I FIND A motel similar to the one in Troy and go inside to pay, leaving Saylor with the bike and the twenty-pound bag of snacks. When I come out, she is taking a picture again. When we get to the room, she walks around with her eyes closed and inhales, again. Then she tells me it’s perfect, again. I see a pattern forming and it is so intriguing, I want to know why she does this. I will ask her. Eventually.
We have two beds again and I will take the one unoccupied until she asks me to sleep with her, which I’m sure she will—if the pattern continues. I take a shower then join her for breakfast at the table.
“You know what I like about biscuits?” she says through a mouthful of food. I don’t know, but I’m dying to hear. I want to know more about her. Even the simple shit. Like what she likes about biscuits. “Jelly. It’s like dessert.” I see her point. I wait for her to say something else. I’ve never hated the silence; I’ve always welcomed it. But when she is with me, all I want to hear is her. We can talk about anything. Fucking female problems if she wants. I’m debating asking her a question. One that’s simple, like her favorite color.
I shift in my seat, willing my mouth to speak. “What’s your favorite color?” she asks, and I shoot her that looks that says, Are you fucking kidding me? but she is undeterred. “Mine is black. Is that weird?”
Her face is pinched in confusion. She wants an answer, but I can’t speak. My brain is still processing how the hell she can read my thoughts. Maybe she is a witch. That would explain this crazy spell I seem to be under.
“Yellow. And it’s not weird.” I huff, and grab my bag before heading into the bathroom. Thoughts of the supernatural and witches and those people who can move shit with their eyes are pounding in my head.
Maybe I’m just that transparent. I light a smoke and then another one, trying to get my pulse to return to normal. When I feel half-ass like myself again, I return to the room.
She is in bed, writing in her diary. I strip down and she watches with lustful eyes. Then she licks her lips. And I go hard. I crawl into the bed she isn’t in and roll onto my stomach, burying my face in the pillow. It has that motel smell, and I wish I had her pillow instead of this one.
I close my eyes, and before the darkness sets in, I feel her sitting on my ass. She is wearing my favorite outfit. I don’t have to look at her to know it. I can feel the heat from her * through my boxers and her naked legs on either side of my hips.
“I’ve always been a dreamer,” she says as her hands rub together and then stroke my back. They are wet with lotion. The pressure is intense, but feels so fucking good I almost moan. “I’ve wanted to be just about everything. It started with a lawyer when I was a kid. I didn’t even know what they did, but I wanted to be one.” She makes her way to my shoulders, then slides her hands down my spine, across to my hips, and back again to my shoulders.
“Then I wanted to be a teacher. I like kids, but twenty-four of them for eight hours a day is too much.” I’m trying to concentrate on her words, but her hands are all over me and it’s hard to focus. “Anyway, I aspired to be a singer and when that didn’t work out, I chose massage therapy. I never made it through the whole class, but I did learn the basics.” And it shows.
I feel myself relax under her touch, and eventually my body has the same consistency of the jelly we ate this morning.
“I love the way your muscles feel under my hands,” she whispers, and I tense at her choice of words. Love. Not like, but love. “I want to rub you every day.”
I want her to. And I want her to tell me she loves doing it. That word sounds perfect on her lips. She is humming. I don’t know this song either, but it’s beautiful. I don’t know if it’s her humming, her touching me, or the fact that I used up all my energy killing a man this morning, but I fall into the deepest most restful sleep I’ve had in years.
—
The next morning, we’re up early and ride hard until I reach Oklahoma City. I check in at a motel, watch Saylor perform her ritual, and then hit her with the news of my leaving.
“I have some business I have to handle. I booked the room for two nights. It might be tomorrow before I’m back.” I watch as she falls on the bed, clearly exhausted from the long ride.
“’K. I’m just gonna take a bubble bath and watch a few chick flicks.” She doesn’t seem bothered in the least about my leaving, and I wonder if she’s thankful for some time alone. When I watch her drag herself back out of bed to retrieve her bag by the door, I know it’s only the exhaustion talking. We rode too hard today.
I pull some twenties out of my wallet and lay them on the table by the window. “Order some takeout. I’ll be back later.” She stops long enough to look at me, then offers me a smile.
“Be careful.” No one had ever told me to be careful. Shady had once said “don’t die,” but that was as close as I’d gotten to anyone caring.