The Mormon Renegade

Chapter 27

You hate him, he called you abnormal just because you didn't have a childhood that fell within his standards.

For some unexplainable reason, this didn't feel like the same Andy.

That doesn't make sense—

"—coffee would be great, ma'am. I've got another night shift you see? Give this another two weeks then we won't have to patrol so often. Hear about any attacks by any chance?"

Ms Biersack switches the yellow tone main light to full strength, illuminating the room in a romantic glow. This place is ideal for a first date, I'd love to return during the day and without a chest scar that resembles the Joker's misshapen mouth. "When she goes in there," Andy mouths, gesturing to the lose swinging Staff Only door, "we can sneak out without being seen."

His mother unnecessarily busies herself beside them, fighting the urge to aknowledge their existence while operating the faulty coffee machine. "These damn machines. Can't live with them, can't live without them." Her golden hair jumps upward reacting to her sudden huff, masking the movement her hands were making to Andy and I behind the counter.

We hold on to each other, hammering heart beats begin to throb my eardrum but less in fear, more in adrenaline. It is exhilarating to do something like this with someone.

Especially when you're not guilty. "Would you like sugar, Officer?" He declines the offer, a distinct chink of his utility belt the only other means of sound aside from shuffling feet and Ms Biersack tinkering.

If this was the help I had while trying to escape my parents I can guarantee a much higher success rate than the events that occurred and are unfolding. Then again, had they not transpired I'd continue to live in a Mormon righteous household controlled by racist Nazi's and I wouldn't have met Andy.

"'Scuse me while I get some extra napkins, Officer." Andy huddles closer, warming my left side, hand in hand we dart closely behind Ms Biersack squat-walking so her apron knot occupies our line of sight. "Hey!" She whirls around, stone faced and still, her overly wrinkled features as monotonous as her stare.

He's found us I'm sure. We were too loud, even now, his arm around my shoulder pressing us tight enough I involuntarily inhale his musky scent. If it was a candle I'd bathe with it lit everyday. "Ma'am is this blood here? On the table." We can't see him but no doubt he's referring to our temporary first aid station, crimson stains possibly line the upholstery and vacant table.

A unanimous sigh of relief is exhaled from our shoulders, at least our cover isn't blown.

Together, we inch soundlessly sideways in a crouched crab walk. His slick hair falls in flattering strands over his sharp face. The rattling of his breath, the wild look in his eyes. Everything he is doing is somehow the sexiest thing I've ever witnessed. "Oh, my apologies, I tend to cut myself when I cook and I scratched a scab on my hand forgetting it was still healing, you know how it is..."

Together we semi crawl to the maze like exit. Taking a few extra minutes to navigate the expansive storage area attempting to remain undetected while under the impossible conditions, surrounded by a million noisy items all seeming on the brink of attracting attention. "It's an electric blue Hellcat—"

"Found it." I said far too loud, pointing to the matte finish car while expecting the Officer to materialise and whisk us into another jail cell. Might not be so bad if I'm with Andy come to think of it. Cool it, Tristan.

In one swift movement we're on the road and out of sight. Half an hour later we emerge from the cigarette stench vehicle interior, sitting in comfortable silence I expect him to have another mood swing or kick me out the car for whatever reason.

"What are you doing right now? Don't give me any of that, 'I'm sitting in a car next to you' crap." I might find comment offensive if it weren't already freakishly accurate to my exact thoughts, is he psychic?

Nevertheless, I'm not sure if this question is meant to be cryptic or plain and simple. Regardless, I answer honestly, "Nothing... why?" He smirks at my eyebrow cocked in suspicion figuring his intentions were double entendre related.

"Spend the night with me." His voice is barely a whisper, his captivating eyes and genuine tone are quite possibly the most persuasive instruments in the world.

When used like that, they can talk me into anything. "We have," He checks the murky green digital clock, flashing in the absence of direct light, "ten hours including dawn. Any takers?"

Naturally I answer, "Um, thanks but no thanks." Only problem is the words never leave my mouth because a static tingle vibrates my lips still relishing in our kiss before, I can't help recount the steamy scene repeatedly in my minds eye.

If things continue this way, can I make this an unforgettable night of firsts that drags me out of my constrictive comfort zone for good?

What is there to lose?

"Why not?"