Page 64 of Jensen
“Okay,” I say, making sure he hears the sass in that word.
We’re both quiet until we alight the plane with his carry-on. I’m still in my tiny dress from the night we hooked up. Jensen picks up a rental truck, a big, white Dodge Ram, and we drive out of the Nashville airport, still not talking.
The air conditioner is on too high, and it’s freezing my bare thighs. I turn it down and he gives me a sharp glance.
“It’s hot,” he says.
“Can we stop and get me some clothes?” I ask. “I’m about half naked in this dress.”
He jerks his head in a yes. A few minutes down the road, he pulls off at a Walmart, hands me a wad of cash, and sits in the parking lot while I run in. I’m glad he stayed outside, because the last thing Ineed is him breathing down my neck while I try to buy myself a whole wardrobe in ten minutes.
I hurry through the store, and when I get back to the truck, he’s staring into space. He never scrolls his phone. Maybe he’s not much of a technology guy.
I knock on the door. He unlocks it, and I scramble in. The look he gives me is distant, and it’s hard to believe this is the man who fucked me for two days straight. Now, the thought of him seeing me naked with that closed off stare makes me uncomfortable.
“Okay, you look away while I get dressed,” I order.
His jaw flexes. “I have already seen every part of your body in detail. Just get dressed.”
“Well, this is different.”
“Let me just forget what your bare ass looks like real quick. That’ll fix it.”
“Oh my God, I can’t believe I fucked you,” I snap, crawling into the back seat and ripping my dress off.
He glances at me in the rearview mirror, eyes narrowed. I pull on my cotton panties and bra, work my t-shirt down over it, and wriggle into my jeans. They’re bootcut, so they work with the shoes I already have. In ordinary clothes, I feel more like myself than I have in the last five years.
When I’m back in the front seat, he starts the engine.
“Alright, let’s get going,” he says.
“I’m hungry,” I say.
“Jesus Christ.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “You need to use the bathroom too, huh?”
I think about it. “In a little while. Don’t gripe about it. I can’t just pull over on the side of the road and pee in the ditch like you can.”
“I don’t do that,” he says.
“Every single man I’ve ever met pees on the side of the road,” I say, tying up my hair in a ponytail. “Leland didn’t, though, but he was all proper about everything.”
“How many men have you known other than him?”
I shrug, turning to look out the window. It’s incredibly annoying that he’s demanding specific responses to a casual statement. That’s typical man behavior.
When I glance back, the corner of his mouth is turned up. He doesn’t speak again until I give him my order in the drive-thru window. Then, we’re on the highway, heading east toward the border.
I tilt my body away, sinking into the seat. Hell is Real signs and adult superstores fly by for the next hour. I’m getting sleepy. After he left me in the bedroom last night, I tossed and turned until his alarm went off. Neither of us got much sleep.
Finally, he pulls over at a rest stop and lets me out. I’m surprised when he walks into the main area and waits outside the bathroom door, like he’s guarding it. It puts a little smile on my face, but I don’t let him see it. Then, we’re back on the highway, and I’m feeling lighter. All it took was that little gesture from him to put me in a better mood.
I think he’s hurt, but I don’t think he hates me.
He lets the radio play, real low. My eyelids droop until I can’t fight it anymore.
Then, he’s shaking me awake. I blink, shooting upright.
“What’s wrong?” I whisper, heart pounding. My nails are ripping into his forearm.
