Chapter 7 #2
That’s when I feel it, the loss of connection between the tires and the road.
My jaw grinds with tension as the steering wheel loses resistance and doesn’t respond at all when I try to turn into the swerve of the truck like you’re supposed to when you hit ice or hydroplane.
“Hold on,” I command in a stern voice I don’t even recognize as my own.
The truck turns and our bodies are thrown to the right.
I feel us descending as the front dips down into a ditch, slamming into the earth and jolting us forward.
It takes a moment for the chaos of the last sixty seconds to register, but when it does, my attention lands on Lindsay, and I’m whipping my seat belt off so I can get to her. Without thinking, I wrap my arms around her, gently cupping the back of her head as I look her over. “Are you okay?”
She’s breathing heavily and looks slightly dazed, but when she mutters, “Yeah, I’m good,” my heart rate drops from ten times its regular speed down to two. Her different-colored eyes are wild as she looks out the windshield. “Jesus, that could’ve been really bad.”
I urge her to move slowly as she hops out of the truck, and I do the same. I’m relieved to see that there’s very little damage to my truck, likely a few scrapes on the grille, a dent in the front bumper, and I might have to replace the headlights. All in all, a solid outcome.
“Is it worth calling that cab driver you told me about? The one who…isn’t a good driver?” Then she lets out a resigned giggle that lights me up from within. “Nevermind. I just heard it.”
“Tilda,” I offer, then check my phone for the time. “She doesn’t drive past eight at night anyway.” Grabbing my keys from the ignition, I lock the truck and come around to face Lindsay. “I’ve got a better idea.”
“Such as?”
“There’s a studio apartment above the bar. It’s where I lived when I first opened, but now it’s a crash pad for anyone who has to work late and is too tired to drive home. I say we stay there for the night, and I’ll get you back to the B grains and proteins, mostly, until my system got used to it, and eventually she introduced fruits and vegetables. I was also given Zomonax, a medicine she created for our kind, which lessens our cravings and improves cognitive function. I still have to take it twice a month.”
“Was it just you she was treating?”
“No, there were others. It was a limited outbreak in a remote area, so she was able to keep it contained, but there were enough that she had to set up shop right next to it in order to capture and rehabilitate anyone who got infected.”
“Huh. I thought you answering questions about this would satisfy my curiosity, but now I have a million more questions.”
I chuckle at that. “Fire away.”
“How were you infected?”
“Contaminated berries in Alaska.”
Her eyes widen. “Tell me everything.”
“Maybe later,” I say, lowering her to her feet. “Because we’re here.”
“Thank fuck,” she shouts, then trots excitedly toward the entrance of the bar.
The apartment entrance is next to the front door, but it’s somewhat hidden by the awning that covers the outdoor seating area.
I’ve always appreciated the separation of the two.
Having to go back outside to access the apartment was an efficient way to mentally let go of the day and put my body into rest mode.
I turn off the alarm and follow her up the stairs, to a second locked door.
Once inside, I turn on as many lights as I can reach and am pleased to find the place tidy.
I’m not sure who stayed here last, but whoever it was cleaned up well after themselves, not leaving a stray cup or food wrapper in sight, and folding the towels and sheets neatly before putting them on the nearest bed.
The walls are a bland off-white, with nothing hanging on them, and the bedding was the cheapest I could find at the closest department store.
There’s an oak nightstand between the two beds with a teal lamp on it, and a cheap, black cabinet holding up the TV.
It’s not a cozy space, certainly not with how cold it is, but functional enough to use as a last resort.
“I’ll get a fire going,” I say as I gesture to the small fireplace in the corner. “There are some of my old t-shirts and sweats in the closet. Take whatever you want. I think there are spare toothbrushes in the bathroom too. The ones you get from the dentist.”
It doesn’t take long for a flame to grow among the logs and kindling, and once my hands are warm, I wash them in the sink next to the mini fridge.
Then I make the beds, pull two bottles of water from the fridge, and turn on the TV.
I need some form of noise to make me feel less like a teenager on their first date, which I’m well aware this isn’t, but I can’t seem to shake the knowledge that there’s a very beautiful woman in my bathroom, putting on my clothes, who will soon be sleeping within two feet of me.
She emerges from the bathroom wearing a t-shirt that hits just above her knees, and a pair of knee socks that are big enough to pile around her slim ankles.
Her hair is slightly wet from the snow, but it doesn’t diminish how stunning she is.
In fact, seeing her in my old, faded t-shirt makes my cock stiffen against my thigh, my pants growing uncomfortably tight.
“You’re, um, out of toilet paper.”
“Right,” I mutter, unable to take my gaze off her muscular calves, the long white scar that runs through the middle of her left knee, and the way her juicy thighs disappear beneath the soft cotton.
The expectant look she’s giving me is what snaps me out of it. “Right. Toilet paper. That’s out here.”