“Anyway, getting back to what you asked me”—and hopefully giving myself time to calm my traitorous dick down—“I sort of stumbled into your town. My car broke down along the highway, and your town was the closest for the tow truck to drop me off. Unfortunately, after I arrived here, your local mechanic informed me that she wasn’t able to look at my car straight away. Apparently, she closes over the weekend.”
Green appears to mull over my words, his expression giving nothing away. “Given she’s the only mechanic in town, she can sort of set her own hours, and we just all put up with it. So, where are you heading to?”
“Nowhere and everywhere.”
“You’re a nomad?” He sounds surprised by this, and I wonder why. Do I not look like a nomad? Or does he not think I have that in me?
“I guess you could say that.”
“For how long have you been traveling?”
I snort at how ridiculous my answer is. “This is my fourth day. I originate from Chicago, but I just felt like I needed a change. So, I took my laptop and phones on the road to see what happens.”
“Your laptop and phones? You have more than one phone? And why mention those items specifically?”
I want to tease him over how nosy he’s being, but I assume this is a habit as sheriff rather than him actually being interested in me.
“I post videos of myself,” I answer, hoping that doesn’t sound as lame as I fear. Anyone can post videos of themselves online. I’m proud and grateful for the following I have, but I know a lot of it is to do with luck. And also, to be successful, you have to put in a lot of behind the scenes work. For some reason, people are interested in me and my life, which means I make a decent living from what I do.
“Which station are you on?” Sheriff Green adorably asks, even going as far as to unearth his remote control for his TV from his desk drawer.
“It’s online, not on TV,” I explain, which gets me a confused expression.
“Oh, so you load videos online? What type of videos?”
I see his mind immediately shift to something pornographic. He likely has no idea the bottomless pit of vloggers out there with their own channels. From gamers, to mommy vloggers, to dating experts, to entertainment sleuths, it has it all. I even found a woman who discusses internet cat videos, and she has double the followers that I do! There is just so much out there that it’s almost impossible to break into this field now without having some sort of connection or cool angle.
“I just talk about my life; that sort of thing.”
“And that makes you money?” He sounds incredulous.
“There are plenty of ways to make money with these videos.” I watch his eyes narrow and can again guess where his mind has gone. “Which is to be given money from advertisers to promote their shit, or if you have enough traffic on your socials, you even get paid from the platforms you post on. Every click from an advert on your pages earns you money. You can even get money to shoot a video at venues and events yet to open.” My mind turns to the lucky ones who were able to visit Harry Potter World before it opened. “If you have enough followers, you’re paid to turn up at or even open events. Nowadays, you’ll find many authors, singers, or even actors start off on YouTube or something similar. Back in the day, you were discovered as an unknown needing a breakout role to make it big. Now you have to come established with your own following already built in.”
He looks adorably confused. “What’s YouTube?”
I almost choke on the mouthful of food I just shoved into my mouth.
I take careful steps to chew and swallow, taking a sip from the bottle of water that Green offers me before I’m able to speak again.
“Are you for real?” I dramatically grab my T-shirt over my heart like he has mortally wounded me.
“No.” He actually rolls his eyes at me. “I might not know what the hell you’re talking about, but I know the fucking internet. Didn’t realize there was money in it like that. So that’s your job then? You make … videos?”
I can’t tell if he’s still just surprised to know people can make a comfortable living from doing such a thing, or if he is looking down on such a job.
“Technically, at the moment, this is my only source of income. I have a few event planning jobs lined up in a few different cities. I just need to make sure I hit those places when I need to. Otherwise, all I need is an internet connection, my laptop, and my phone to organize what I need done.”
He shakes his head, finishing off the last bite of his food before pushing the takeout container into the bin on the side, where lies many others.
I imagine being town sheriff might not leave a lot of time to prepare some home-cooked meals, but that much takeout certainly can’t be good for you.
I have to squash down the urge to comment on his nutrition intake, especially since my own diet isn’t likely to be much better while I’m stuck on the road. Instead, I decide, if we’re really going to do a get-to-know-you chat, then I’m going to get some answers.
“So, how long have you been sheriff?”
Green doesn’t look old enough to be sheriff or, at least, not old enough to have been one for long. I usually picture men well into their fifties when I consider a sheriff. Green has to be somewhere in his thirties.
At first, he doesn’t say a word, and I assume he isn’t interested in making this get-to-know-you chat a two-way street. Then he surprises me, even if his answer is blunt and with zero emotion.
“Ever since my father passed away six years ago.”
“Shit. I’m sorry.”
“So am I. He was a good sheriff. He taught me everything I know.”
I notice he doesn’t say he was a good father, but I’m not sure if that’s on purpose or not.
“So, then you got promoted?”
“I was elected sheriff. My grandfather was sheriff, his father—you get the point. Every generation, a son since has served this town by doing the same.”
“So, you didn’t have a choice?”
“I guess not, but even if I had, this is the job I would have chosen.” He rests his elbows on his desk, his eyes intently on me.
I wonder what he sees when he looks at me. A man who is clearly lost and afraid of an unknown future? Someone completely out of place in Midsummer? An easy fuck?
“You like being sheriff?”
“I love it. It’s a job I take seriously, and I work hard for the people of this town who have placed their trust and faith in me.”
“And you don’t have any problem about …” I trail off as I wonder over the state of his house. There was clearly kid stuff scattered about the living room. Does he have kids? Is he married? Or perhaps separated or divorced? He shared a fairly public kiss with me against his car, so the people of this town must know about their sheriff?
“I’m not saying there hasn’t been rude or homophobic comments said to me. I will say that, since I limited my sexual activity to only fucking tourists passing through or nonresidents, it has stemmed most of the gossip and kept my life much more drama-free.”
I try not to bristle at the harsh words, especially since I’m clearly just one of many tourists passing through.
“Going about things that way must make dating kind of difficult.”
Green shakes his head. “I don’t date.”
“You just fuck.” I try to keep any judgment out of my tone, because everyone is allowed to feel the way they do, and sometimes in life, you need something uncomplicated. If Green can’t handle more than keeping things simple and casual, then who am I to judge?
“Yes.”
“Doesn’t that get lonely? I’ve been through stages in my life where I haven’t gone deeper than causal sex, and it just begins to feel so empty after a while. Hollow.”
Green shrugs, clearly not offended by what I said. “I don’t have time to feel lonely. I’m on call twenty-four seven and that never lets up. Even if I wanted a relationship, I don’t have time for it.”
Again, I
want to ask him about the kid toys, but something tells me I won’t get an answer. If he wants to keep his sexual partners separate from his working life, I somehow doubt that wouldn’t also extend to his personal life.
“Seems to me being a nomad is likely to leave you in a similar situation.”
He’s probably correct. Being on the road means dating for me won’t happen. Probably the best I’ll be able to hope for while on the road is for a less abrasive kick out after a one-night stand.
Or a long stretch of celibacy.
“True. I hadn’t really thought that part through.”
“What were you thinking about last night when you agreed to go home with me?”
“Honestly?” I ask then continue when he nods. “I thought you looked fucking phenomenal. I thought you looked like a man who would be in control and could fuck me blind. I was right, of course. I just never counted on what would come next.”
He has the decency to look contrite. “I’m sorry about that. I tend to leave that part of my life out of my home. I admit that, when I saw you, I was taken with you. I knew I wanted to have you.” He’s so matter-of-fact about it that I’m not sure if I should feel as flattered as I do, or if I should just shrug it off. He doesn’t sound affected by me now. “I’m not sure why it didn’t occur to me to go back to where you were staying. Of the few tourists here that I’ve picked up, that is the arrangement I’ve gone with.”
“Probably a good thing, since I didn’t actually have a place to stay.”
His expression darkens, and the easiness from before fades from his tone. “You should have told me.”
“I didn’t know that was going to be the case until after you left me at the hotel.”
“And after you were held at knifepoint?”
Okay, he has me there.
“I don’t owe you anything, Sheriff.”
“If you’re going to be traveling alone, then your safety should be a priority.”
“Jeez, do you lecture every tourist who comes to town, or just the ones you fuck?” I admit I say this in hopes of getting him angry and dropping this concerned act. I don’t need to be chastised by this man, or made to doubt myself and what I’m doing. I’ve gotten enough of that negativity from everyone else.
“I only lecture the ones I unintentionally place in a dangerous situation.”
“You’re not psychic. What are your crime rates here? How often do you deal with what happened last night?”
He gives me the smallest nod, admitting that I have him there. “We’re generally a sleepy town when it comes to crime. We mostly deal with public intoxication, drunk driving, or graffiti when local teenagers are bored. Having celebrities shooting movies close by means we also deal with overzealous fans, and we’ve had a handful of stalking cases. Car thefts or attempted assault with a deadly weapon are on the lower end of our crime pyramid.”
“Glad I could help offer you some change up from your usual routine.” I wink at him, and a thrill goes through me when he gives me a smile in return.
“I admit I would rather not have had you go through that.”
“I guess what is done is done. Thankfully, Love has shown me another side of your town. I had a great day with her today.”
“Love?” He sounds surprised, and I have a moment of panic that she’s been messing with me about her name this entire time.
“Yeah, the woman you spoke with briefly at the parade.”
“Love Fuller?”
I’m relieved he says her full name, since that has to mean it’s real, right?
“Why do you sound so surprised? Is she secretly a serial killer?”
“No, it’s just … I don’t know. I didn’t expect you to be hanging out with her. She was my sister’s best friend.”
“So, you have a sister?” I inquire, even though Love already mentioned this to me.
I glance around his office and find no photos. There is what looks like a photo frame on his desk, but I can’t see it from my angle, and there is no conceivable way for me to sneak a peek without Green knowing I’m doing it.
“Yes. I also have a younger brother. You have siblings?”
I nod, hoping to keep this brief since I hate talking about Wayne. “I have an older brother, but we’re not really close.”
“Why’s that?”
Because we’ve never been close. Not even when we had no reason to hate each other. Because we had a huge falling out over ten years ago and are both too stubborn to apologize or forgive. Because he said some things that he can never take back, and because I said some that I’m not proud of, either. But I verbalize none of these reasons.
It’s Sheriff Green’s job to make people feel comfortable around him. He’s obviously utilizing that skill now, but I’m not someone who opens up to just anyone.
Well, okay, I clearly open myself up every time I post a video, but this is different. That piece of me isn’t for just anyone, and at this stage, Green is just anyone to me. He’s anyone and no one. And that isn’t ever likely to change.
“I’m not sure what’s going on in that head of yours, but whatever it is, it’s got you thinking hard. I didn’t mean to overstep or start whatever debate is going through your mind. Let’s just forget I asked.”
I nod, glancing down at the empty box still in my lap.
“You ready to make that statement?”
“Sure.” I place the empty container to the side. “Thanks again for the food.”
“You’re welcome.” He hands me a notepad and pen. “Just write down what happened last night. No detail is too small.”
“Do I start with you ripping my clothes off in your hallway, or begin from when you were throwing those same clothes back at me?”
I laugh when he reddens.
“Start from the moment King Alder approached you.”
“That man’s name is King? Geez, what is it with the names here? Rocky, Love, and King? For real?”
Green does not appear amused.
“Okay, okay. Sorry.”
I get to writing, having to shake my hand out several times when it begins to cramp. I can’t recall the last time I had to write this much down. Other than a few words on a sticky note, I’m usually typing on my phone or laptop. This seems incredibly outdated, and I’m already cringing at the spelling. Where is the autocorrect on this page?
“Why are you squinting? Did you forget your glasses?” Green’s voice pulls me away, and I glare at him.
“I’m not squinting, and I don’t need glasses. My eyesight is perfect,” I snap, already hearing the echoes of almost all my friends back home stating that I do in fact need glasses. What is wrong with everyone?
“Then, why are you looking so hard?”
“Because … Because I’m thinking. I want to be as exact as I can about last night.” I come up with this quickly because, if I was to be honest with myself, which I really don’t want to be, then perhaps the page and words are a little blurry. But it’s late! And I’m tired! I mean, I slept in a car last night. A good night’s rest in an actual bed, and I’ll be back to twenty-twenty vision.
As I near the final moments of what happened, my hand actually begins to ache enough that shaking it doesn’t do anything. My handwriting shifts from legible to looking more like scratches and scribble by the end, but this is Green’s fault for not having a computer system to do this.
“Make sure you sign and date it, please.”
I do this then pass it over to him. He skims over the almost two pages.
“Good. Now in terms of pressing charges—”
“I’m not interested in pressing any,” I quickly cut in. “I’m not planning on being here for long, and the last thing I want or need is something tying me back here.”
My words set off a flash of anger in the sheriff’s gaze, but he doesn’t voice what unmistakably pissed him off just now.
“That is, of course, your choice. King Alder will still be charged with having a concealed weapon in a public plac
e.”
“Okay. Do I need to be here for that to happen and go to court or whatever?”
“No, this statement is all I need from you. Alder has already been released on bail to his father, a well-respected farmer, and no doubt there will be some sort of plea deal made, which means he’ll escape any sort of jail time, but I’ll make sure this goes on his permanent record.”
I’m not sure that isn’t just the definition of a slap on the wrist, but I truthfully don’t care too much. That guy from last night was obviously in some sort of messed-up state, so maybe this will be enough to push him toward getting help.
I nod, not sure what I’m supposed to say. Before, things felt easy and light, but now the reason for me being here is over, and the mood has shifted. I don’t know what to make of it.
“I should go. Is that all you needed from me?” I stand, and he quickly jumps to his feet.
“Where are you staying? I’ll walk you back.” He eyes me expectantly, and I wonder if he’s just being a good sheriff right now or if he’s just nosy as to where I’m staying.
I nod at him that I’m okay with him coming with me, sort of liking being around him, even if he can be a bit of an ass, and because I would hate for my bad luck to catch up and leave me getting accosted again on my walk back.
“I’m staying with Love.”
His shoulders visibly sag, and I assume he’s just relieved that I’ve found a place to stay. He was probably worried that I might have been lying and, under some sort of misguided sense of responsibility, would have to offer me a spare room.
When we head outside, I get a whiff of smoke before I see Deputy Smith just outside the door.
“What the hell are you still doing here?” Green growls at him.
“I just dropped a drunk off and was on my way back to Cool Sip. Stopped off here to grab my … pen.”
I barely cover the snort at such a lame excuse.
Was he checking on us? Why?
“You came here for a fucking pen?”
“What? I need a pen to do my job—gotta write tickets and all that.” Smith is immediately defensive, although any annoyance seems to remain directed at me, like this could at all be my fault.
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