Page 15 of Tripp

She remained silent for a few moments before answering, most likely pissed at me for putting down her choice of living arrangements. But I didn’t give a shit. Someone had to tell her, and that someone may as well be me. “I’d walk,” she answered, angering me more than I already was, “or I’d hitch a ride with Carla or one of the other girls who live close by.” The entire time she spoke she avoided lifting her head. Why did her refusal to look at me bother me so much?

I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought about this before, but I wondered if she had someone waiting for her back at the motel. “You got a man?” I blurted, holding my breath until she uttered a response.

“No.”

“Good.”

“Why good?”

“’Cause if you told me you did, it wouldn’t stop me from bringing you to my place.” I had no idea why I was saying what I was, but the words tumbled out before my fuckin’ brain could filter them. I only prayed I wasn’t freaking her out.

Miles passed before she spoke again. “Tripp?”

“Yeah.”

“Is that your real name?” she asked, resting her elbow on the frame of the door.

“Is that what you were really gonna ask me?”

“Yes.” She answered so quickly I knew her response was forced.

“I don’t know you well enough to tell you my real name, sweetheart,” I countered, smirking at the sudden back and forth between us, the topic thankfully lighter than before.

“But you’re willing to take me back to your place. Which, by the way, I don’t think is a good idea.”

“Oh yeah, and why’s that?”

“Because you’re a stranger. And I don’t make it a habit of going back to strangers’ homes.” Her arm fell from the doorframe and both hands rested in her lap, picking at the edge of my cut.

“If that’s bothering you”—I gestured toward my vest—“you can throw it in the back. I’ll grab it when I get out.”

“No, it’s fine. The heaviness of it is actually keeping me warm. California nights sometimes get a bit chilly.”

“The way you said that I’m assuming you’re not from here.”

“No, I’m not.” She wasn’t gonna give me anything more unless I pressed.

“Where are you from, then?”

“Maine.”

“Why did you move here? You chasin’ a modelin’ career or somethin’?”

“Yeah, I was hoping to get my big break twirling around the pole.” She chuckled. “It obviously didn’t work.” A lightness drifted off her and whatever tension had been strangling the air between us lessened.

“So why California, then?” I asked once more.

“I’d rather not talk about it.” Short and to the point, the tenseness creeping back into her posture warning me to let it go. So I did, for the time being.

She didn’t speak again until twenty minutes later when we turned down a narrow, darkened gravel road. I’d been renting a cabin ever since Marek had asked me to stay on and oversee the progress and daily running of Indulge.

Clearing her throat, she blurted, “You’re not planning on killing me, are you?” A nervous laugh escaped, irritating me more than I let on.

“Do you think I’d save you from that asshole only to turn around and kill you?”

“I hope not.” Another uneasy laugh. “Thank you for that, by the way. I really appreciate it, even though I got blamed for it.”

“Why do you keep saying I blame you for him attacking you? Because it ain’t true. The only one to blame is that fucker. Him and him alone, so please stop sayin’ otherwise.”

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