to become the next big headline.
She ignores me, either acting like she didn’t hear or possibly so engrossed in the movie that she actually didn’t.
Ethan groans and says, “Brilliant, right? She says they’ll base their relationship on sex then.” He laughs and sighs. “The perfect woman.”
Jade turns her head from the movie to glare at me. “What’s yours?”
Ah, so she did hear me.
I shrug, swiveling my chair to face her more fully. “I’m not the one caught hiding on someone else’s property. If you’re not out to steal our shit, then why are you here?”
Her cheeks flush pink, but judging by the flare in her eyes, I don’t think it’s embarrassment as much as anger. “I already told you. I needed a ride.”
“How’d you get the black eye?”
“How’d you get the shitty personality?”
Ethan snorts, then clears his throat and watches the movie as if it holds the key to all of the universe’s unanswered questions.