Chapter 23
We returned to the bar, two warm beers waiting, the bar twice as full as when we left, meaning that six bodies now dotted the tiny landscape. He picked up the glass, downed the drink, then pushed the empty glass forward. “Thanks for the beer.”
I raised my eyebrows. Ignored my own. Dug my cell out from my pocket and checked for missed calls. Zero. “Thank you for the beer.”
He waved to the bartender, a man in a tight shirt, one who gave me a smile that I was pretty sure was mocking me for our bathroom playtime. “Naw. I’m pretty sure your drinking and fucking budget is bigger than mine. I’ll be in the truck.” He swung by me, shaking a few hands and slapping backs on his way out, his stride relaxed, confident.
I looked back at the bartender, who wiped down the counter and gave me an expectant look. “He got a tab?”
“Not one he’s paid recently.” The man reached for our glasses, raised an eyebrow at my full one before dumping them both in the sink.
“Figures.” I dug in my pocket, coming up with a twenty, and smacked it down on the counter. “Thanks.”
“No problem. Always great to see one of Lee’s girls.”
I paused in my exit, turning around to glare at him. “I’m not one of his girls.”
The man snorted back a laugh, shrugging as he plucked up the cash, stuffing it in his front pocket. “Whatever.”
One of Lee’s girls. I wish I’d driven. Wished I could get back into my car and return to luxury. Instead, I crawled up into his jeep. Suffered the ten-minute car ride back to the convenience store, the wind whipping my hair as his speakers crackled through the bass beats of Florida Georgia Line.
He came to an abrupt stop behind my car, his eyes sweeping over the clean lines that had put Brant back six figures. “I assume this is you, Lucky.”
“It’s Layana.” I grabbed my purse and unclipped the seatbelt, stopping when he flipped open the ashtray and fished out a business card, the edges worn and bent. “Lana to my friends.”
“I’m not crazy about that name.”
“I’m not crazy about Lee.”
“Whatever. Call me if you ever want thirds.” He grinned at me. Revved his engine as if he was ready for me to get out.
I stared at the card. Wanted to crumple it up but didn’t. He has a business card. The fact was both ridiculous and endearing.
I got out having no idea what to do with the card. Watched as his jeep pulled off, the trailer behind it sending a cloud of parking lot dust into my face. I got into my car, my skin dirty, my pussy taken, half of my clothes stretched out or ruined.
I pulled over three exits before home and parked in a Lowe’s lot—locked my doors, lowered my face to the steering wheel, and cried.
