The Boy I Hate(34)

She squeezed her eyes shut, determined to shed the memory from her thoughts and move on. This was natural, right? It was biological. Not a reaction to Tristan himself, but rather a man-woman sort of thing. She set the bagel on the dashboard, found her freshly charged iPod at the bottom of her bag, and began loading up her next audiobook. But when she looked up, she couldn’t help but notice the stark black arrow pointing directly to the red E on the gas gauge. They were out of gas.

“Great. Just great.” She pulled in a calming breath, grabbed the balled up molding clay from the bottom of her purse, and began needing it with her fingers. She kept it around for moments like this. When her blood was heated, and she needed a way to calm down. The smooth, hard texture immediately eased her mind, and she glanced across the street to look for a gas station. They were already behind schedule, and now they had yet another delay. Yes, it was only to get gas, but Goddammit, they were never going to get out of Utah. Then right on cue, Tristan appeared on the balcony. He was dressed simply, wearing weathered jeans, a plain t-shirt with a hoodie over the top—but now she knew what lay underneath, and for some reason that changed everything. It sent a wave of guilt through her chest, and left her with an overwhelming urge to call Steven.

Her fingers began to kneed more quickly and she suddenly felt guilty—because she shouldn’t be obsessing over a man like Tristan when she had Steven waiting for her at home.

But as Tristan came down the steps, she couldn’t look away. He was rugged, and big, and he looked both dangerous and inviting at the same time.

He threw his backpack over his shoulder, took one step and stretched his arms overhead—which only added to her bad mood. Because he seemed calm, collected, rested, as if he had all the time in the world.

And looked just as sexy with clothes on as he did naked. Goddammit!

He walked down the rest of the way, his white t-shirt showing off how remarkably tan his skin was, and flung his backpack to the back seat with her pillow. The roughened up leather bag landing directly onto of the soft white cotton pillowcase, where the vast contrast in materials made her shiver. It was a much needed reminder of how different they were. About how right she was to walk away all those years ago. He was rough and ready Tristan Montgomery. She was Samantha Smiles, the girl who needed to pull her shit together and stop day dreaming!

Next she knew, the driver’s side door flung open, and he climbed into the car beside her. He took a large gulp of coffee and fastened his seat belt before glancing over at her. “Ready to go?”

Samantha licked her lips, knowing right well that coffee was frigid. Yet he hadn’t even winced at the temperature. He didn’t complain at all, which she wasn’t used to at all. Steven always complained about things like that. Always. Steven always wanted things perfect.

“We need gas,” she stated all at once, turning in her seat to fasten her own seat belt. “I think there’s a station just across the street.”

He put the car in reverse, glancing in the rearview mirror before backing up. He grabbed his bagel from the dashboard, and ripped off a healthy chunk with his teeth before answering. “We don’t need gas,” he replied with a mouth full of bagel. He threw the car into gear, then pulled out to the open road. “I filled up yesterday.”

She glanced over at him, as calmly as she could, faced with such arrogance, and tapped on the glass of the odometer with her fingernail. “See that red line there? Right next to the E? This says otherwise.”

He laughed under his breath and took another bite. “It’s broken.”

She leaned way back in her seat, far enough to get a good look at him and squeezed the ball of clay in her palm. “You’re lying.”

His mouth only lifted slightly, but his eyes remained fixed on the road ahead. “I don’t lie.” But he said the words as fact, as though he was talking about so much more than gas. He leaned over in his seat, practically in her lap, so close she could smell the soap on his skin. He pulled out a small brown bag from the glove box and handed it over. “See for yourself.”

She grabbed hold of the sack, slightly out of breath from the brief touch, but somehow pulled out the contents and laid them on her lap. There was a small, crumpled up white receipt, and a pack of winter-mint gum. That was it. But her eyes instantly closed as a rush of memory washed over her body…because she was suddenly reminded of their kiss. About his breath on her face, and the delicate scent of winter-mint gum that would forever give her chills.

“I filled up last night,” he said. “While you were sleeping.”