Page 9 of Hauling Ashe

“Of course not,” I remark, and her voice echoes mine, mocking me under her breath. “Just get in and drive,” I demand. It’s going to be a long couple of days, especially since even when she’s beaming those flaming blues at me, my heart beats in a rhythm I don’t recognize. She huffs, tossing herself into the driver’s seat and places the reusable bag she removed from the trunk next to her in the passenger seat. Reaching over her shoulder, she locks her seat belt in place and starts the ignition.

“Buckle up, buttercup,” she mutters. “Or should I say, keep your hands and feet inside the vehicle at all times, Mr. Ashford. I’d hate to dismember you.”

The hint of her desire to maim me isn’t missed and I fight the curve of my lips. She’s snarky and quick. Now, if only she’ll be speedy on this highway.

A few minutes after we pull into the never-ending city traffic, Mae speaks. “So, I have a playlist made for the journey, but I’m open to requests.” Her voice lifts, sounding like a radio announcer or a nightclub disc jockey. “I also have a selection of audiobooks but those might be a bit inappropriate.” From my vantage point to the rearview mirror, I see her wrinkle her nose as a soft laugh crosses her lips.

I’ll assume inappropriate is synonymous with dirty, raunchy perhaps, even porn-worthy, and I’m a little taken aback. Not offended, just surprised. Could I listen to something of that nature with a stranger? Most likely not. I’m not being some dick-headed prude, but I’m more afraid my dick will have a mind of its own.

My gaze remains on Mae in the rearview mirror. She’s pretty in a natural way. Her chestnut-colored hair is a bit wild, loose and long. Her skin is sun-kissed, making her eyes sparkle and her teeth brighter when she smiles. And Mae is smiling…to herself. I called her Sunshine yesterday. She was a singular ray of it, planted on that sidewalk for some reason.

What is she thinking up there?

I don’t know why I care and decide I don’t. Pulling my laptop out of my bag, I open it and connect the portable Wi-Fi I’ll need to use for internet service on this trip. I already anticipate inconsistency, but as long as I can be online for a little while, I can always reconnect when we take pit stops. I’d been warned by Jane about occasional pauses in our travels. I still can’t believe I’ve accepted this option.

“So, where should we begin?” Mae asks, interrupting the first email I’m trying to read.

“I thought you had this mapped out.” Her hands rest at a perfect ten and two on the steering wheel while her phone dictates travel status for the highway exiting Chicago.

“I do. I simply meant where should we begin in our life stories?” Glancing over her shoulder, she clicks on her blinker and properly changes lanes.

“Our life stories?” I echo, my mouth falling open.

“Yeah. Since we’re stuck together for the next few days, we should probably get to know one another. I’m Mae. I run a garden center in northern Michigan. Now, your turn.” Her tone teases but I’m not taking the bait.

“We don’t need to talk. In fact, let’s not.” My eyes lower to the laptop screen and the car jolts to an abrupt stop. My head pops upward again and I notice bright red taillights on the car before us.

“Sorry about that. Traffic.” Friday morning is gridlock, and I blame the growing number of cars on our delay. She didn’t need breakfast. “Anyway, we might as well be friends.”

“We don’t need to be friends,” I mutter.

“Everybody could use another friend.”

“Not me,” I state, turning my attention out the side window a second. I’ve only had one true friend, and that’s Machlan, which is surprising considering how our friendship began.

“Is this a When Harry Met Sally moment?” she asks, tipping upward in her seat to peer at me better through the rearview mirror.

“A what?”

“You know, the movie When Harry Met Sally? They drove from Chicago to New York City, and Billy Crystal’s character told Meg Ryan men and women could never be friends because the sex part always gets in the way.”

“I am not thinking about sex with you,” I retort.

Her lips twist a bit as her shoulders fall and she settles back into her driving position. “I didn’t say you were thinking about sex with me. I’m simply asking, if you are suggesting you can’t be friends with me because of the sex thing? A male-female thing. Whether attracted to me or not, you’re thinking about sex because I’m a woman.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. As for a male-female thing, I’ll be keeping my male thing away from your female thing, so we don’t need to discuss this. We can add it to the rules.”

“What rules?” she pauses before answering her own question. “Rules of the Road 101. No sex between passenger and driver?”

I choke on air, then cough to clear my throat. There is no way she’s propositioning me; however, it’s happened before and often. Rochelle and I would be at a conference. Women would profess their admiration of me, my dedication to my wife, and then hint I should ditch the devotion.

I’m in room 403 if you’d like to discuss vagina power a little deeper, harder, faster.

I’ll be in the bar if you want to share a drink and show me how to Liven Up Thursdays.

Does she really appreciate all you do for her?

I shake my head, ridding it of thoughts of Rochelle and her made up terms for spicing up marriages. Taking a sip of my coffee, I try to loosen my clogged throat.