I giggled. I couldn’t fault her for that. “Yes, you’ve told me. I just wish you knew what his plan was. Is he staying for the semester? Is he moving home? What is his deal?”
“I don’t know. I’m just having fun with him, but I know I really want more than that. I want to match up our towels and cookware.”
“Don’t let him hear you say that.” Jesse was the skittish type.
“Oh, believe me, I won’t, unless I’m ready to make a break. Speaking of Jesse, he’s on his way over to watch a movie.”
“A movie, huh?”
“I doubt we’ll watch it, but yes, a movie.”
“You two have fun.” I slowed the truck. Traffic was getting dense as I approached Houston.
“Call or text when you make it to South Padre.”
“Considering your date and what time it is now, I’ll probably go with the text.”
“All right, send smoke signals if you have to, but I want to know you’re ok.”
I laughed. “Ok, smoke signals. Talk to you later, bye.”
I wedged my phone into the cup holder and exhaled. The tightness in my shoulder had spread to my neck, and the harder I gripped the steering wheel, the more I felt tingles of numbness shoot down my spine. This wasn’t the optimal way to drive, but I wasn’t about to stop now. I could do a few stretches when I made it to the island.
With the three-hour delay in Louisiana, I was scheduled to arrive at the Palm Palace at one in the morning. The granola bar I had eaten earlier had started to fade, and I rummaged through the cooler for a sandwich. I would have to call tomorrow to thank Mom for all of her snacks.
The edges of the bread were a little soggy from riding in a cooler for two days, but I savored every gooey bite. This meant I didn’t have to stop. This meant, as the miles rolled under the wheels, I was getting closer to Grey.
The billboards in Texas were different from the ones back home. There were advertisements for boot warehouses, and it seemed like every town had a rodeo event. I wondered if Grey liked rodeos. He definitely looked hot in his boots when he chose to wear them. There would be a lot we would learn about each other living under the same roof.
I sighed. I was going to be seeing Grey in his boots whenever he wore them. No more wondering what he was doing at night while I was eating pizza and drinking wine with Taylor. No more five-hour phone conversations when both of us were reluctant to hang up. No more lonely nights in an empty bed, wishing his hands were on me.
I exited on Highway 77, toward Victoria. I looked at the fuel gauge and realized I needed to stop soon. My plan to keep driving without a single stop was unrealistic. I scanned the exit signs, looking for a truck-friendly gas station. I needed one that had diesel fuel and large lanes for me to navigate the load I was hauling. I wasn’t about to attempt a mom-and-pop station with two pumps.
I turned into a Pilot station and pulled to the back with the rest of the truckers. It would feel good to stretch my legs. The gloves I had bought at my first stop were under the seat. I hopped from the cab and fished them out from under the bench, then slipped them on my hands.
On my first gas stop near Atlanta, I learned that I had to use something called a satellite pump to get the flow of gas started. I looked like an idiot the first time I tried to fill the tank and nothing happened. I had to go inside the station and get a lesson on trucker fueling 101 before I knew what in the hell I was doing.
Tonight, I felt seasoned as I trudged to the satellite pump, ignoring the stares I received from the other patrons. I wasn’t dressed to impress anyone, but rather for comfort. My stretchy yoga pants, sports bra, and tank top garnered more attention than I wanted. I waited for the tank to fill, then threw the gloves under the seat, tucked my phone in the running pocket, and locked the truck. I needed a pit stop and a cup of coffee.
The Pilot stations were my favorite. They were always well-lit, had clean bathrooms, and the largest selection of snacks and drinks. It was like a mini-city in one of these places. There was a movie playing in one of the side rooms. I surveyed the coffee choices. I wasn’t in the mood for a hot drink; it was still too humid outside. I ordered a frozen mocha and waited for the woman behind the counter to pour in the right mixture of ice and chocolate in the cup.
“Here you go.” She handed the cup to me over the counter. “That will be six dollars.”
I passed her my card and watched as she swiped it. “The lids are over there.” She pointed to a row of napkins, straws, and condiments. “Have a good night.”
I smiled at the frothy icy drink. If only I had taken my eyes off the whipped cream and watched where I was going. Before I knew what was happening, the drink smashed into my chest, sending frozen mocha down my chest and pants.
“Sorry, miss.” A burly man with a beard and a flannel shirt apologized, and then continued to the men’s room.
I looked at the mess on the floor in disbelief. I wasn’t sure which looked worse, the floor or me. I bent to pick up the cup.