Random (Going the Distance) by Lark O'Neal

the books and hurry out. It occurs to me that I’m not going to want to feed more coins to the meter, so maybe I should just have had him meet me at home after all. It brings back the tense feeling in my chest that’s been there all morning. There weren’t that many jobs listed, and least not many I’m qualified to do. I could work retail, but minimum wage is just not enough by itself.
    I’m biting my lip, thinking about this, when I hear a whistle. Not a sexy one but an “over here” type. A black Audi is pulling up to the curb, a two-door with a sunroof that confirms that he’s out of my league.
    Tyler’s waving a hand toward me, the sun catching his brown and gold hair, and my feet carry me over. I lean down to look at him through the open window. “Hey.”
    “Hop in,” he says, moving things to the back seat. I’ve forgotten how beautiful his mouth is, like something I would draw or dream up. Looking at it makes me touch my tongue to my own lips quickly.
    “I don’t want to pay for more parking.” I say. “You want to follow me home and I’ll park there?”
    His eyes catch the light, too, the pupils nearly disappearing as he looks up. It leaves the iris a field of ocean blue and meadow green, almost eerily beautiful. Mesmerizing. “I can, if you want. Or we can just swing by your car and put some quarters in the meter. My treat.”
    “You don’t have to do that.”
    He smiles. “I can spare a dollar. I’m pretty sure you can’t.”
    “True enough.” Relieved, I open the door and climb in. The smell of leather and a recent car wash greets me. Test #1 passed—his car is clean. I hate messy cars with junk all over them. “Nice car,” I say lightly, as if I ride in Audis all the time.
    “Thanks,” he says. “I like it.” He frowns at me. “Did you get that black eye during the accident?
    I touch it, unwilling to explain the insanity last night. “Crazy, right?” It covers my bases without actually lying.
    “Sorry to hear it.” His hand rests on the gear shift. The hair on his muscular forearm glitters against his tan skin, and I want to put my hand on it, brush my fingers over that hair. “Waffles, you say?”
    I meet his eyes and something hot and quick and real arcs between us, so intense it almost makes a sound. I can feel it all the way down my back, sizzling and popping. “Yes, please.”
    His gaze slips to my mouth, stays there for a second, comes back to my eyes. “I know just the place.”
    Then he’s shifting, looking over his shoulder and pulling into traffic. As the wind starts to dance in my hair, I pull it into a twist over my shoulder and feel something soaring inside me.
    * * *
    He takes me to Manitou Springs, a hippie suburb on the skirts of Pikes Peak. It’s packed with tourists, and we have to circle a few times to find a parking place, then he leads me to a hole in the wall restaurant on the lower level of an old house. The walls are covered with flowered red wallpaper, and the tables and chairs don’t match. A woman in a blue t-shirt dress and curly hair comes over. “Creekside?” she says to Tyler, like she knows him.
    “Please.” His hand touches the middle of my back as I go in front.
    We sit beneath an umbrella on a shaded patio overlooking the creek that races through town. A sign on a tree nearby gives directions on how to get out of the way of a flash flood. “That’s creepy,” I say, pointing. “Where would we go?”
    “Up,” he says, pointing behind us. “They’ve been doing drills. We’d just run across the street and up the steps.” His eyes shine as he looks at me. “But today we’re probably all right.”
    “Good to know.” The menu is one laminated sheet. Breakfast at the top, lunch on the bottom. My mouth waters as I look at each item, calculating how much I can get on one plate without looking greedy. I worry for a second that he might not have meant he was going to pay, but then I remember that he took care of my parking. I’m