Page 14 of Truth Be Told
“Well,” I say, crossing my arms, “it’s never happened before. But like I said, a stripper name wouldn’t be a bad idea.”
“Will you consider it?”
This time, I raise my brow. “Why do you care so much?”
He gives me a corrective glare, like I’m some kind of child and he’s my protector. I smirk at him. “I will.”
He’s smart enough to leave it at that. “Let’s get something to eat. I’m starving.”
“Everything’s closed,” he says, pointing out the obvious as we drive around. I think he knew all along that the bars would be closed and we wouldn’t be getting any drinks.
“I don’t think we’re going to find anything at this hour,” I say. Then I joke, “Except McDonald’s.”
“McDonald’s it is.”
I don’t ask if he’s kidding because I know he’s not. I get that from him – that easygoing, cooperative spirit who doesn’t really mind what he does with his life at this hour, as long as it’s with someone he enjoys, and who, because of that, isn’t embarrassed to take me to McDonald’s. Plus, he said he was starving.
And I’m not embarrassed, either, to be a twenty-six-year-old exotic dancer getting McDonald’s after her shift at four in the morning. Not one bit. Deep down, I live for shit like this.
As I watch the trees zip past my window, I evaluate Cohen out of the corner of my eye. I secretly evaluate his car, too, which is just as smoking hot. I don’t know much about cars, but it looks to be a brand new model, and it’s sporting some upgrades I’ve never even heard of, let alone seen in person. The car is flawless, both inside and out. The seats are thick leather, padded and hand-stitched, colored black and traced with a bright, racer red. The touch screen panel above the center console is bigger than my Ipad at home, and words and symbols dance across the screen alongside a small blue 3D rendition of his car that rotates as we drive.
I wonder what he does to be able to afford this, but I don’t ask out of fear of being too forward. “So,” I say to break the silence, “since we’re going to McDonald’s, can I buy you some breakfast? As the official thanks for saving my life.”
“You’re not going to drop that, are you?”
We pull up to the drive thru and take our place behind a big, red SUV. I can’t believe there’s actually a line at this hour, but then again I guess it is breakfast time on a weekday.
“Well, it’s not like it’s an everyday thing. Not for me, anyway. And if I didn’t know any better, I would have thought you knew what you were doing. You were so calm about it, so… in control. What are you, some kind of vigilante or something?” I’m still trying to refrain myself from asking the obvious:What do you do?Not that I actually think he’s a vigilante or anything. But don’t superheroes always have kick ass cars?
I thought it was funny, but Cohen doesn’t. His jaw tenses. His gaze empties, and the faintest deep, nearly invisible flash of pain glazes over them. Holding his eyes, the hair stands up on the back of my neck, but not out of fear of him; out of a mysterious fear of what he holds within him.
He gives a crooked smile, then exhales and then looks down at his lap. I look away, uncomfortable with the fact that without knowing how, I opened something in him. I went somewhere too deep, way too soon. I breathe out in synch with him, sending the invisible heaviness between us into the air.
COHEN
I didn’t want to tell her my last name. Not so soon, anyway. People can get the wrong idea about someone if they learn that they have a lot of money – and us Thatchers are pretty well known around these parts. It was mere luck that she didn’t put two and two together.
Once we order, she pulls out her card and tries to pass it across me. I gently brush it away. “That’s not going to happen,” I say, my voice matter-of-fact.
“Come on,” she insists. “It would make me feel better.”
I give her a look. “It’s McDonald’s.”
She laughs and then concedes, sliding her card back into her wallet.
I’m not sure what to make of Stella. Not yet, anyway. She’s good company, and from what I’ve seen so far, she’s a decent person. As for me stepping in to help her – the truth goes deep. It’s not something I can easily explain, which is why I told her that I didn’t know why I did what I did. That wasn’t a lie; I don’t know why I did it, but somewhere within me I think I might. I guess the whole hero thing is ingrained in me now that I failed at it the first time. And there is some odd, unnamable thing in her reminds me of the one I so miserably failed to help.
I’m ravaged, so I order a lot of food, but Stella only wants an ice cream cone, which is cute.
She takes it out of my hand as I find us a place to park. The sun will be coming up in a few hours, but for now it’s still pitch black out, with only the street lights to illuminate us.
“I’m surprised you wanted to do this,” I say, digging into my food.
“Why’s that?” She delicately licks at her cone.
“Because it’s late,” I answer. “Don’t you want to go home after your shift and get some sleep?”
“Not really. I can get by on four hours of sleep. On a good night, I get six, and that’s if I’m lucky. Plus, when it comes to this job you have to be a total night owl. If you’re not one already, it’ll turn you into one.”
