Page 4 of Wanna Play A Game?
Ben senses what I’m about to do and darts toward the back of the car. He stands behind it, still yelling and begging with his hands out. In the backup camera, he falls to his knees, clasping his hands together.
I throw the car in drive and jump the curb as I yank the wheel to my right. My head almost hits the steering wheel with the jostling.
Ben tries to block me again, but he doesn’t quite make it. I tear out of the lot, then slam on the brakes right before the main road. My cat! I glance behind me. He always claws at Ben when he gets too close.
Ben sees me stop, starting to run toward me.
Fuck it. Halloweiner will rip his throat open if he tries anything. I step on the gas and chuckle bitterly. My cat’s better than I am. At least he fights.
It takes a while before my legs stop shaking. Something is clearly fucking wrong with me because I’ve had less of a reaction before. I’m a moron for allowing this to happen tonight.
After my leg stops bouncing, I look around. I’ve left my small town, and I’m deep in the harvested fields of wheat and pastures. The only things clearly visible are the blinking red lights of the wind turbines littering the landscape. I think I took the highway out of town.
I pull over and put my forehead against the steering wheel. I still can’t get my body on board. It wants to shake. My cheek burns, and my ear feels hot and tingly from where it must have gotten hit.
I swallow. I know what I need.
It’s been five months. Five months since I’ve had a drink. It’s not like I can’t start over, right? It’s not that hard to make up for five months. Before I can think about it too much, I pull out and head to a gas station I know is down the road.
By the time I get there, the clock says 3AM. Surprisingly, there’s another car in the lot – a silver pickup truck parked right in front of the convenience store.
My cheek is still on fire, and I’m sure it’s red, but I grab my wallet and head inside. The gas station is small, with only a few aisles. The normalcy of the rerun pop music, fluorescent lights, and small rack of wine makes me take a shuddering breath in. I grab the red that I already know has the highest alcohol content and head around the corner of the aisle.
I run right into a wall of muscle, slamming into the unforgiving surface.
“Oh shit, sorry –“ I look up at the man and pause.
He’s drop-dead gorgeous. He’s tall, easily over 6 feet, with an undercut and light brown hair pulled into a bun on top of his head. A delicious cologne fills my nose. It smells clean, like cedarand sage. The man smirks, and his blue eyes are dark. It feels like he sees right into me, even though that makes no sense.
The hair prickles on the back of my neck.
“I…didn’t see you there.” I take a few steps back.
The man watches me retreat, his smirk growing. He tips his head so his eyes shadow further. “No worries, sugar.”
He’s wearing a T-shirt and blue jeans that mold nicely to his muscled thighs. Suddenly, I’m hyper-aware of my ratty shirt, leggings, and wild hair.
“Sorry,” I laugh awkwardly, step around him, and flee towards the register.
I feel his gaze on me as I check out, sending a shiver up my spine.
“That all?” The employee’s voice startles me.
“I’m sorry?”
“Is that all?” he asks again.
“Yeah, sorry. Yeah.”
The middle-aged man looks over his glasses at me. He lifts an eyebrow and sighs, “Next.”
I feel the man’s overwhelming presence behind me. Vulnerability tingles between my shoulder blades. It makes me want to turn around. My instincts scream to not give him my back.
I square my shoulders and walk outside. I pull in a deep breath of hot, dry air when I burst into the night again. Almost there. I need this drink more than I need my next breath.
The silver truck is still parked right by where I stand, and as I glance up, I see two men in the front seats. In my fleeting glance, both are just as handsome as the one inside, both with darker hair. The driver is covered in tattoos up to his neck and down his hands. He glances over and catches me looking.
I hurry to my car and shut the door.
