His eyes flicker up for a second and then they skitter away, like I gave the right answer. “That’s cool. Whatever you want.”
I want you. I want to lie back down on the bed and have his arms lock around me. But I know that’s not how it works. When you fuck the bartender, the free drinks dry up. I learned this from Tricia. I learned it from Meg. I learned it from Ben himself. It’s not like he didn’t tell me exactly what he was.
“In fact, I need to get home,” I tell Ben.
“That’s where we’re headed.” He folds a shirt.
“Like, now.”
He stares at the bedspread on the mostly made bed we didn’t sleep in last night. “Car needs gas and probably oil,” Ben says. His voice is harder, that hint of a growl returning. “If you’re in such a hurry, you could take care of that while I pack up.”
“Sounds like a plan,” I say. His arms, the comfort of them, feel so far away now. “Meet you at the car?”
Ben tosses me the keys and I catch them, and he’s about to say something but then doesn’t, so I scoop up my crap and haul it outside. I’m gassing up, when my phone rings and I reach for it. Ben. This is so stupid. We’re both being stupid.
“Cody! Where the hell are you? You were supposed to be home two days ago.”
It’s not him. It’s Tricia. As soon as I hear her voice, my throat closes.
“What’s wrong?” she asks.
“Mom?” I say.
“Cody, where are you?” I hear the fear in her voice. Because I never, ever call her Mom.
“I need to come home.”
“Are you hurt?”
“No. But I need to come home. Right now.”
“Where are you?”
“Laughlin.”
“Where the hell is that?”
“Nevada. Please . . . I want to come home.” I’m about to lose it.
“Okay, honey, don’t cry. I can figure this out. Laughlin, Nevada. Cody, hang tight. I’m gonna work this out. Leave your phone on.”
I have no idea how Tricia is going to figure this out. She’s as broke as me. And she doesn’t know how to use a computer and she probably doesn’t even know where Nevada is, let alone Laughlin. But I feel better somehow.
x x x
Ben’s waiting downstairs in front of our room when I get back. I dig my sunglasses out and put them over my red eyes. I pop the trunk and he loads everything in. “I’ll drive,” I say.
It’s maybe not the best idea. I’m shaky, but at least if I’m driving, I’ll have something to focus on.
“Okay,” Ben mumbles.
“Tell me when you would like to stop and eat,” I say formally.
He just nods.
In the car, he focuses on the music, but the iPod adapter has died, so there’s only radio, and it’s all crap. He finally lands on a Guns N’ Roses song, “Sweet Child o’ Mine.” I used to like the song, but now, like everything, it’s digging a crater into my stomach.