TWO

Dagne

I can count nine times I’ve gotten this desperate, and yet the anxiety never goes away. Palms sweaty and wrapped around the strap of my tote bag, I head for the exit, feigning interest in a stand that displays sunglasses. The clerk shifts behind his plexi-glass enclosure and watches as I slip a purple-framed pair out of the holes and try them on.

Not bad. Might have considered buying them if I had a spare twenty dollars, too.

Hands hot and heavy, I slip the plastic arms back into the display holes, carefully aligning the bridge over the hook. The God-awful roar of motorbikes outside matches the incessant thump of my heart while I weigh my options.

Do I fake interest in another aisle to shake the clerk’s attention? Or would that be too obvious? Perhaps I’m best to do what he probably expects least: head straight for the door?

I thrust a hand in my pocket one last time, and shake out the few coins I have in my palm. One dollar, fifteen. No way is that enough to buy something and pass off as legitimate.

Damn it.

I hastily stuff the change back into my denim cut offs and beeline for the exit, sure that if I can make it as far as the sidewalk the heat will halve. All I have to do is get through these doors and I’m—

“Woah there, little lady!”

My breath hitches as the tall, broad biker raises both hands over his head, sidestepping me in my haste to get out the door.

“Sorry,” I manage to mumble as I narrowly avoid collecting the dark-haired accomplice who has his head down to put on … glasses? Odd.

You don’t often see bikers who wear glasses.

“Hey!” My heart rate triples at the less friendly cadence of the clerk who follows me out the door. “You gonna pay for that?”

A thick arm sweeps around my middle and spins me on my heel so that I’m neatly tucked into the side of the spectacled badass. “You at it again, baby?”

Baby?

“Sorry man, she does this all the time,” he continues. “Gets so excited to see me that she forgets she hasn’t paid yet. Ain’t that right?”

I hazard a glance at the guy’s strong jaw and perfectly defined lips as he smiles down at me, hand relaxing a little as though to test if I’ll bolt.

“Yeah,” I murmur. “I—I forget.” Turning my attention to the clerk, I fake a hasty search of my bag, knowing damn well I have no money in there. “Shoot.”

“Forgot your purse again too, babe?”

“Yeah.” Thank God for shortsighted Harley riders.

“I got it. How much you owe?” His boot shifts forward, his body weight coaxing me back into the store as the clerk visibly relaxes.

Ten minutes later, I return to the sidewalk after upending the lifted items and racking up twenty-seven dollars and sixty-five cents worth of debt to a man that could easily demand for it back in ways I don’t want to offer.

“Why did you do that?” I say as I tear myself out of the biker’s magnetic hold.

“How many times you done it?” he asks as the big overbearing guy I walked into first leans against a streetlight to spark up a cigarette.

“A few.”

“Yeah?” His eyebrow quirks behind his glasses, somehow making him even more dashing despite the worn leather hanging over his shoulders. “You looked as nervous as a virgin.”

Fuck my telltale cheeks.

Asshole grins. “Really?”

“No,” I snap. “Not ‘really’. I just don’t like people talking about things so private to me.”

“Shame,” the smoker murmurs.

I shiver, opting to put my full attention on the less creepy of the two. “You from around here?”

“Nope. Why?”

My hair slides over my face and offers some respite from their judgment as I mumble, “I need to use a shower.”

“Ain’t there some shelter around here you could hit up for that?” Smokey asks.

I shake my head, looking at him again despite every cell in my body warning me not to.

“You could share one with me.” He grins.

And that’s why.

“Knock it off, Crackers.” Figures that’d be his nickname. Guy’s mad as a hatter. Twitch in his eye really sets the whole look off.

My spectacled savior takes a step back and clearly scopes me out, eyes roving head to toe and taking in the bag I have slung across my body.

“You homeless?”

“Free-spirited,” I retort. Homeless indicates I had no control over how I ended up in this predicament. I had every ounce of control. It was my choice to walk away, and my choice to keep going.

“Like a hippie?” Crackers asks as smoke billows from between his lips.

“If you were hoping for free loving, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but …”

“Damn.” He smiles, and then turns his attention to the guy next to me. “We need to hit the road soon.”

“I know.” The dark-haired biker flinches, eyes still on his buddy. Something passes between them, some unspoken question and answer. “All right.”

“Where are you heading?” I ask everyone I meet the same thing. Only this time, there’s a certain flutter in my stomach that warns I should probably keep my trap shut.

“Fort Worth.” Crackers eyes me suspiciously, pushing off his light post. “You wanna ride, little lady?”

“With him.” I thumb at four eyes. “If he’ll let me.” No way I’m getting that close and personal with a guy who was just sizing me up for a shared shower.

“You know the rules?” he asks.

“What rules?” I meet Crackers’ challenge with folded arms.

“You ride the machine, you ride the man too.”

A snort sounds to my right. I regard the guy I’ve apparently just propositioned with wide eyes.

“He’s messin’ with you.” A smile splits his lips to reveal perfectly white teeth.

“Aw, come on, Digits. I had you in with a grin, then.”

“Fuck off.”

The two punch each other lightly in a playful way, chuckling as they start down the sidewalk. I stare after them, guessing the answer must have been no. Never mind. I have nothing but time on my side, so if it means I need to spend a day longer here while I beg for enough change to catch a bus then so be it.

I take a step back and look down into my bag for one of the granola bars Digits had bought me, when the chinking of chains and the steady beat of boots on the concrete whips my head up. This is it. Nice guy act is over. I look around and try to spot the alley they’ll drag me into so they can assault me. If I know where it is, I at least have a crack at making it in the opposite direction.

“You comin’?”

I didn’t expect the soft tone to his voice.

Or the way he ducks his head to level his gaze with mine.

Or the fact that I automatically nod like an excited kid who’s been told Christmas is early this year, and take Digits’ outstretched hand.

Guess I’m going to Fort Worth, then.