“I’ll be quick.” She slides off the hood of my car, being careful not to scratch it. “Need anything else?”
I shake my head, holding up my Slurpee. “I can’t even finish this.”
I dig my fingernails into the palm of my hand as I watch Brenda head inside and toward the self-serve aisle. But I turn from watching her when a group of buff construction workers pull up in two separate trucks on either side of my car. They hop out, dirty work boots hitting the asphalt, and pat their pants pockets in search of cigarettes. One of them looks at me, his long dusty hair floating over his eyelids. He’s tall and lanky, not like the other ones. He still looks like a teenager. He nods hey, like he knows me.
He doesn’t.
“Nice ride,” he says, motioning to my car. His Southern accent tells me he didn’t grow up in Pacific Palms.
When I don’t respond, he smirks.
“Oh, I see how it is. Too good for me, eh?” He shakes his head, moving closer. “You local girls kill me.”
I do a quick take over my shoulder, feeling the need to plan an escape route. When he leans against the driver’s side door to help himself to a peek inside my car, my heart hiccups and my insides ripple. I look through the window of the 7-Eleven for Brenda, willing her to hurry up and get out here. She’s in the checkout line, watching us. She gives me a warm smile, like this creepy dude is no big deal.
“Clean dash. How old?” the guy says, swiping his index finger across the top of my steering wheel.
I dig my nails deeper into the palm of my hand. “It’s a fifty-seven.”
“Wow. Someone must really like you.” He looks me up and down in a way that lets me know he means the double entendre.
I need Brenda to get out here right now. What’s taking her so long? I glance back inside to see her laughing at something the store clerk is saying. The guy leans against the driver’s side door and rests his elbow on the roof of the Bel Air.
“Please don’t touch my car,” I say. The words come out sounding more like a plea than a demand.
He takes a couple steps back, slowly looks me up and down again, and puts his hands up in surrender. “Chill out, Local Girl. I’m just looking.” He shakes his head and saunters toward the door of the 7-Eleven. He hits the entrance at the same time Brenda is exiting, and I watch him as he moves aside to hold the door open for her. She thanks him and walks toward me with a smile on her face, like she’s still enjoying whatever it was the clerk said to her in there.
“Way to take your time,” I say, carefully sliding off the car, ready to leave.
She grabs my elbow to stop me. “Hey now, what are you so upset about?”
“Didn’t you see me getting harassed out here by Mr. Psycho?”
“Mr. Psycho? You mean the cute guy who was standing by your car? What did he do? Did I miss something?”
I notice he’s watching us through the window. He’s ripped open a bag of potato chips and is eating them right there in the middle of the store before he’s even paid for them. He looks more curious than anything, like I’ve just baffled him somehow.
“That guy was practically climbing into my car and you didn’t even notice! You were too busy making friends with everyone inside the 7-Eleven!”
Brenda jerks back from my words just as a mom with two kids comes out the door. She stops to look at us. I guess I’m going to be loud right here in the middle of the parking lot in the middle of the day.
“You brought me outside and abandoned me!”
“That was not abandonment, Morgan. And I didn’t come running out to your rescue because I didn’t see anything that looked worrisome.”
“Well, maybe that shows how little you know.”
“Oh, really? And you know everything, do you?” Brenda slams her drink down on the roof of my car, making me flinch. She better not have made a scratch.
“I know that guy was creepy. I know that much.”
“Fine. Talk to me. What about him made you nervous?”
“Everything!”
“I want you to be specific. Did he remind you of Aaron?”
“No.”
“Did he say something that troubled you?”
“He was definitely overly friendly.”
“And that made you uncomfortable.”
“Yes. And if you really cared, you would’ve recognized it. But I guess you don’t care. I guess I’m nothing but a professional duty to you.”
“Are you kidding? You are so much more than a professional duty to me. You are me!” She stops herself, shaking her head, realizing what she said.
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. Let’s go.”
She grabs her coffee and walks around to the passenger side of my car. I don’t exactly want to spend time with Brenda in a confined space right now, but when the construction workers head back out to their trucks, I scramble into the driver’s seat. The guy who was all over my car gives me a sarcastic military hand salute as he passes me.
“You’re right. He’s kind of creepy,” Brenda mutters.
I turn to look at her. “I told you.”
She shrugs her shoulders, but she still seems peeved because she doesn’t look at me.