Drive(17)

Realization struck as she looked at me with wide eyes. “There better not be any raw eggs under my couch!” Paige shrieked.

“Tonight, there will be. I can’t handle spiders.”

“No,” Paige said adamantly. “Seriously, no. Neil won’t know what to think. Putting a raw egg under the couch to ward off evil spirits? Really, Stella? That’s where I put my foot down.”

“And what Neil doesn’t know won’t hurt him. And are you sure you’re with Neil?” I glanced in the direction Reid went. “Because you two seem pretty cozy.”

“Don’t even entertain it,” she said with a hard look. “Reid is so far removed from that line of thinking, it’s not even funny. I’m telling you he’s just a good guy, and I happen to love his girlfriend. His ex—whatever she is this side of the half hour.”

“Sounds like a great guy,” I muttered.

“What’s with you two? You avoid each other like the plague.”

It was true. I never struck up conversation with him, and he never went out of his way to talk to me, either. It was like we were repulsed by the other.

“I don’t know. I don’t like him. He’s rude and presumptuous.”

“He could say the same about you,” Reid said as he placed a six-pack of beer into the cart. I no longer felt sorry for Mr. Ramen Noodles. He could find another sister to make him Caldo.

I snorted. “And what exactly do I presume to know about you?”

Without looking at me, he addressed Paige. “I’ll meet you at the check-out.” Reid walked off again without so much as a look back.

“Wow.” Paige chuckled. “I think it’s safe to say the feeling is mutual.”

“Whatever,” I said as I plucked the hundred dollar bill my parents sent me for my birthday and handed it to her.

She eyed the money I knew she needed and shook her head. “No way, that’s yours. Have fun this weekend.”

“Take a little, okay? I don’t want to be a mooch.”

“You’re looking for a job every day. I see it. You’ve been walking the streets for weeks looking.”

“I’m taking one. I got a call today. El Plato Cantina.” I shrugged. “I filled out an application last time I waited for you. It’s okay, right? I asked for your shifts.”

Paige hesitated, but only briefly. “Yeah, it’s fine. And please try to be nice to Reid. He’s going through a lot right now.”

“I will,” I said absently. “Okay, so the tarantula spoke . . . ”




Riding shotgun on the way home, I played DJ and cranked up “Helena (So Long & Goodnight)” by My Chemical Romance without any objection. When we dropped Reid off, Paige helped him up the stairs of his apartment with his groceries while I sat idle in the car with the AC on full blast to babysit our wilting purchases. Texas was a hot bastard to live in. I was sure our cheese slices would become a block by the time we reached our own apartment. Even with the cool air blowing, I was sweating from the sun streaming through the windshield and damn near blinded by the midday beam by the time Paige opened the door.

“Poor guy.” She sighed as she eyed Reid’s open door.

“How does he wait tables?”

“Our manager, your new manager, Leslie, gives him three tables. He’s right-handed so he can pull it off, but barely. He wouldn’t even let me carry the bags inside. I think this time she left him high and dry.”

I looked up to see Reid pick up the remaining bags from the porch where Paige had dropped them then walk inside.





I want You

Kings of Leon



Later that night, I was guilted into bringing Reid a plate from dinner, since he was a no-show. Paige had done everything to insinuate his absence had everything to do with me. Even at nine at night, the heat had a way of making the short walk to his place unbearable. By the time I reached his door, I was foaming at the mouth and desperately needed some water. I was on my fourth knock when Reid answered the door with a towel wrapped around him and one of the plastic shopping bags from the store fastened around his cast. Steaming food in hand, I ignored the shock of the sight of him close to naked and pushed past to set the hot bowl on his counter.

More shock filtered through me as I took in the scarce furnishings: a worn mattress in the living room where a couch should be, an old box TV that had to be around ten years old, and a single chair on his open porch on the small balcony.

“I didn’t say you could come in.” Anger laced his voice as he moved to stand in front of me to obstruct my view. His chest was etched deep with muscle and covered in tattoos. I swallowed hard as I met his stare.

“Well, it was either you drop that towel and take this plate, and I see you naked or . . .”

He dropped the towel instantly, and my eyes followed its direction. He was wearing boxer briefs. I turned my back and started rummaging through his cabinet for a glass. They were empty, and I knew that a majority of his dishes were in the sink. To his credit, they were soaking in lukewarm and partially soapy water. “I just need something to drink, and I’ll leave.”

“Suit yourself.” He moved toward the hallway, and seconds later, I heard his shower start. On instinct, I began to wash his dishes as I glanced around his kitchen. It was completely void of life and color. It reminded me of a cheap motel room—just the bare necessities—and that was a generous assessment. The trash was loosely gathered on the side of the small faux granite island across from the sink, but I could see a large part of it was scattered, if not purposefully, across the floor. He’d obviously had a hard time getting it together and had some sort of fit when it hadn’t gone his way. I suppressed a grin as I pulled a dustpan and brush from his empty pantry, other than the box of Trix and Ramen noodles that sat on the otherwise bare plastic shelf.