Light footsteps sound from inside the bus. The door swings open. It’s Wendy. Orange hair messy and beautiful, eyes as wide and unsure as I feel. Her body is framed by the darkness behind her, her face surprised and maybe relieved. I hope relieved. I really do.
"Hey, good morning," I mumble out.
"Morning," she replies.
It’s a bit awkward at first. Men in their late twenties shouldn’t feel like teenage boys, but she just has that effect on me. I think the last time I was actually this aware of myself in front of a girl was in high school when Carmen Flores, who lived a couple of houses down, asked me to prom.
I have that same strange sensation in my stomach now that I did then. Like I’m suspended in outer space with no gravity demanding my presence anywhere earthly.
"You got a minute?" I ask, trying to sound casual but failing, trying to sound like nothing’s riding on her answer.
She pauses, just long enough to hurt, and I think of all the reasons she might say no and the one reason she might say yes. She looks over her shoulder as if she’s expecting someone else. "Sure," she replies.
"So…" I start, then pause, the word hanging in the air like an echo of an aborted chord. I have to force the rest out. "Want to hang out? May be go for a drive? We’re here until tomorrow. It’s my day off."
She holds my gaze, and it’s all I can do to keep breathing. It’s all I can do to keep standing.
"Day off?"
"Yep," I tell her. "Day off." I want to move closer, but I don’t. I want to say more, but I can’t.
Wendy doesn’t move or say anything either.
She keeps looking at me, all orange and doubt and a little bit of something else. Finally, she breaks the silence. "Okay."
I can breathe again, and maybe she can too.
14WENDY
Outside,the sky looms gray and metallic, squeezing light into dull shapes. It smells like damp grass and concrete, and the scent clings to my thin shirt as sleep clings to my brain.
I still don’t know where that "okay" came from.
Cruz Velez is way out of my league. I don’t normally aim big. At least, not on my own. The plan was always to do it with Jett, but the last twenty-four hours of being his girlfriend only solidified my decision to leave him. I knew it deep in my gut last night when he was pretty much ready to exchange me for an investment in his vodka brand.
And now that I stand face to face with the man who actually seems to give a shit, I’m not feeling guilty anymore for being a shit ride or die. Because I was never one to begin with.
The memory punches to the forefront of my mind—Jett looking back over his shoulder after we had that nasty fight outside the crew bus yesterday, then strutting away drunkenly. Nothing I hadn’t seen before. That look. The same cocky smile on the face of some skinny blonde groupie who thinks she won the lottery.
Good luck, ho. The prize is rotten.
I can't remember if he said it was over or just that I was fucking crazy.
I wasn’t exactly in my right mind and was still reeling after that kiss.
In any case, we were both drunk, and I won’t be surprised if the asshole comes back with a dozen roses later today, asking for forgiveness. That’s his thing.
Some things shouldn’t be forgiven, though.
"Cool," Cruz says softly, his intense gaze never leaving mine.
"I have to brush my teeth and change," I add. "I have your jacket too. Remember?"
"Yeah." He nods. "So I’ll find out about a rental, then. Thirty minutes?"
"Should be enough."
"I’ll come back."
