CHAPTER TWO
Alex
Then
Marana had more bars than cactus, or close to it.
We waited out my Jeep’s tires in a dim little tavern of Riley’s choosing.
There was dark wood on every surface, and the windows were painted black except where someone’s fingernail or pocketknife had scratched through.
It was enough, I guessed, to check on a parked Harley from inside.
An old man paid for his sandwich in cash, waved off the change, and left. The bell over the door rang behind him. I turned my attention back to Riley.
Riley lifted his beer, then stopped with it halfway to his mouth. “You don’t drink, or you just don’t feel like it today?”
The bottle in my hand was root beer. It was the only kind I was legally allowed to order. At my parents’ parties I used to hold something dark and let the ice do the lying.
I had three months before I started at the University of Arizona. Whatever this turned into, I didn’t want to start it on a lie. But the truth would send him running.
I decided to talk in circles instead and see how far that got me.
“Sometimes I drink, sometimes I don’t,” I said, reaching for my water. “Today’s a don’t day.”
He took a sip and looked off toward the bar, like small talk wasn’t a language he spoke fluently. He came back to me. “You go to U of A, or you just wear the hat?”
I was soon to be a freshman. Answering honestly would lead straight to my age. I kept it vague. “I’m a student. What do you do?”
“Electrician. Kind of. Work on Harleys, mostly.” He set his beer down and looked at me directly. “How old are you?”
He’d gone right for it. I held his gaze. “How old are you?”
He didn’t look angry. Just done letting me dodge.
I braced for him to drive me straight to the tire shop and leave. “Eighteen,” I said, answering before he did. “Almost nineteen.”
He was expressionless.
“But mature,” I added, before he could say anything. “Very mature.”
“Mature enough to drive a Jeep up a jagged boulder the size of the Tucson Mall?” He almost laughed. “Alone.”
“Climbing a rock doesn’t make someone immature,” I replied. “A person can be adventurous and mature.”
He set his empty bottle aside and gave me a sideways look. “Eighteen, huh?”
Relieved he hadn’t asked for the check, I pushed forward. “Age is just a number. How old are you?”
“Twenty-four.”
I gave the same look back. “Twenty-four, huh?”
He looked me up and down. “You scared?”
I laughed. “Of what?”
“A twenty-four-year-old biker.”
I wasn’t a typical eighteen-year-old. In the eyes of most, I was adventurous and fearless. My parents had never paid close enough attention to notice me, and disappointing them was still, somehow, the only real thing I was afraid of. Fearless is easy when nobody is watching.
“Of you? No. Curious, maybe.”
The bartender came by. “Happy hour. Second one’s half off. Another?”
“I’m good,” Riley said, not breaking eye contact with me. “Curious about what?”
“You’re wearing a vest with patches like you’re in a motorcycle club, but there’s nothing on the back. Why?”
“Surprised you noticed.” He seemed pleased that I had. “I’m prospecting. You know what that means?”
I’d watched enough Sons of Anarchy to have a guess. “Basically trying out for the club. Right?”
He nodded once. “Close enough.”
If he was going to let me keep asking, I intended to do just that.
“Why were you flying through the desert like someone was chasing you?”
“Club president lives a couple miles from where you broke down. I was headed there.”
He hadn’t checked his phone once since picking me up. No calls, no texts. Whatever he was headed toward, it didn’t seem urgent. “Not an emergency, I take it?”
“Nope.”
“So why ride like that?”
“I always ride like that.”
I was watching his forearms and lost the thread for a second. I wanted him to be half as interested in me as I was in him. I’d been in town almost a week and hadn’t met one person I cared to know better. He was better company with three-word answers than most people were with paragraphs.
He cleared his throat. “That it?”
“No. I’ve got more.”
He relaxed into the corner of the booth and crossed his arms.
I leaned forward. “You spend a Saturday fixing a stranger’s tires, then just sit here with her like she’s one of your buddies.”
“Is there a question in there?”
“Yes.”
“What is it?”
“I just asked it.”
“That was a statement.” A flicker of a smile. “Ask the question.”
I didn’t want to sound like a kid, but I needed to know where I stood. “Do you have children?”
“Kids? I’d have to be married first.”
“You’re not married?”
“If I was, I wouldn’t be sitting here with you.”
“Girlfriend?”
“Same thing as married. If I had one, I wouldn’t be here.” He leaned in. “I’m a one-woman man. I said I’d give up an eye for an afternoon with you. What part of that wasn’t clear?”
There was no point circling any longer. I had circled enough rooms already.
“I’m going to be here four years for school. I don’t know anyone. I don’t have a boyfriend.” I crossed my fingers under the table. “Do you want to hang out?”
He looked genuinely confused. “Isn’t that what we’re doing?”
Not the answer I wanted. I slumped in my seat. “I guess.”
He watched me for a second, like he couldn’t decide if he was reading me right. I looked away.
Then he cleared his throat, dropped a twenty on the table, and stood. “Let’s get out of here.”
My stomach dropped. “You think the Jeep’s ready?”
“Doubt it.” He straightened his vest. “Doesn’t mean we have to sit in a bar with someone who can’t legally drink in it.”
“Does it bother you that I’m not twenty-one?”
He shrugged. “If it doesn’t bother you, it doesn’t bother me.”
I got up and stood beside him. He had a foot on me easily. At five-two, I was used to being the shortest person in any room.
“What are we doing?” I asked.
“You been up to Mount Lemmon?”
I hadn’t, though it was on my list. Going with him moved it a few rungs up. “Never heard of it,” I lied. “Where is it?”
“Thirty minutes from here. There’s a spot up there. You’ll see.”
“When will we be back?”
He held the door for me. “School starts when? Third week of August?”
I had eleven weeks of summer left before that happened, and I was already hoping this was only the start of them. I stopped between him and the doorway.
“August twenty-fourth,” I said. He smelled like leather and sweat and something underneath that was just him. “Eleven weeks. I’ve got nothing planned.”
“Or everything,” I added, over my shoulder, walking toward his truck on legs that didn’t feel mine.
“My vote’s for everything,” he said.
I looked back at him, surprised things were going exactly the way I wanted.
He must have read it as doubt. “Don’t worry,” he said, almost smiling. “I’ll have you back before school starts.”