Gas or Ass (27 page)

Like Mom, only Mom needed to believe so badly that she’d put my needs second, and now, that’d turned to shit, so everything had to be my fault, because she had to believe in her prince and princelings.

She took a big drink. “What does any of that have to do with your reprehensible behavior?”

“It means, you might see us as brothers and sister, but we don’t see it that way. You want me to be Princess Diana, but in reality, I’m Camilla. The princess no one wants, at least, that’s how Colt sees it. We were just young adults, thrown together without any damn regard for how we felt about it, and he said Caine felt the same way. I was attracted to Colt. I thought he was attracted to me. We acted on it. No one got betrayed but me.”

“He betrayed you by giving me this sound clip?”

“That’s one way.”

“Shelby, I can’t handle any more nasty surprises. Whatever else there is to know, tell me now.”

My need to hurt Colt surged inside me. How dare that bastard send her that audio clip? How long ago had he started to prepare for the day I found out he turned me into a whore for gas money?

“Colt had me fuck some other guys. He took money from them that I knew nothing about until today. Let me guess. He sent that clip to you about an hour ago? That would’ve been just after I told him that someone I failed to screw wanted a refund.”

She drained the glass. “Get your keys. I shouldn’t drive.”

“Where do you think we’re going?”

“To the sheriff’s department. If what you say is true, then Colt should be in jail, so I want you to tell this story to the sheriff. If you’re lying, then... well, young lady these are some serious accusations. You’d better not be lying.”

It didn’t take a genius to see that Sherriff Mack Brown had no choice but to tell my mother I was delusional.

If it takes me until my dying day, I’m going to burn his ass.
“I lied. Colt’s the innocent. I said those things trying to get him to screw me. But he refused, since he’s such an honorable guy and all. I made life hell for him with my inappropriate behavior. Then, when he couldn’t take it any more, he told you and I couldn’t handle that, so I lied.”

She came from behind the bar. I saw the blow coming, but didn’t flinch when she struck me across the cheek. “May I be excused?” Without waiting for her answer, I grabbed my purse and ran to my room.

Grabbing my desk chair, I dragged it around the bed. The first speaker I ripped the cover off held only one of those conical things, but then, I spied the blinking red light. I smiled, a wide, fake smile, and jerked the small device free. Using a shoe heel, I smashed it to bits and raked them into the trashcan.

“D
ale, don’t.” No giggle accompanied Mom’s words. The bed frame didn’t start to squeak. My stepfather said something but I couldn’t hear the words. His tone said it all. He wasn’t happy to be denied his happy ending.

Well, fuck me, who is?
“Life ain’t fair, remember?” I whispered.

An hour went by, then two. I threw the covers back and picked up my book bag. That kid who had a crush on Caroline had found it, and returned it to me the day Dale threatened Coach Tindall. Maybe he’d turn out to be her prince.

Maybe pigs really can fly.

My laptop was inside, and as many changes of clothing as I could roll and stuff in there. Toiletries spilled from my purse when I dug around for the key to the Barracuda. 

I had on three layers of clothing, but I grabbed a hoodie. The early morning air sent a chill down the back of my neck when I slid the glass door open in the basement.

The car gleamed under a fresh coat of wax. I had to do something to avoid my mother these last few miserable days.

I dragged my fingers across the hood. “Bye.” Why had I never named her? “I’ll miss you.” Of all the things I had to leave behind, walking away from the car hurt the worst, but I couldn’t understand why that was so. The Barracuda had only made a bad situation worse. Anyway, it wasn’t mine. I laid the key ring on the seat and set my cell phone beside it, on top of Dale’s credit card. The ‘Cuda emblem reminded me of Caroline. The car reminded me of winning, when I’d never won much, I supposed.

You call that winning?

I paused at the back of the Corvette. There was sugar in the kitchen. I could pour some in his tank, but why bother? 

The driveway had never seemed steeper. The hike to the paved road seemed to take forever, but once I reached the asphalt, the going got easier. I walked all the way to the end of the road. The station at the corner was dark, but the sun was coming up. I needed a ride. Jogging to the far side of the highway, I picked up my pace, but turned to stick out my thumb every time I heard a car approaching.

I’d walked perhaps a mile when a baby blue Jeep Wrangler slowed. The driver wrestled to pull the zipper down on the plastic windows that came standard on a ragtop. “You need a ride somewhere?” he yelled through the small opening he managed to make.

“I’m headed south. Down I-85.”

“Yeah? Me, too. Hop in.” I couldn’t see his eyes. Though the sun was barely up, he wore shades.

The guy looked about twenty-five, give or take. His hair was red, but not as dark as mine. His beard was another whole shade lighter, almost orange. Freckles covered what I could see of his nose and cheeks. He didn’t look like an axe murderer, but then again, did Colt look like a pimp?

I gripped the handle and opened the door. “How far down 85 you headed?”

“Atlanta.”

“Works for me.” I swung my bag inside and climbed into the seat. Though he leaned back, I caught a glimpse of the rockers sewn to the back of his leather vest. At least, that’s what they called the patches that named his motorcycle club on
Sons of Anarchy
.

He let out the clutch and swerved onto the pavement. “You got a name?”

“Shelby.”

“I’m Steve.”

“Hi.” I smiled. He smiled and I turned away to hook my seatbelt.
Go faster.
Traffic picked up by the time we passed the road that led to the cigarette plant. He cursed a couple of drivers near UNCC.

I hoped he’d turn on the radio, but he asked, “So, you into bikes?”

I shook my head. “I’m more of a car person.”

A few miles later, he tried again. “You into sports at all? Football? Baseball?”

“Racing.” Once I’d laughed when people called racing a sport. But I supposed I wasn’t that person anymore.

“NASCAR?”

I shook my head. “More like drag racing. Quarter mile stuff. Straight track.”

“Yeah? Some of the kids I used to hang with were into that. I never had nothin’ worth running. Plus, when the cops started confiscatin’ cars, it kinda sucked all the fun out of racin’.”

“You got that right.”

We finally reached the interstate. He merged into the morning rush hour traffic.

“So, where you headed?”

“I’ll let you know. Not going as far as Atlanta.”

He nodded, but he kept eyeing me, especially when he thought I wasn’t looking.

I closed my eyes. “Just say it.”

“So, you look like the kind of girl who knows the score. Gas or ass?”

I didn’t open my eyes. “Look, Steve. I’m all out of cash. I get that cars don’t run for free. But, I’m done paying up front. You get me close to my destination, I’ll make this worth your while. Not before, okay?”

He nodded. The sidelong looks ceased. So did the pretense at conversation.

We made it through Charlotte. The exit for Kings Mountain went by, then we crossed the state line. I began to breathe easier, for no particular reason. My mother would sleep until noon. The guys wouldn’t look in on me. Since I’d been lucky enough to get picked up right away, I’d be at my destination before anyone knew I was gone.

When I spied the sign for my exit, I sat up straight. “Get off here. This road leads to a traffic circle. There’s gas stations and stuff around. We can find a spot to park. Then, you can get right back on the interstate.”

I supposed I could jump out and run, but this seemed a fitting end to a terrible chapter of my life. The last time any man would ever get away with forcing his knuckle dragging, backwoods mentality on me. “Gas or ass” had nothing to do with transportation and everything to do with exploitation.

He eased onto the exit ramp without comment. At the circle, I guided him in the opposite direction from my destination. He parked in front of a closed storefront that’d once sold day-old bread, judging by the broken plastic sign.

“Got a condom?”

He scratched his chin. “Nope. Wasn’t looking to get lucky.”

I opened my purse and removed a bottle of lotion and a small pack of tissues. “Hand job it is, then.”

He leaned back and lifted off the seat to unzip his pants. I squirted the lotion into my palm, and swore yet again, that one day, I’d find a way to pay Colt back.

His cock wasn’t hard, but I got him up. I had no idea what he got out of this, since he didn’t seem to be into me, but I stroked and he thrust and eventually, he moaned and I slapped the tissue over the head of his cock.

“Good luck, Shelby.”

“Bye, Steve.” I wasn’t thanking him for the damn ride, since I’d paid. I cast the tissue into the floorboard and stuffed my belongings into my purse. Grabbing the book bag, I hopped out.

I hadn’t walked far past the circle when another car pulled over. “Need a ride?”

“Constance College?”

The elderly lady smiled. “Sure, hop in.”

“Thanks.”

She was chatty and she drove her late model Durango like a bat out of hell. I fastened my seat belt, but gripped the dash. “So, is this your first year, dear?”

“Yes, ma’am.”
I hope.

“Oh, you’ll love it. I’m class of eighty-two.”

“I’ve spent a couple nights on campus. It’s very—”

“Small? Quaint? Charming? Special?”

“All of that. It’s really the only place I wanted to come.”

Speed limit signs flashed by, but she seemed to take them as suggestions—or a challenge. She did stuff that made me sweat, like weaving in and out of traffic for no good reason I could see, except the cars were there to dodge.

She cut through a maze of side streets, but the black wrought iron fence that surrounded the campus finally came into view. I recognized the dorm Caroline and I had stayed in as she zipped past. One more turn and we cruised through the front gates. She pulled up in front of the elegant main building.

“Good luck. I’ so sorry, I didn’t get your name.”

“Shelby Roberts.”

“Good luck, Shelby Roberts. It’s so nice to meet you, dear. Welcome to Spartanburg.”

The building hummed with activity. I found a girl seated at a desk sporting a tabletop phone. “I need to talk to President Jamison, please. I don’t have an appointment.”

“I’ll let her know. You can take a seat over there.” She indicated a small arrangement of two chairs and a table with a lamp. I sank onto a soft cushion and studied everyone I saw.

An hour passed, then two. Parents and their daughters moved through the reception area. I shifted onto the opposite hip after hour number three and found the letter.

I got up to leave at five o’clock. A different girl sat behind the desk. She frowned. “I’m so sorry. Were you waiting to see President Jamison?”

I looked toward the huge front door. Where would I go? I turned back. “Yes.”

“Let me call her. Today has been crazy.”

I shifted from foot to foot, wishing I could take off a few layers of clothing.

She put the phone down. “Go on back. Last door on the right.”

I’d seen the elegant woman before. She’d welcomed the scholarship contestants. “Shelby? Come in, dear.”

I perched on a wing chair in front of her elegant, gleaming— messy—desk. She studied me. I extended her letter. She took the crumpled page. Scanning it quickly, she looked up. “I had them pull your file. It’s incomplete.”

“I know. I just found your letter three days ago. If you have time, I’d like to explain.”

She smiled, but the barely perceptible shake of her head made my heart fall. This had been a stupid, impulsive idea. I had no backup plan. Going home was out of the question.

“When I came down for the scholarship competition, a friend came along. I loved this place. She wasn’t convinced. But everyone I met here said, in so many words, that you, this place, empowered women. As of three days ago, I find myself quite powerless. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“Your friend’s name?”

“Caroline Mason.”

“Shelby, I need to work another forty-five minutes, maybe an hour. After that, I’ll hear you out. Do you mind waiting?”

I got to my feet. “No ma’am.”

Another hour passed before I was called again. The desk was much neater now. One stack of files remained. “Okay, I’m all yours.”

I started with my mother coming home with a husband I’d never seen. I almost stopped the tale at her slap to my face, but I forced myself to tell her about the ride I’d hitched, and how I’d paid because I needed her to know how badly I needed to be here.

“Why do you think your mother didn’t believe you?” 

I swallowed, longing for a drink of water. “I think she needs to believe that she did the right thing. So, if she believed me, she’d have to question her choices. I just don’t think she can handle that.”