Page 13 of Wild Child
Her pink socked foot found its way onto the dashboard again, and she sleeps with her leg propped up and her head back.
The radio plays softy in the background, a local station pumping out hits from the nineties, which Charlie calls old man music. How anyone can think Foo Fighters and Green Day are old man music is beyond me. It’s the music I grew up with, and I sing along quietly to a Blink-182 classic while Charlie dozes.
We stopped a few hours ago for dinner, but I wanted to put some more miles behind us before turning in for the night.
There’s no hotel booked on the itinerary for tonight. Marcus and Hazel figured they’d find a place along the highwaywherever they wanted to stop. We’re just out of Amarillo when I pull into a brightly lit motel.
The neon lights flash in the darkness as I bring the truck to a stop.
Charlie doesn’t stir. Her lips are parted slightly, and a strand of hair falls over her cheeks. With her eyes closed she seems softer, vulnerable.
Her hair falls over her face, shielding her eyes, and I hook a pink strand behind my finger and tuck it behind her ear.
Charlie stirs, and her eyes flicker open. Her breath catches when she finds me leaning over her. Up this close, I notice the dappled green of her eyes in the neon flash of the hotel lights. They look like a stormy ocean.
She smiles softly at me. “Are we there?”
Her breath grazes my lips, and a jolt of heat races through my body. I jerk back to my side of the truck and push the door open.
“Not even close But I need a few hours sleep.”
My heart races as I slam the door shut behind me. My thoughts are in turmoil over the pretty woman in the cab of the truck. She was so close I could have kissed her. I almost did. And that would be madness.
For one mad moment, I got caught up in her beauty, in her youthful skin and sleepy face. She must have been terrified to wake up and find an old man like me ogling her.
I shake my head at my folly. To think a young woman with all her life ahead of her, a woman with an independent spirit, would want to kiss an old army sergeant like me.
As I walk to the reception desk, the cool air of the night calms my racing heart and brings me to my senses.
I secure two rooms next to each other, and by the time I head back to the truck my heart is beating normally, and all thoughts of kissing Charlie are out of my head.
Until I see her striding over to the Coke machine. She’s pulled her boots back on, and in her tight leathers every curve of her body sways as she walks, from her full hips to her round butt and the confident set of her shoulders.
My mouth goes dry, and my heart rate leaps up again. I stop in my tracks just to watch her strut across the parking lot.
I’m not the only one watching.
A low wolf whistle pierces the night. My head snaps around to the rusty pickup parked across from our truck. Two men sit in the front seat smoking. Judging from the sweet aroma floating across the parking lot, it’s not a cigarette they’re passing to each other.
Charlie ignores the whistle and keeps striding to the Coke machine. But her shoulders sag a little, like they’ve snatched a bit of her confidence away.
My fists clench, and I stride over to the pickup. They don’t see me, too intent on watching Charlie. One of the men whistles again and calls out to her.
This time Charlie flicks them the bird without looking around.
“Fuck off,” she calls over her shoulder.
The men laugh, and that irritates me even more. The one in the passenger seat cups his hands around his mouth and cat calls.
He’s so focused on Charlie, or so stoned, that he doesn’t see me approaching. I wait until I’m standing right by his window before leaning in.
“Boo!”
The man screams. He jumps in his seat, and the joint falls out of his fingers and lands on his lap.
“What the fuck!”
His legs jerk, and smokes rises from his crotch as he pats at it frantically.
