“I have to trust you at some point, don’t I?” I mutter. “Take a couple twenties out of my wallet.”
Janelle takes initiative and reaches for my wallet, moving fast enough that she must be worried that I’m going to change my mind about letting her leave. I watch her exit the hotel room and strip my clothes off, uneasy from the minute I can’t see her anymore. I feel like there’s something wrong with me. I’ve never had this anxious drive to keep track of a woman before.
There’s always been a deep struggle for me to feel attached to anyone or anything. I spent most of my childhood on my own and was mostly a loner until I joined the army. It took a while for me to learn to be around people and I wouldn’t have had thesame experience if most of my family hadn’t enlisted before me and prepared me for what I would have to do.
Bikers don’t need to make a huge fuss about each other. So it’s not like I never cared about the club or the family that comes with it, but I’ve never felt the strange mixture of things I feel for Janelle.
I have to force myself to take showers that last longer than three minutes and today I lack the motivation to enforce that kind of slowness. I just need to make sure Janelle doesn’t get into trouble on her way to the taco stand. Any number of evils might befall a woman alone, doesn’t matter how free the country seems, there are bad elements lurking everywhere.
By three and a half minutes, I’m clean and dry enough to slip on a pair of briefs, sweatpants, and a large grey Route 66 themed hoodie that I bought at the last gas station we stopped at together.
After five minutes, I start to get antsy without Janelle. I stick my keys and wallet in my pocket before throwing on my cut to meet her across the street. By the time I leave the motel I can spot her dark brown skin and puffy halo of black hair across the street standing in line.
She’s about to order, so I know that I don’t have to go across and meet her, but my body moves towards Janelle’s like there’s a magnetic force drawing me to her. She looks over her shoulder when I’m close, sensing my presence.
“I can handle a taco order on my own,” she says, handing over a twenty dollar bill to the guy inside the taco truck. He smiles at her and counts her change. I’m not sure if he speaks English or not – doesn’t bother me either way aside from my desire to converse with Janelle in private.
She steps to the side with her buzzer and points to a bench where we can wait for our taco order.
“What’d you get me for our first date?” I tease her as we sit on the bench next to each other, thighs pressed so closely that I feel nervous from the closeness to her.
“This is not a date,” Janelle says awkwardly, looking down.
“I was just teasing.”
“It’s not funny, Zeb.”
“Fine,” I mutter. “I won’t offend your sensibilities again.”
She looks over at me seriously. “We can’t date when I don’t even know if I’m going to go to prison yet.”
“This again?”
Janelle won’t stop worrying about that. If only she knew how many men I’ve killed without worrying about prison. Cops aren’t very smart and they have bigger problems than the type of low-life thug who would try to rob Janelle.
Still, she’s stubborn. “Yes. This again”
Then again, maybe shewon’tfeel better if I tell her how many men I’ve killed. I try a warm, comforting look instead.
“Don’t lose sleep over it. I promise.”
She only looks more terrified.I’m terrible at this.
“What? Have you done this before or something?”
Janelle’s face registers genuine worry. I haven’t hid my military service from her, but there isn’t much about it that strikes me as an appropriate conversation to have with a woman. She doesn’t want to know about how badly your ass itches in the desert from chafing and heat. Janelle also doesn’t want to know what it’s like to watch your friends die. I’m lucky that it’s only happened to me a few times. Some lose everything.
“I was in the army.”
Of course I’ve killed.But I also killed when I wasn’t deployed. I grew up hunting, and field dressing a buck when you’re seven years old will give you a stronger stomach than you can imaginewhen you get to be my age. It’s not enough of an answer for Janelle. Her eyes expose me completely. There’s that flutter in my chest again. The strange feeling that seems to only exist when she’s in my presence.
“What does that mean?” Janelle presses. “I’m starting to wonder if it was such a good idea for me to hop on the back of a stranger’s bike when as far as I know, you could be gaining my trust to sell me off or something.”
“I wouldn’t get much for selling you.”
“That’s comforting.”
Her buzzer goes off and I leap to attention to grab the tacos.
