Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
ROXY
The Next Morning - Diner
The diner appears like a mirage in the early morning light.
It’s one of those chrome-sided relics from the fifties, all red vinyl and cracked Formica, sitting alone on a stretch of highway that seems to never end.
I've been driving since dawn, trying to put distance between myself and the rest stop where I'd left him standing in the dark. I’m trying so fucking hard not to think about the way he'd looked at me.
The parking lot is nearly empty. Just a semi-truck at the far end and a black car near the entrance.
My hands tighten on the steering wheel as I know that car.
I really should turn around and get out of here as it’s never good to attract a stalker, especially a hot one that intrigues you in ways that could land you in a whole lot of trouble.
But my stomach is empty, growling, begging for nourishment, not to mention my hands are shaking from too much coffee and not enough sleep.
Plus, I wanna see if it’s really him and to see what he does.
For my own ego and sanity I need to see if he has really followed me here, or should I say, worked out my route and waited for me here.
I get out of the van with my bag and pull my hair up into a messy bun as I walk over to the entrance.
The bell above the door chimes as I walk in, and the place smells like burnt coffee and bacon grease.
A waitress with tired eyes glances up from behind the counter with a look of wanting to be anywhere else, then goes back to refilling sugar dispensers.
Two truckers sit at the far end, hunched over their plates.
And in a booth by the window, backlit by the rising sun, is him. Dom.
He doesn’t look up as I enter, just keeps his eyes on the coffee cup in front of him, but I can see the slight tension in his shoulders. The awareness that he knows I’m here.
Instead of turning to run like any other sane person, I do the opposite and I slide into the booth directly across from his, where we are separated by the narrow aisle.
The waitress appears out of nowhere with a pot of coffee.
"What can I get you, hon?"
"Just coffee and toast,” I say, not taking my eyes off him.
"You got it."
She finishes pouring my coffee and disappears. The silence stretches between us, thick and electric. I can feel his presence like a physical weight, even though he isn’t looking at me, I know he is watching me. Giving in, I break the silence.
"You're following me again."
He takes a slow sip of his coffee, and sets the cup down carefully. When he finally looks at me, those dark eyes are completely calm and unapologetic.
"Yes."
Just a one word answer. No explanation or excuse.
"Why?"
"You know why."
I did. God help me, I did. But I needed to hear him say it.
"Tell me anyway."
He leans back in the booth, studying me with an intensity that should have been frightening to the point I call for help. Instead, it makes something hot and dangerous coil low in my stomach.
"Because you're the first real thing I've seen in years," he said quietly. "And when you looked at me, you didn't see a threat. You saw someone who understood you."
"You know nothing about me," I say, aware of my breath catching as I try to remain calm.
"Don't I?"
The waitress returns with my toast, but it doesn’t break our connection.
"This is crazy," I say, shaking my head before tearing a piece of toast and stuffing it in my mouth.
"Probably," he says with a shrug as he takes another sip of his coffee.
"I should be scared of you."
"You should."
"But I'm not."
Something alters in his expression. It’s not quite a smile, but very close. Right. Of course he'd noticed that, he’s been watching me long enough.
Pull yourself together, Roxy, you should be calling the police, getting a restraining order, doing all the things normal people would do when confronted by a man who admitted to stalking them.
But who am I kidding. I’m as crazy as he is, that’s why I pull out my sketchbook from my bag and start to draw.
"What are you doing?" he asks.
"I’m drawing you."
His eyebrows rise slightly. "Why?"
"Because you're interesting."
I start with his eyes, so dark and intense, framed by thick lashes.
"I want to see if I can capture whatever it is that makes you so..."
"So what?"
"Real."
As soon as I say it he goes still, but I keep drawing, my pencil moving across the page in quick, confident motions. I capture the sharp line of his jaw, the way his hair falls across his forehead, and the tattoos I can see peeking out from under his black sleeves.
"It’s so refreshing to be around someone like you, you know?
Everyone lies, whether it’s big or small, pretending they have morals while hiding their secret thoughts, the fantasies of what they would do to a person they don’t like, hiding behind computers to post hate," I say, not looking up from the page.
"Instead they pretend to be normal, to portray an image to the world that even they start to believe. They all have a rotten side, to their core, a part that if pushed, spews all the dark truths they want to share, but they mask it with fake sincerity. Lies. You’re not like that."
"Neither are you."
"No," I say, adding shadows to his cheekbones. "I’m not."
We sit in silence for a while, the only sounds are the scratch of my pencil on paper and the low murmur of conversation from the truckers. When I finally look up, he’s watching me with an expression I can’t quite read.
"Can I see?" he asks.
I turn the sketchbook around, and he studies the drawing for a long moment. I'd captured his rawness, not just his features, but the intensity behind them. Darkness blended with truth.
"It's good," he says finally.
"I know."
The corner of his mouth twitches with another almost smile. I close the sketchbook and stand up, leaving money on the table for the coffee and toast I have barely touched, my hunger now satiated.
"I'm leaving now."
"Okay."
"You're going to follow me."
"Of course."
"I'm not asking you to stop."
His eyes meet mine, and in that brief second, I see everything. The hunger. The absolute certainty that this, whatever this is, isn't going to end until we both let it.
"Good," he says. "Because I wasn't going to."
Later that day - Gas Station
The sun is high and merciless as I pull into the gas station six hours later. It’s so warm, I’ve changed into my light blue summer dress with my hair in a high ponytail. My tank is only half empty, but I need to stop for a cold drink. I’m also curious to see if he is still around. And he is.
The black dusty car pulls in thirty seconds after I do, parking at the pump directly across from mine. We get out at the same time, and take the opportunity to just admire each other over the tops of our vehicles.
He looks tired. Dark circles under his eyes, his hair messier than it had been at the diner, like he hasn't slept, that like me he's been driving for hours, but maintaining that careful distance while never letting me out of his sight. I should feel violated. Hunted.
Instead, I felt seen.
After filling up I walk toward the station to pay and he falls into step beside me, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off his body, the smell of gasoline along with a hint of sexy cologne that’s woodsy and masculine.
He has changed into a white t-shirt with his dark jeans and looks divine.
"You need to sleep," I say.
"So do you."
"I will. Eventually."
"Where are you going?"
I glance at him. "Does it matter? You'll follow me anyway."
"Yeah. But I'd still like to know."
"West." I push open the door to the station. "Nowhere specific. Just…away."
He follows me inside and the clerk barely looks up from his phone as I hand over cash for the gas.
"Away from what?" Dom asks quietly.
"Everything."
I grab my change and turn to face him.
"And everyone. I need to escape the fake bullshit. Find a real life."
"And what is real life?"
He moves closer to me and I tilt my head up to scan over that gorgeous face. We are now close enough that anyone watching would think we are together. A couple. Normal.
"This," I say. "Right now. You following me across state lines for reasons neither of us can explain. Me letting you.That's real."
His jaw tightens and he takes in a deep breath like he is restraining himself.
"You could tell me to stop."
"I could."
"But you won't."
"No."
The air between us is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. Two flames coming together that will burst into a wildfire when they connect. Something is building between us, gathering force, waiting to explode.
"Why?" he asks.
"Because I want to see where this goes." The words come out before I can stop them, completely reckless and so unlike me. I think this is the most I have spoken to anyone in years.
"Dom, you're the first person who's looked at my work and understood it, and when I think about you not being there anymore, not following me, I feel…" I say, but can’t finish the sentence.
"What?" he says, his voice rough. "You feel what?"
"Empty."
The word hangs between us, like a confession and invitation all at once. His hand comes up, hovering near my face but not quite touching.
"Roxy…"
"Don't," I say, stepping back. "Not yet. Not here."
"Then where?"
"I don't know. But not here, not like this."
He dropped his hand, but his eyes never leave mine. "Okay."
We walk back to our vehicles in silence. Aware of his eyes on me and the inevitability building between us like a storm, I get in my van and start the engine, looking in the rearview mirror and seeing him sitting in his car, both hands on the wheel, waiting.
I pull out of the gas station and head back onto the highway. Five seconds later, his car appears in my mirror.
Following, always following me.
And I am glad.
Later that night - Rest Stop