Page 12 of Hot Chicken

She rolls her eyes at me as if I delivered an offensive joke.

“I only meant you’ve worked all day. There’s no reason you need to walk home if I can drive you.”

She bites her lip, looking defeated. “Okay.”

Jeez, don’t look so excited.

Opening the door for her, I give myself a mental pat on the back for keeping my eyes off of her plump ass cheeks as she climbs in. This does not, however, prevent me from having to readjust my dick in my pants as I walk around the back of the truck to the driver’s seat.

Other than Ellie advising her farm is “right down there,” we travel the short distance in silence. The quiet is abruptly interrupted as we approach her mailbox, and she shouts, “You can pull over and drop me off here.”

I look down her driveway and cannot see where the house is located. It has to be at least a half mile further. “Ellie, there’s no reason I can’t drop you off at your house. Don’t be silly.”

Suddenly, it hits me, and I slow the car until it comes to a stop. “Ellie?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you have a boyfriend?” It dawns on me that if she has a live-in boyfriend, he might not take kindly to some random guy dropping her off. Maybe that’s the reason for her outburst. I certainly don’t want to cause her any trouble.

“What?”

“Do you have a live-in boyfriend? I don’t want my bringing you home to cause any problems.”

I take in the slightest smile of appreciation before she drops her head and answers quietly, “No. It’s just Pops and me.” Leaning back in the seat, she clutches her purse to her chest. Ellie stares out the window as I continue to drive the gravel path toward her home as if she’s taking in the scenery for the very first time.Why is she acting like this?

There’s a break in the tree-lined drive, and a small white dilapidated mobile home comes into view. The exterior is faded, with rust stains extending from one end of the roof and a couple of windows. I wonder if it’s an old workspace they used for the farm at one point. A lot of ranches had gleaners who’d help harvest crops in exchange for keeping items that didn’t meet quality standards to sell. Maybe this was where they took breaks from the heat.

A poor excuse for a screen porch barely remains connected to the front of the unit. It hasn’t held up to the wear and tear of Florida’s tropical storms. It honestly looks like a death trap. My gaze darts past the mobile home, and I realize the drive ends here.

What the fuck? Does she live in that thing?

I carefully try to look in her direction out of the corner of my eye, and my heart squeezes. Ellie’s head is down as she wrings her hands together. She looks humiliated.

Before the vehicle is in park, she reaches for the door. “Thank you.” Her voice is so low I can barely hear it. How long has she lived here? Is her Pops in there too? It barely looks big enough for one person. No one should have to live like this. God. I wish it was her place Harry’s construction team was working on instead of that over-the-top beachfront remodel.

Ellie slides out, giving another quick thanks before shutting the door.

“Ellie, wait.”

She turns to me yet won’t make eye contact. My chest physically aches. She looks so defeated. But she has nothing to be ashamed of. By all accounts, Ellie works hard to provide for herself and her grandfather. From all of the rumors about her life I recall back in high school, it’s likely this is all she’s ever known. It makes me sick that while Jennifer and those other haughty dirtbags from school had the nerve to berate her, she took it with her head held high. And I was so consumed with my own feelings of rejection, I couldn’t be bothered to man up and protect her.

“Can I have your number?”

Chapter 14

Ellie

“What?”Is this a joke?

“I need to call you about your car.”

“Oh. Okay.” I should’ve known. I rattle off my number quickly and turn toward the door, not wanting to look at Matt’s repulsed face again. I’ve come a long way from the timid, easily offended girl he went to high school with. My grandpa and I are good people. We’ve worked hard, and despite every challenge the world throws us, we manage just fine. Sure, neither of us wants to live this way. But we do the best we can with what we have. My grandfather’s health is my biggest priority right now.

We pool Pop’s social security and my earnings from the food counter to pay for his medical needs, utilities, and groceries. And my friend, Char, has been a God send. Not only did she donate an old salon sink and barber chair so I could keep Pops looking good over the years, but she pretends to need an after-hours girls’ night in her salon every couple of months. She’s a terrible actress, pretending she wants company over a glass of wine while tidying up the place. Yet I know full well it’s a rouse to con me into sitting down and letting herplay with my hair.She’s not fooling anyone. But I’m grateful all the same.

But there is no play-acting happening here. Matt’s eyes are full of pity as he looks my way. It’s as if those old feelings of ridicule I tried to hide are creeping back in.

She’s so poor even her mother didn’t want to stick around.

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