Page 16 of Ride With Me

“No mayonnaise. Got it.” He smiles, the way someone would at a friend they invited over for dinner. So casual and natural. “Lettuce and tomato okay then?”

“Yeah. Bread preferably toasted, and mustard if you have it.” Shuffling in my seat, I lower my head, worried I’ve made too many requests.

“Sure thing. You can help yourself to more water if you’d like. You drank that first one pretty fast. How long were you walking for out there?” He chops the tomato into thin, perfect slices. So quickly and skillfully, if I might add.

“Thanks, and I think two hours or so.” Hand pressed to the back of the chair, I stand up slowly, but my spinning head has me quickly falling back down.

His brow furrows and he grabs another water from the fridge. “Chances are you’re dehydrated. I’m guessing you haven’t drunk anything since breakfast either.”

I shake my head, taking the cold bottle from his hand, the condensation sticking to my skin. “I try not to eat or drink too much before a job. Saves me time and prevents unnecessary stops.”

“A job, huh? Is this something you do often?” Walking to his pantry, he shakes something from a small box into the palm of his hand.

“As often as needed. We can’t all be rich doctors.”

He tosses a packet onto the table, cocking his head. “No, but I wasn’t aware there were only two options in life.”

Looking down at the table, I examine the wrapper, twisting it in my fingers. It’s electrolytes. Him choosing what he did makes sense, the same way what I do for a living does for me. He enjoys taking care of people, and I’ve developed a need for the thrill of getting caught. As different as the reasons might be, we both thrive at what we do. Practically live for it. I’ve inconvenienced this man and made his day harder, yet he can’t help but do what he’s good at. What he was meant for.

“Not everyone had as many as you.”

“You don’t know anything about what I had,” he grinds out, going back to chopping, slicing the knife into the lettuce with a heavier hand than he did the tomatoes. Finally, a little anger. Still, he holds his composure, the control vibrating off his body. My heart beats faster, my limbs weakening as I add the white powder to my water.

“You’re right, I don’t. Apparently, most of what I thought I knew wasn’t correct. You weren’t supposed to be home and so...”

“So, what?” He holds the knife still, his hand so damn steady. Those green eyes hold me in place, specs of gold catching in the light.

“I pictured you differently is all. Speaking of pictures, you don’t have any on your walls or shelves.”

He studies me carefully, pulling a plate down from the cabinet. “I don’t take many. Never have the time, I guess. I’m also never here long enough to find decorating worth it, and Iwassupposed to be out of town, but my meeting was canceled at the last minute.”

My breaths stutter. Brick really didn’t plan on him being home. One thing he’d been honest about.

“You don’t have any glass bottles either.” I hold up the water, ghosting it over my lips.

His forehead bunches, and though his eyes stay on me, his hands never stop working as if on autopilot. He could chop veggies and prepare a sandwich with a blindfold on. It all comes from having to constantly multitask I suppose. “Why would I?”

My shoulders lift slightly. “I don’t know. Just seem like the type who would.”

“What else did you have wrong, or think you have wrong?” He carries two plates in his hands, slowly approaching the table.

“I didn’t see a guest room, but you say you have one. I never miss things like that.”

“You will if you don’t know where to look.” His eyes hold something strange in them as he squeezes into the chair beside me, sliding my food over.

“Where is it then? Hidden behind some fake wall?”

He laughs. “You’ll see soon. Eat. You can tell me more later.”

Growing quiet, I sip my water and turn toward my food. Is there some hidden shed in the back yard? A pool house I missed? I mainly focused on his living space, and didn’t give other areas much thought because I was running short on time. It mattered more than I realized. The last thing I wanted was to be trapped in a garage and cornered by the cops. Does it make a difference if that’s who I’ll end up with anyway?

Eyes heavy and struggling to remain open, I take larger bites of my sandwich, and it tastes so damn good. The perfect amountof turkey and cheese. Juice from the fresh tomatoes wetting my lips and the lettuce crunching between my teeth. No one has ever made me food before. Not when I was growing up or during any of my relationships. Almost as if I’ve purposely chosen people I couldn’t ever depend on. They’d only overshadow what I could do for myself with what they had to offer before shortly taking it away.

I didn’t need anyone, and never fully wanted to because whenever I let them in a little, I got burned—leaving an everlasting sting that triggered a shield around my heart and mind. But damn, does it feel good to be taken care of. There are people who are touch starved and then there’s me... I’m not sure what to call it. I hate how this hunger is surfacing so quickly, especially with a man who’s not only a stranger but also someone I robbed. Exhaustion is getting to me is all, clouding my brain and leaving me vulnerable.

Drowsiness sets in faster, and I can barely hold my head up. What the fuck. So relaxed, with swimming vision, I press my hands to the table with the fear of crashing face first into my empty plate.

“Now for that finger. I’ll go get everything I need, and we’ll make it all better.” His voice makes him sound like he’s speaking inside a tunnel. “You going to be okay while I’m gone?”

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