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Piper gives herself a little hop to get her jeans up over her hips.
I find myself curling up my fists, trying really hard not to gawk at her… but…
“Hand me my shirt?” Piper asks.
I swipe if off the bleachers and she takes it from me with attitude and then turns away to put it on.
“The doors lock on their own,” she says. “But I always give them a quick pull just to make sure.”
“I’m leaving too,” I say to her. “If I go any harder I’ll end up hurting myself.”
She looks back at me. “Shoulder?”
“Basically my whole right side,” I say. “In-game injury. A dirty hit.”
“That sucks,” she says.
She grabs the strap of her bag and tosses it over her shoulder.
Without a simple goodbye, she’s on the move.
“Hey, let me at least walk you to your car,” I say. “Just in case that serial killer is there.”
“I can handle myself, Cutter.”
She’s on the move.
Almost jogging along the side of the pool toward the door.
I turn and hurry to get my stuff.
Piper beats me to the door and is gone.
When I exit, I make sure the doors are locked, like she suggested.
My SUV is to the left, around the back of the building.
I see Piper still basically jogging toward a dark red car that has definitely seen better days and years.
Then she’s sitting behind the wheel.
Our eyes connect from a distance.
I can tell something is wrong. She’s worried. Scared. Nervous. She doesn’t want to admit it though either.
I can’t imagine in a small town like this there are such things like serial killers running rampant. But maybe Piper has a crazy ex or something. Maybe that’s why she’s on the move so quick.
As I start to walk toward her car, she shuts her eyes. A moment later a tick-tick-tick sound softly yells from the car. And it’s not starting.
Piper throws open her door and climbs out.
“Won’t start?” I ask.
“What gave that away?”
“You know, you’re really in a hurry. Are you okay?”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Cutter. I have to go pick up my son from his father’s house! Okay? That’s the rush. I’m supposed to be there at nine.”
