Page 12 of Darlin'

"Easy there, Rocky," Jesse chuckles, brushing hishands across all the patches on his leather vest. "This shit's custom." He gives me a playful grin. "Seeing as you're poor, you wouldn't be able to afford the dry cleaning."

My jaw drops. "I am notpoor. I am simply...without credit cards."

"What?" He cocks his head, putting on a southern accent. "Daddy wouldn't fund your little vacation?"

"You are just—" I clench my teeth together as my body vibrates with agitation. I stomp my foot. "Aargh!"

"Careful, babe." He chuckles, grinning. "Don't pop a blood vessel now."

"I'll popyousomewhere," I mutter, scowling. "And let me tell you, it would hurt much,muchmore than any blood vessel."

"You threatening me?" he asks, feigning offense. "And here I was going to offer you a place to stay for the night."

"Oh, really?" I cross my arms. "Why? Suddenly feeling like extending me some Southern California hospitality?"

"Something like that," he says with a casual shrug. "But now that the safety of my—" He glances down at his dick, and my stupid freaking eyes follow. Guess the SoCal landscape isn’t the only thing around here that's bumpy and inviting. He expels an amused laugh. "Down, girl."

"What?" I squeal, snapping my head up. My cheeks flush, body frozen with embarrassment. "I was not..." I swallow.Did I?!"I mean, I wasn't..."

"Uh-huh," he hums, reaching for my suitcase. "Sure you weren't." Jesse latches onto the handle and beginswalking to a parked truck on the side of the road. I take a second to process that he is no longer standing in front of me. Did I just gawk at his...thing?!He turns around, calling out, "You coming?"

"What?" I scramble to pick up my purse off the ground and then run toward him. "Where are we..." I clear my throat as Jesse unlocks the truck and tosses my luggage in the back seat. "Where are we going?"

"My place," he says, hopping in the driver's seat. He stares at me, waiting. "Well? Get in."

"Oh." Circling the truck, I jump into the passenger's seat, clipping in my seatbelt as Jesse starts the engine. Maybe this isn't a smart idea, either. None of my ideas have been very thought out, have they? "So umm...Beau, he uh—he mentioned me?" I pause, unable to look at Jesse—might look somewhere I'm not supposed to again. "What...what did he say?"

"Not much," Jesse says, keeping his eyes on the road as he drives through a deserted dirt road. "Kid doesn't really talk about his past." He glances at me, but I pretend I don't see his lingering gaze. "And I don't pry."

"Right," I hum, sinking into the leather seat. "His past."

We drive in silence for several agonizing minutes. Was Beau's life that bad? Was he truly so unhappy that he'd leave without even a note? For a long time, I have beaten myself up. I should've noticed that something was wrong. I should've been more attentive, more inquisitive, more present.

Now I'm just his past. Something he doesn't want to remember.

"How'd you find him, anyway?" Jesse breaks the silence, lighting up a cigarette. I cough, waving my hand in front of my face. He sighs, rolling down a window. "Better, princess?"

"Yeah, thanks for not killing me with Satan's smog." I roll my eyes. He snorts, muttering something under his breath. "What was that?"

"Nothing," he says, flicking the cherry into the middle console. "So? How'd you find him? I know it wasn't by searching Beauregard John Kingsley on the internet."

"What?" I twist my neck toward him slowly. "How do you know his full name?" I sit up straight. "Hisrealfull name."

"'Cause I helped him change it," Jesse admits nonchalantly.

"Youchanged his name?" I ask. That explains why I couldn't find him.

"Well, not legally," Jesse explains. "But on the streets, yeah. We got him some fake IDs and shit."

"Why would he change his name?" I ask, chewing on my bottom lip. "Why didn't he want to stay Beau?"

"Guess the kid wanted a fresh start," he replies, tossing me a sympathetic side-eye. "A new identity is usually the first step."

"A fresh start?" I sigh, chest heavy with regret. "Right. Nothing says fresh start like—" I stop, not wanting to dig myself into potentially more trouble. "Never mind."

"So youdohave a filter," Jesse muses, turning onto a paved driveway. "Good to know."

"Appears I do," I hum, squinting out the blacked-outwindows as I try to make out the house in the distance. "This your house?"

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