Page 35 of Buried Beneath Sin

I make the decision right here and now to let my goal to chase that delicious rush go. I’m not the impulsive girl who hooks up with people. I’m Beatrix Starr, the lonely girl who is ok with chatting with this stranger in the hopes I could make a friend. Or at least not be so alone for a few hours on a Friday night.

“Oh yeah?” I ask. “Tell me about your favorite place.”

The man’s eyes roam over my face. It’s not an expression of sexual interest, it’s more like genuine curiosity. “Why don’t you tell me about one ofyourfavorite places first? I could go on forever if you get me talking.”

My favorite place? I consider his question briefly. It’s easy since I haven’t really been to many places. My college campus was incredible. I start to smile as I think about the fall leaves, the snowfall, only to frown. I miss it there. Though I hadn’t made any lifelong friends, the people I met had been friendly enough.

Rather than get into that, I sigh and say, “I haven’t travelled much at all to have one.”

“That’s a shame. Is it work or family that keeps you shackled here?”

Oh, Ireallydon’t want to talk about either. My expression must give my thoughts away because he laughs.

“I’ll take that as a little of both.”

After a dainty attempt to clear my throat, I attempt to steer the conversation in a slightly different direction, “Let me live vicariously through you?”

The stranger’s brows fly upward as his answering smile radiates excitement. “A beautiful woman wants to listen to me talk about my passions? This must be my lucky night.”

His charm is rare for these parts, and it’s disarming. Or maybe it’s just rare that charm is ever directed toward me. Either way, I feel a pull toward him. My body shifts a little as I turn to give him my full attention.

“You’ll tell me if I bore you, right?” he asks.

I nod though it’s a lie. I don’t have the nerve to call someone out on that.

“Right, well, where to begin…”

“—and that’s why I study a mapthoroughlybefore backpacking anywhere.” My new friend grimaces as he finishes his story.

Since I gave him permission to talk, he hasn’t stopped. He’s been regaling me with his adventures through the mountains of Utah, the camping trips he’s taken in the woods of Oregon, and his long treks through the dusty flatlands of Texas. I’m not sure if he’s taken a breath this entire time. It’s almost comical. And as he dives into each story, his hands flail around wildly. It’s amarvel he doesn’t knock either of our drinks over or hit me in the face. Thankfully, his stories are interesting, and he doesn’t require anything from me other than an ear.

Suddenly, the lights flicker on and the music is cut off. Blinking rapidly to adjust to the brightness, I look around to find the bar empty. Woah, weird. We're the last two people here—other than the bartender who is glowering at us from the wall where the light switch is.

“Oh, I guess that's our cue to get lost.” My companion laughs warmly.

As he scoots off his stool, I can’t help but steal another glance at him.

He’s a strange guy. Oh, he’s definitely attractive, but while he might think thatIstand out, it’s him that feels a bit out of place. Sure, he’s wearing a tee shirt and jeans, just like anyone would around here. But that tee shirt? It looks like he purchased it off the rack and not at the local box store. And those jeans with rips at each knee—each tear purposeful—have a small designer logo by the right pocket. Glancing at his shoes, I notice they’re new, hardly a scuff on them, and that watch around his wrist is understated but in an expensive way.

It's like he'stryingto fit into a crowd he doesn't belong in.

“I suppose it is.” My gaze flickers to my feet when he turns and catches me staring.

I pull my wallet out of my purse and throw more than enough cash down to cover the bill. As I move to stand, my new friend steps back to give me some space. I grab my jacket and pull it on. That’s when I realize he doesn’t have one.

“Oh, did you leave your jacket with your friends?” I glance toward the booth where they were sitting to find it empty. The guy shrugs.

“I didn’t bring one. I don’t mind the cold, and my place is just across the street.”

I nod, and together we walk toward the door. Our sticky footsteps are loud now that the rest of the room is silent.

“Someone should mop in here,” the guy mutters in mock disgust as he opens the door for me.

I can't help it, I chuckle.

Stepping out into the night, I'm immediately wrapped up by the darkness. The neon light attached to the bar is now dark—I can't tell if it's because it finally blew or if the surly bartender turned it off. The nearest streetlamp is about a block away, giving off a dull orange glow that does hardly anything for visibility. The only other light comes from the pathetic looking motel sign from across the street that's supposed to be lighting up the name of the place. Too bad the paint has faded away and all that's left are a few red streaks.

“Well, it was nice talking to you...?” I turn to face the guy beside me who's scanning the gravel parking lot as if he's lost something. My words yank his attention back to me. As he turns to face me, he dons a bright grin.

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