Krish had ordered asaladat the greasiest midwestern diner Sejal had ever had the privilege of stopping at. That alone should have rendered him unattractive to her.
But the bright midday light was bringing out red highlights in his dark hair, and she wanted to stroke those strands.
Do your parents or aunt say their crimes are victimless, too?
Yeah, if that snarky jab hadn’t made him ugly to her, she doubted a salad would do it.
Sejal poured syrup over her pancakes. “You sure you don’t want some?”
“No thank you.” Krish moved his salad around like it was actually edible and not a pile of limp leaves and soggy tomatoes.
“Don’t like pancakes?” She cut into her pile. Steam rose from the perfect circles.
“Pancakes are a breakfast item, and it is three p.m.”
“If someone advertises that they’re offering breakfast all day, it’s because they’re good at making breakfast. Only a fool wouldn’t take immediate advantage of that.”
Krish eyed her plate. “Looks like you’re taking advantage of the syrup there.”
“Pancakes are mainly a vehicle for sugar.” She put the syrup bottle down and took a bite. Closing her eyes, she sighed theatrically. “That is some good high-fructose corn syrup.”
“Yes, my salad is quite good, too.” Krish took a bite. Sejal could tell he was trying not to grimace, and she hid a smile.
No, no, no. She was not going to find his fuddy-duddiness the slightest bit funny. She was missing Kenneth, that was all. “I think they did a study that in a lot of fast-food places the salad is actually less healthy than the burger.”
He took a bite of a tomato, and then did grimace. “Regardless, I can’t eat any more gas station garbage. The Cheetos for breakfast were especially terrible.”
He’d allowed them exactly two food and bathroom stops, and it was at the second one she bought the Cheetos to share. Maybe the orange-dyed food had been her vengeance for the crack about her parents.
But he did let you sleep in the bed alone, and gaveyouhis sweatpants.
Sejal was still wearing the sweatpants, in fact. He’d woken her up right before dawn. She’d barely had time to fold her jeans before he’d grabbed them and the rest of their things—including her unscratched scratcher!—and stuffed them into his bag, then hustled them out of the room without even stopping in the lobby to see what the advertised free continental breakfast entailed.
She shifted. His sweatpants were as soft as the sweatshirt she’d already stolen from him, but she dismissed his loaning her some clothes as any sign that he potentially had a heart. He was justtrying to keep his prisoner happy until they got to where he wanted them. Good luck with that. She wouldn’t allow his sweatpants loan to sway her from her plan to be rid of him before they reached the Nevada-California border. “Have you always been such a health nut?”
“I care about what goes into my body, yes.”
“Must be nice to always have that luxury.”
“I know that eating healthy is a privilege.”
Ugh, so annoyingly self-aware. The truth was, she liked a little salad moment now and then, but she wasn’t going to insist on leafy greens when they were running for their lives.
With that in mind, she wasn’t going to offer her pancakes again. She hadn’t really wanted to share them, and it was his own damn fault for being healthy.
Sejal looked out the window. The place wasn’t that busy, with only half a dozen cars in the parking lot. Or maybe that was busy for this area? Other than a gas station, there wasn’t much else going on at this exit. The scenery was exactly how she’d pictured the Nebraska landscape: flat and empty.
She took another bite of her pancakes. There was something nice about all the space. Perhaps she’d find a place like Nebraska for her next home base. It didn’t remind her of her hometown, and she had the feeling that, after this adventure was over, the last of her nostalgia for Vegas would be annihilated, at least for a while.
Yes. This is an adventure, and at somepointit will be over.
An adventure had an end date and imagined a future. Running for their lives might have an end date, but it might not include a future. Calling it an adventure was more optimistic. “How much longer until we stop for the night?”
Krish pulled out his phone as he took another bite. “I’d like to get to Colorado, so another eight hours at least.”
Eight hours? They’d already been driving for seven. The man was a machine, a machine with hands set at ten and two. “You’re really determined to cut this trip as short as possible, huh?”
“I’d like to get out of the Midwest.”
