Chaos and Control(12)

“Did you get what you needed?” he asks, keeping his eyes on the road.

“Yep. I got this,” I say, reaching into a random bag and pulling out my jeans. “And this,” I repeat, showing him the T-shirt. “And these.” I grab a handful of panties and lift them out. Preston stares at the mixed colors of lace and satin for too long. We hear a thump, thump, thump, and realize the truck has drifted onto the shoulder. I giggle as Preston’s gaze snaps forward and he corrects our place on the road.

“How was your appointment?” I ask.

“Fine.”

“Just fine?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” I say, drawing out the word. “I feel like we should get to know each other, Preston. All I know about you is you have my old job, my old apartment, and a sweet truck. What if you’re some kind of crazy person?”

Preston seems to flinch. His grip tightens on the steering wheel and loosens again. I watch the flex and movement of muscles in his arms and try not to drool. There’s another round of touching all the gauges before he glances my way. This reaction makes me consider going easy on him.

“What if I am some kind of crazy person?” he asks.

“Well, there’s crazy and then there’s cra-ay-zee. You know?”

“What’s the difference?”

“The first one might drink too much and do a table dance at Millie’s while the second one would smear peanut butter all over their naked body and quote Samuel L. Jackson movies while riding a unicycle through town.”

“Oh,” Preston says, though I doubt my explanation helped at all.

“So, you won’t mind if I ask some questions?” I ask. He shakes his head. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-four.”

“What did you study in college?”

“I have a bachelor’s in merchandising and consumer studies.”

“Wow. That sounds impressive, Preston-who-has-a-degree. Are you the one who talked Bennie into expanding beyond records at the store?”

“I did. I figured even with the new rise in vinyl sales, having other vintage inventory could only help bring in the ideal crowd and increase our visibility in the right market.”

I stare at him. I believe that’s the longest string of words he’s spoken to me since we met.

“Makes sense to me,” I say. “Why work at Vinyl, though?”

“My mom used to listen to records all the time. She has a huge collection. Some of my best childhood memories include vinyl soundtracks.”

I nod, knowing exactly what he means. “Me, too. What’s your all-time favorite album?”

“Too hard. There are albums that represent different things in my life.”

“Yeah, I get that. It’s strange,” I say, looking over at his profile. “Most of my favorite albums came out before I was born. I guess that’s from having a much older sister.”

“What album changed your life?” he asks.

“I don’t even have to think about it. Siamese Dream by Smashing Pumpkins.”

Preston smirks out at the road and nods. “Interesting.”

“Don’t judge me,” I tease. “What’s yours?” I ask.

“The Velvet Underground.”

“Oh, that’s a good one. That’s one of Bennie’s favorites.”

We are quiet again, listening to the wind whip through the cab and rustle my bags. A few minutes later, we pull into the alley behind Vinyl and park. Preston grabs half my stuff and runs around to open my door.

“Such a gentleman,” I say.

He waits for me to climb out. I do so ungracefully and head in through the back door. Preston follows me up the stairs, and I make sure to shake my ass just a little more than usual. I unlock Bennie’s apartment and head for my room.

“You can just drop them off right there,” I say, pointing to the corner.

I watch Preston closely as he crosses the threshold into my bedroom and gently sets down the bags. He lines them up neatly and pushes them against the wall. The sight of him, here in my space, makes me want to tackle him onto the bed. I’m sure the old wrought-iron furniture could take it. Something about this guy makes me crazy. Sure, there’s the physical stuff—and he’s got plenty of fantastic physical stuff—but there’s also this feeling of wanting to look closer.

“Well, thanks. For everything, I mean.”

He stares at the bed and the wall behind it.

“Preston?”

He blinks a few times and shakes his head before turning toward me.

“You’re welcome,” he says. There’s a beat of silence and then, “My bedroom is on the other side of this wall.” Preston kind of blurts this like he’d been holding it hostage on his tongue.

I grin and nod my head. “Yeah, I guess I knew that.”

Preston looks at the floor and then into my eyes. “These walls are pretty thin. I hope I don’t disturb you.”

I step toward him now. We stand at the end of my bed facing each other, too far apart to touch. The tension surrounds, constricting us into a tighter space.

“I welcome any and all disturbances, Preston.”

His tongue sweeps over pursed lips, and I pray that he will kiss me. Instead, he ducks his head, mumbles a good-bye, and escapes my room. A second later, I hear the front door close. I lie down in bed and kick off my shoes, staring up at the uninteresting ceiling. I wonder about Preston and his strikingly handsome face, his tall form, and thick arms.