“Want me to put your stuff up here?” Tristen asks.
“I’m good.”
“Suit yourself.”
He flops into the seat next to me, his legs splayed wide so our knees touch. There’s that zing again at the lightest contact, and I frown, hating that my body still responds to him even when I’m furious at him.
“You’re okay with me sitting with you?” His fingers drum impatiently on his thighs.
“Uh, sure? I mean, better you than a stranger, right?” An awkward laugh bubbles out of me, and I spin away to stare at the window reflecting my horrified expression.Stop making this weird.
“Yeah. Better than a stranger...” He clears his throat and returns to surveilling the other passengers.
After everyone has boarded and the luggage is stowed under the bus, the driver races aboard, sweat pooling at his temples. “Good evening. My name is Freddie, and I’ll be your driver today. Once again, we are on the way to Dallas, with an estimated arrival time of 5:10 p.m. tomorrow. There will be eight stops along the way. Before you disembark, please check your clocks. When I say five minutes, that’s what I mean. Once my door shuts, the bus leaves—no discussion. There is one bathroom in the back of the bus but should only be used in an emergency situation—trust me, I wouldn’t use it personally.”
He continues on with the rules, but most of the people around us have lost interest, returning to their devices. Adistinct purr of snoring from the back sounds like someone has already passed out.
Soon the bus rumbles to life, the interior light clicks off, and we are on the move, exiting out of the underground tunnel and entering into the city. Lights from the buildings highlight the suspicious oily smudges on my window and I lean away, my nose crinkling. For a fifty-dollar ticket, I guess I shouldn’t complain.
Passengers start to settle, the faint murmuring of chatter and the light from their electronic devices filling the darkness with a soft glow. The space between seats is tight, and Tristen’s shoulder brushes into mine with each pothole in the road.
Only nine more hours to go . . .
There’s no time like the present to listen to the newest Evie Chandler book Maya has been begging me to read. Thank goodness it’s on audiobook so I can close my eyes and let the story unfold like a movie. Unlike now, where I hyper-focus every time Tristen shifts in his seat or scratches his beard.
A good fifteen minutes pass while I troubleshoot why Julia’s old earbuds won’t sync to my phone.
“You’re doing it wrong,” Tristen says, leaning closer than he should.
I clench my teeth. We’ve barely made it minutes into the bus ride, and I already feel like decking him. This does not bode well for the rest of the trip.
“I’m following the instructions on the website.”
“Hmm, but this is an older model.”
“You work for Samsung now?”
He crosses his arms. “No, but I know how this pair works. I had this one before I lost my left earbud on a morning run.”
We hold each other’s stare.
“Fine. Fix it for me.”
“No.”
“No? So you just wanted to tell me all this to mess with me or something?”
“No, I’m not helping because you didn’t ask nicely.”
I suck in a breath and cover my mouth, knowing if I don’t that I’ll say something I might regret. No. Iwillregret. And that feeling starts a domino effect, my neck heats up, and an insatiable thirst for the one thing I despise consumes me. Then that annoying voice pops into my head to whisper how one drink could fix everything.
“Seriously, Reese?” I hear him like he’s in a long tunnel. “You’re so freaking stubborn.”
That stubbornness is what helped me earn my sobriety chip. I’m not letting my body call the shots anymore. I just have to fight temptation.
Blindly, I stare out the window, keeping my breathing steady and repeating the serenity prayer on a loop in my head. My patience is being sorely tested today. It’ll be a miracle if I don’t break the truce in the next hour.
“Reese?” he calls, grabbing my trembling hand and squeezing. “It’s okay. Hold on to me.”
