Page 67 of Never You

With our fried chicken in hand, we walk down Beale Street, enjoying the last rays of sunshine of the day. The bright pink of the sky, combined with the sound of a trumpet on the street, gives me a content feeling.

“So, why did you quit?”

I turn to Jensen with a frown, not sure how to answer that. I didn’t expect that question from him. But then again, I also didn’t expect to be driving across the country with him, wake up in his bed and slow dance to a country song with him either.

The truth is, I don’t even know. I liked my job. I liked organizing everything, and to a degree, I even liked cleaning up whatever shit landed on online. It was great pay, way more than any average twenty-three-year-old earns, and I lived in a nice apartment in one of the better neighborhoods of the city. Life was good. I was happy.

Then one day, about a year ago, I woke up realizing it wasn’t enough, and I haven’t been able to shake the feeling since. My co-workers like to believe it was because of Sean and his dick-ish behavior, and I’m sure most of the team thinks it too. But really, I felt that waylongbefore I found Sean with some other girl in the locker room, plowing her down like he was digging a hole to China.

“I don’t know,” I admit, popping the last bite of my chicken into my mouth.

“You don’t know?” Jensen asks as he holds still, surprised. I turn around while he watches me carefully, as if he was expecting a different answer.

“Oh God.” I playfully roll my eyes. “Let me guess, you think I’m heartbroken, and now I’m running home to cry and lick my wounds?”

“Something like that, yeah.”

“Not a chance. I’ve been wanting to quit for a while now,” I start, continuing our walk.

The scents of different kinds of foods tickle my nose as I roam over the crowded street, while my ears take notice of the southern drawl of the people around us. I never considered myself a southern girl until I moved to LA.

Suddenly, I appreciated my boots, my southern habits, and the southern hospitality that was embedded into my soul. I hid my accent, trying to blend in, but still I felt like a fish out of water most of the time.

“When Johnny took me to LA five years ago, I hated him. I wanted to stay, even though I hated everything at home. I wasn’t a happy teenager.”

“Well, that’s hard to imagine,” Jensen mumbles behind me.

A little offended, I spin on the spot, pointing my finger into his chest. “Just as hard as a politician's son complaining about how bad he’ssupposedlybeen treated.”

His jaw ticks, his gorgeous eyes blazing, though they have the color of the ocean. He pins me down, shooting a shock of—well, something, through my body, but I keep my chin up in defiance nevertheless.

Finally, his eyes soften, the fire simmering down. “Sorry.”

My brows shoot to the sky while I do my best to not break out in a smile, my jaw almost dropping to the floor. “What now?”

I tilt my head, narrowing my eyes with a smug look.

He shows his teeth, a fake smile splitting his face as he glares at me in a threatening way. “Don’t push it or I’ll make you regret it.”

It sounds more like a promise than a threat, and instantly, my heart pounds a little faster.

“Anyway,” I continue, taking a step back to create some distance between us. “When I arrived in LA, I got the structure that I needed. A routine that kept me out of trouble andoccupied. It took me a while, but I think at some point I was happy.” Staring at the ground, I continue, “But after a couple of years, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing. I did a great job fitting into the glitz and glam of the city, but really, I was…” I pause, my thoughts trailing off.

“Lost,” Jensen finishes.

“Yeah.” I bring my head up, looking into his sunglasses-covered eyes, feeling that same weird feeling he’s been giving me for the last two days.

Understanding.

Safety.

He gets on my nerves most of the time, pissing me off with almost everything he says, but at the moments that matter, it feels like he gets me. Like he knows me. It freaks me out and comforts me at the same time, like I’m safely cradled in his arms, standing on the edge of a cliff. He's able to make me fly or crash unapologetically.

“Watch out!” Jensen’s eyes widen as he calls out to me, and I twist my head to look behind me.

I yelp, startled, as a football flies through the air, coming directly at me. Naturally, I step aside without a second thought and follow its movement as it slams into Jensen’s chest, his chicken flying out of his hands.

“What the—” The look on his handsome face grows stern, and his hands are up now holding a piece of air instead of the chicken that was there two seconds ago. His white shirt is covered in grease and barbecue sauce, and the look on his face makes me believe he’s about to yell at someone. I press my lips together, trying to suppress the chuckle that is dying to come out as a group of teenage boys amble our way to pick up their ball.

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