Chapter Twenty-Two
Sam
“When all this is over, maybe you should join a theater group. You were good.” I punch Suds on the arm, hoping for a smile but he simply grunts.
So, with two fingers to each side of his mouth, I force his frown upside down. “Why the long face?”
“Change your clothes. The hair dye is on the sink. Go.” His hand reaches inside a door, he switches on a light, and hands me a paper bag.
“Okay, okay.” In the tiny bathroom, I remove my things and using a cloth, scrub away the sticky, fake blood.
I’m only halfway through the process of dying my locks as he peeks in. “We need to go.”
“I’m coming.”What a grouch.As I’ve told him a thousand times before, if an Italian goes outside with wet hair, she will die.
Ten minutes later, dressed in stretched-out leggings and a holey t-shirt, I walk out a back door. He helps me into Coyote’s truck bed where we duck under a blanket.
“What’s up with you?” For the life of me, I can’t figure out what I did wrong.
“Nothin’.” We hit a bump, he curses, and tucks me closer.
Squished between him and the side of the vehicle, my already bruised body takes a beating. “Suds? C’mon. Out with it.”
“I said I’m fine. Drop it.” He uses a tone reserved for others, never me, and I cringe.
“You haven’t said a word since I got killed.”
“Pretend. Weren’t real.”
“You mad?”
“Nope.”
“Riiiggght.”Now, I’m the one who’s pissed.
“Why you copping a ’tude? I said I weren’t angry.” My surly bodyguard drops the blanket, moves me up, and stares into my face.
“I don’t have an attitude.”You do.I don’t say another word until we get on the bus and only then because his big body keeps bumping into me.
Sitting next to each other, I squish toward the window because, yeah, I’m pissed. He reaches a long arm behind my neck, grabs my shoulder, and tugs me to his hard chest. Then, he sticks one leg in the aisle and one under the seat in front.
“I hate buses.” His gaze is everywhere but on my face.
“Why’s that?”
“Reminds me of my military days, when I was a grunt, and I couldn’t afford airfare.”
I stare out at Salt Lake City, a mirage floating over the heat of the desert. “Well, if you don’t count school buses, this is a first for me.”
“Lucky you.”
“It’s not so bad… except for the bouncing… and the diesel fumes.” On cue, the engine farts and it’s sucked into our airspace.
“Don’t forget the gawd-awful smell from the bathroom.” One corner of his mouth starts to turn up.
“There is that.” I was hoping for some sleep but obviously, I need to keep Mr. Grumbles amused so I point to his phone. “Is there internet?”
“Nope. No bars.” He lifts his burner’s screen to my face.
