I looked down at her outstretched arm with bangles galore, a hand poised for a shake, delicate fingers with carefully manicured nails that lacked any polish, and decided I had two options.
One, I could tell her to get her guitar and mosey on back to her side of the diner, eat my burger in peace, and get the hell out of there.
Or, I could grow some balls and try to be cordial. After all, it would take fifteen minutes, tops, to finish my meal, smile, and then get the fuck out of the diner.
What could possibly happen in so little time?
Worst case scenario we didn’t agree on music or college sports.
No harm.
“Dylan.”
“Oh, I like that name. It’s strong and poetic,” her smile reached up all the way to her bright blue eyes, making them shine with interest.
If she thought that was poetic, it was best not to give her my last name. For a fraction of a second, I wondered if knowing my full name would earn me a blow job right under this sixty-year-old table, the hard linoleum floors biting into her knees.
Fuck my life, just imagining that scene was getting something else hard now too.
“Wouldn’t know about that.”
“What are you doing here? Travelling?” She was rummaging in her gigantic purse that could house a small army as she asked that question, almost bored with the conversation already.
Taking out a book that looked a lot like a journal, I could see the stress leave her features as she placed it on the table and let out a small breath of relief.
Patting the journal twice, and checking that her pen was in its place, she then dropped her mom bag on the seat next to her and gave me the full force of her attention.
Jesus, she was fucking gorgeous.
Then she stared and waited.
What the hell was she waiting for?
Tilting her head to the side, she looked at me expectantly and that’s when it dawned on me. Right. She had asked me a question.
“Just passing through.”
Wasn’t I a bundle of joy? No wonder my dates always ended early with no call backs. I was terrible at meaningless conversations.
I figured she’d get the hint eventually and go back to her original seat.
“I just ran away from home.”
I blinked at that little reveal. A bit stunned, to be honest.
There went my fifteen-minute plan.
This sounded more like a job for a super shrink, not some North Carolina mechanic needing to get his ass on the road and driving to his dream job.
She ran away from home? Was she tied up and kept in a basement?
“How old are you?” the words flew out of my mouth with a mixture of shock and sincere curiosity.
“I’m twenty-four. But, you need the whole story to understand.” She settled in her seat, crossing her arms in front of her on the table and lowering her voice like we were talking about covert foreign affairs. I didn’t mean to look at her cleavage, but the way she sat offered the perfect crease in her vee-neck summer dress. Ah, fuck. I was pretty sure little miss hippie wasn’t wearing a bra, causing my gaze to stutter at the expanse of tanned skin.
And that was the exact moment I should have stopped her in her tracks and walked the hell away. Right there. That precise second when she leaned in, her fields of clover scent wrapping around my head, and her perfect tits calling out my name. Had I walked away, I could have spared myself the next, ridiculous words.
“What’s the whole story?”
Jesus, take the wheel.
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