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If this had happened a month ago, I’d have called my sister Savannah and begged her for a ride, but she’s just moved out near the lake for her new job. Even if she was willing to come pick me up, I wouldn’t ask her to drive all that way.
I hate how far away she is from me now. And, yes, despite my concerns about how isolated she is, working for some rich recluse and living on his property, I understand why she took the job. She was beyond broke from paying the lawyer to dispute Dad’s will. And, since Blake (our asshole half-brother) has been badmouthing her all over town, she’s had trouble finding a new job. She thinks I don’t know that Mom has been funneling money her way. Not that Mom has much to spare.
I’m trying not to think about how much I miss Savannah when I shoot off texts to a couple of friends, but one is deep in a deadline and the other is at work.
Finally, I text Trent—my former boyfriend, occasional friend with benefits, ride of last resorts. When he doesn’t respond right away, I walk to the bus stop.
I’m sitting by the bus stop in front of the shopping center beside Precious Meadows, hoping that the next bus that stops has a pet-friendly attitude when a shadow blocks out the sun. I look up from my phone to see Martin standing over me.
“Let me guess, you don’t have a car.”
Why does he say it like that? Like not owning a car is offensive? I stand, shifting the pet carrier from my lap to the bench seat. “I don’t. I live near campus and walk or bike anywhere I need to go. It’s the environmentally responsible thing to do.”
He does that smirk-y annoying thing he’s so good at. “You bike around Austin? With a chicken?”
I bump my chin up. “When the weather is nice.” As if on cue, thunder rumbles through the air. “And if it’s not I take the bus.”
“They allow chickens on the bus?”
“They allow service animals.” He arches an eyebrow in silent question. “It’s a gray area.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s not.” He steps closer and reaches like he’s going to take my arm, but then instead just picks up the pet carrier. “Come on, I’ll give you a ride home.”
“That’s not necessary.” But he’s already walking away with my chicken. I grab my bag from the ground and scurry after him. “Stop. It’s fine. I?—”
He stops, turning to face me. “If you don’t want me to drive you—if you’re worried about me knowing where you live or whatever—let me at least get you an Uber.”
“I’m not. Worried about that, I mean.”
“You probably should be.”
“Well, I’m not.”
“Okay then.” He starts walking again.
He’s heading back toward the parking garage adjacent to Precious Meadows.
I wasn’t lying when I said I wasn’t afraid of him knowing where I live. So then why am I so reluctant to have him drive me? I don’t know.
I just know that accepting a ride from him will be crossing a line somehow. The line between someone I’ll probably never see again to someone whose car I’ve ridden in. It’s a weird line to draw, but one I’m willing to stand by.
“Look, it’s not necessary.” This time I’m the one to reach out to him. I grab his arm and he stops.
He doesn’t turn to face me. He just stops. And slowly looks down at where my hand grips his biceps. Only after I release him does he turn to look at me.
Suddenly, I’m even more nervous and I desperately wish that I hadn’t been the one to touch him first.
Which is a stupid and ridiculous thing to think, because it was just my hand on his arm. I didn’t even come in contact with his bare skin. So why does it feel like I crossed a line? And why the cluck was I so worried about the car line that I didn’t see this line coming?
“I have a ride coming,” I blurt.
“You were waiting for a ride at the bus stop?”
“It’s Trent.” I lie baldly. “He’s going to pick me up. He’s my … boyfriend.”
More and more lies! Why? Why am I doing this?
Martin eyes me critically, as though he can see straight through my lying lies. “When will he be here?”
