farther to walk back toward town or toward home. I know this road well enough to know there are no farm houses within miles, and that’s only if I go across country. On both sides of me the corn is taller than I am, so that doesn’t seem like much of an option either.
So it’s either trudge back to town or plow forward toward home, and neither one of those ideas is making me smile. Not that I’m in bad shape, but I’m no Jane Fonda either. The farm work keeps me healthy, but Jessie also loves to cook and feed me so I have more than a little extra junk in the truck to haul six or seven miles to safety.
“See? It’s all your fault.” I stare at the basket of roses in the passenger seat, but I’m not talking to them, I’m talking to him. Mountain man.
I don’t know why it’s his fault this happened, but I feel like it is. I hate to admit to myself that I got excited at his apparent interest. He drew me into some stupid fairy tale in my head, but life’s not like that. Not for me. This is my life, sitting here in the middle of the night smelling the joke roses.
“Door number one or door number two. It’s going to be a long ass walk either way.” I look up and down the dark road again through the glass windows of the truck, hugging my arms over my chest as the breeze coming through the open window raises goosebumps on my legs and arms. I don’t even have anything to go over my tank top.
This time of year it’s as likely to be blazing hot as turning cold. That arc between summer and fall where you just don’t know what to wear.
I’m going to look like a hooker with no sense of direction. I also can’t ignore the fact that my panties took a little bit of a beating tonight with mountain man.
I’ve never reacted to anyone like that. When he tried to hand me the basket of roses, I felt my ovaries twitch, not to mention the way my belly did twenty somersaults, and I soaked my white cotton Hanes.
The feeling was so strong, so sudden, it had to be biological. It was visceral. Palpable.
I’m young, I should not be this desperate to have a guy, but that’s the only explanation I can think of. But, if that were true, then why didn’t I have that reaction to his friend? Or any of the other good looking guys that filled the bar?
No.
Stop.
This is just another kind of dark road and it’s all too familiar. It’s just another joke on the fat girl. Only this time, I was strong enough not to take the bait.
Yay me!
“Let’s go,” I mutter. My annoying habit of talking out loud to myself is something I’ve been unable to break.
Since Jessie is the only other person I’m usually around, and she seems to love me no matter what, I don’t worry much about my quirky habits. After all, if talking to myself and applying ChapStick every ten seconds are the worst habits I ever have, I’ll count myself lucky.
I gather up my useless cell phone, stuff it into my purse and open the truck door. It squeals and creaks like a haunted house sound effect. Which is appropriate because this is the perfect set up for a slasher movie.
For a second I wish I hadn’t taken Jessie’s .22 pea shooter out of the glove box last week. I hop down onto the dusty gravel, my shoes hitting the road with a crunch, slam the door behind me and start back toward town. By my calculations, I may be an inch or so closer to Tabitha’s apartment than Jessie’s farm house, so off I go into the darkness, leaving Clifford all alone.
Chapter Six
CHAD
R oger is doing his level best to pour the two inebriated party favors into the back seat so we can get the fuck out of here, but all they’re doing is laughing and sliding back out. I’m sitting in the driver’s seat with my dick still half hard and my chest tighter than a snare drum, but it’s not because of them. It’s because of her.
I insisted on driving us home because I hadn’t had anything to drink. Sure, Roger stopped drinking
So it’s either trudge back to town or plow forward toward home, and neither one of those ideas is making me smile. Not that I’m in bad shape, but I’m no Jane Fonda either. The farm work keeps me healthy, but Jessie also loves to cook and feed me so I have more than a little extra junk in the truck to haul six or seven miles to safety.
“See? It’s all your fault.” I stare at the basket of roses in the passenger seat, but I’m not talking to them, I’m talking to him. Mountain man.
I don’t know why it’s his fault this happened, but I feel like it is. I hate to admit to myself that I got excited at his apparent interest. He drew me into some stupid fairy tale in my head, but life’s not like that. Not for me. This is my life, sitting here in the middle of the night smelling the joke roses.
“Door number one or door number two. It’s going to be a long ass walk either way.” I look up and down the dark road again through the glass windows of the truck, hugging my arms over my chest as the breeze coming through the open window raises goosebumps on my legs and arms. I don’t even have anything to go over my tank top.
This time of year it’s as likely to be blazing hot as turning cold. That arc between summer and fall where you just don’t know what to wear.
I’m going to look like a hooker with no sense of direction. I also can’t ignore the fact that my panties took a little bit of a beating tonight with mountain man.
I’ve never reacted to anyone like that. When he tried to hand me the basket of roses, I felt my ovaries twitch, not to mention the way my belly did twenty somersaults, and I soaked my white cotton Hanes.
The feeling was so strong, so sudden, it had to be biological. It was visceral. Palpable.
I’m young, I should not be this desperate to have a guy, but that’s the only explanation I can think of. But, if that were true, then why didn’t I have that reaction to his friend? Or any of the other good looking guys that filled the bar?
No.
Stop.
This is just another kind of dark road and it’s all too familiar. It’s just another joke on the fat girl. Only this time, I was strong enough not to take the bait.
Yay me!
“Let’s go,” I mutter. My annoying habit of talking out loud to myself is something I’ve been unable to break.
Since Jessie is the only other person I’m usually around, and she seems to love me no matter what, I don’t worry much about my quirky habits. After all, if talking to myself and applying ChapStick every ten seconds are the worst habits I ever have, I’ll count myself lucky.
I gather up my useless cell phone, stuff it into my purse and open the truck door. It squeals and creaks like a haunted house sound effect. Which is appropriate because this is the perfect set up for a slasher movie.
For a second I wish I hadn’t taken Jessie’s .22 pea shooter out of the glove box last week. I hop down onto the dusty gravel, my shoes hitting the road with a crunch, slam the door behind me and start back toward town. By my calculations, I may be an inch or so closer to Tabitha’s apartment than Jessie’s farm house, so off I go into the darkness, leaving Clifford all alone.
Chapter Six
CHAD
R oger is doing his level best to pour the two inebriated party favors into the back seat so we can get the fuck out of here, but all they’re doing is laughing and sliding back out. I’m sitting in the driver’s seat with my dick still half hard and my chest tighter than a snare drum, but it’s not because of them. It’s because of her.
I insisted on driving us home because I hadn’t had anything to drink. Sure, Roger stopped drinking
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