Page 10 of My Scorned Best Friend

The traffic officer is power walking toward us with a whistle in his mouth, blowing it over and over again. “Sir! Sir!”

Ben doesn’t bother looking at him, instead climbing down from his enormous truck and rounding the front with a huge smile. “I worried I missed you.”

He reaches for my bag, and we do an awkward dance of do we or don’t we hug hello. I end up almost patting him on the back as though I’m hugging a stranger. Meanwhile, I feel eyes on me, the bystanders who just realized who the man driving the truck is. Maybe this is why Xavier always had a car waiting and ready to whisk us away.

“Sir!” The traffic officer bends at the waist to catch his breath. “You cannot… park… here.”

Ben tosses my bag in the back as though he’s hurling a shot put down a field. “Sorry. I just had to pick up my friend.” Ben winks at me and disappointment spreads through my chest that nothing lights up inside me. Then he puts his hand out toward the traffic officer. “Ben Noughton.”

The traffic officer’s eyes widen, and he steps back in surprise. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t recognize…”

Ben puts his hand on the stout man’s shoulder. “It’s okay. No harm done. Mind if I get going?”

“Sure, sure.” The traffic officer looks enraptured just to be standing in Ben’s presence.

It shouldn’t surprise me. Having spent so much time with Xavier, I’ve seen all the reactions—crying hysterically, pure joy, and everything in between.

“Great.” Ben walks to the passenger door and opens it for me.

A few passengers coming out of the airport approach and ask him for an autograph. I smile to let him know it’s fine, I’ll wait. Another thing I’m used to.

But Ben shakes his head. “Nah, we’ve got to get going. Sorry.”

I step onto the runner of his truck and pull myself up by the oh-shit handle at the top of the door. No need for him to help me.

“Now you spoiled my fun. I planned on having to put my hand on your ass.” He laughs and shuts the door, then comes around to his side and climbs in.

I feel as though I’m in a semitruck with how high up we are. “Is this yours?”

He nods. “I usually keep it in the parking garage because driving it around San Fran is a pain in the ass, but I figured I’d take Shelby out for the special occasion.” He lovingly taps the dashboard.

“Special occasion?”

He starts the truck back up and the noise floods the cab. “Yeah, you finally agreed to come visit.” He winks again, and once more, my stomach doesn’t react. Putting the truck in gear, he presses on the gas and pulls out of the airport arrival area.

“Thank you for coming to get me.” I start the conversation after a few moments of him singing along with the country music on the radio.

“I never would’ve left you to fend for yourself.” He smiles at me.

I smile back and we ride in silence for a beat as my thoughts wander. I have to assume this monstrous truck and the fact that he’s listening to country music means he’s from somewhere in the south, or maybe Montana or Wyoming. I know I shouldn’t stereotype—everyone thinks Alaskans live in igloos.

I shift in my seat a little to face him better. “I’ve never asked you. Where are you from?”

“Nebraska,” he says. “Midwest boy.”

“Did you buy this truck when you got to San Francisco or drive it here?”

“Drove it. I didn’t realize I’d have no use for it. I rarely take Shelby anywhere unless I decide to disappear from the city for a day.”

That fact catches my attention. “Do you do that often?”

He shrugs. “Not as much as I’d like to. During the season, it’s pretty hard, and lately, I’ve been traveling in the off-season. Gotta spend this money somehow, you know?”

I chuckle. “I’m a librarian in a small town, so I can’t really relate.”

He stops at a light and the pedestrians crossing gawk at the truck as if it’s a UFO. One kid stops right in front of the grill with wide eyes and an open mouth.

“That’s right. The librarian thing. Tell me, what’s that like?”

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