Beautiful Failure (12 page)

“Already did. I’m going to catch the bus.”

“What? It takes
three
buses.”

“What other choice do I have?
Walk
there? I owe even more money now. I can’t afford to take a day off.”

She sighs and shakes her head. “If you hurry up and get dressed, I can drive you to the bus depot. That way you’ll only have to catch two today.”

I blink. “Why?”

“Why
what
?”

“Why have you been being so fucking nice to me? What’s your ulterior motive?” I’ve had my suspicions for a while now, but she needs to let me know. I can’t take this anymore. “Whatever the fuck it is, just tell me.
Right now
.”

“Could you
stop it
, Emerald? Why do you think I would bail you out of jail and offer you a ride to the bus stop? Because I want to get something out of you later? Because I have an
ulterior motive
and secretly want to destroy you somehow?”

“Don’t you? Aren’t you waiting for the perfect opportunity?”

“Jesus...” She rolls her eyes. “I’m trying to be your
friend
. Haven’t you ever had one of those before?”

“Not really.”

“Hurry up and get dressed, Emerald.” She yawns. “Someone called me at seven o’clock this morning and asked me to bail her crazy ass out of jail so I’m kind of tired. Oh, and bring me one of Virginia’s biscuits from the other night. You said there were some left yesterday.”

I say thanks one more time and rush inside, tiptoeing up the steps so Virginia and Henry won’t wake up. I take a three minute shower and slip into a pair of fresh jeans and a checkered black and white shirt—stuffing a new set of shimmering pink lingerie into my purse.

I grab my iPod and my e-reader, and once I notice how gray the skies are, I grab a jacket and an umbrella and rush outside to find Sarah sleeping behind the wheel.

“Here.” I tap her shoulder and hand her a cheese biscuit. “Do you want me to drive to the depot so you can rest a little bit?”

“Of course not. I would never let a future
felon
drive my car.” She laughs and pulls off.

The rest of my day passes by in slow motion—two long bus rides, a short walk in a slight drizzle, and finally, freedom.

I’m several hours early for work, but I don’t care. I make myself as useful as possible—cleaning the stage and the main rooms, organizing the prop closet, and practicing on the pole.

By the time it’s my turn to dance to my one song that evening, I’m not nervous at all. I can do the routine in my sleep, and I breeze right through it.

Every spin is effortless, every twirl is graceful, and every dollar is worth it.

The second I’m done—after I count my money and get dressed, I tell Michael I have to leave early. The last bus is in twenty minutes and I can’t afford to miss it.

“I’ll drive you to the diner.” The security guard says as I put up my umbrella outside. “It’s across the street from your stop.”

“No, that’s okay. I’ll—”

“
Now
,” he says firmly and points to his car. “It’s my job.”

He doesn’t speak to me on the short drive over, and he waits until I’ve walked inside the building before driving away.

The second his car is no longer in sight, I run to the corner—waiting on the light to change so I can cross the street to get to the stop.

Five minutes...

I take my place at the stop and wait. And wait. And wait...

An hour passes by and the bus never comes. I call the twenty four hour helpline to ask if it’s been severely delayed, and they tell me that the return schedule was changed last month; the final bus ran two hours ago.

Exasperated, I drop my umbrella into the mud and let the rain drench my clothes.

This weekend can’t get any fucking worse!

I consider walking back to the club and asking Michael if I can sleep in his office for the night, but I remember that it’s a Sunday—a “Super Sunday”.

There are three bachelor parties scheduled for later, and as much as I love my job, I just want to be left alone today. I don’t want to be tempted to help out.

Soaked, I head across the street to the diner and slide into a booth. I figure I’ll call Robyn after she gets off tonight and beg to ride back to Blythe with her. 

I politely tell the waitress I want two slices of cherry pie and take out my outdated e-reader, wishing I could jump inside of it and live with some of the characters right now.

By the time I finish scrolling through the final chapters of my favorite book, I realize it’s only eleven o’ clock. I still have several more hours to wait for Robyn to get off.

I click on another book and order another slice of pie.

Thank god this place is open twenty four hours...

The second I get to the best part of the book, a deep voice interrupts me. “Mind if I join you?”

“Is the rest of the diner
empty
?” I don’t look up. I hear the man let out a low laugh and slowly lift my head, finding myself face to face with Carter. Again.

He slides into the booth and picks up a menu, smiling at me. “What are you doing here?”

“Wondering if you’ve put a tracking device on me. There are plenty of
empty
booths.”

“I can see that.”

“Well...” I dart my eyes from him to the vacant booth across from me, but he simply sits there. “Long day for you? Is this where you normally stop to eat after going to The Phoenix since you’re addicted to half naked women?”

He rolls his eyes. “Are you on break?”

I’m about to answer him but my cell phone starts to ring. Robyn.

“Hello?” I answer.

“Hey, I just got your text. What’s up?”

“Can I ride home with you whenever you get off?”

“Sure. Where are you?”

“The diner around the corner.”

“You don’t mind waiting until three in the morning? You know we have groups here tonight.”

“Not at all. I’ll wait.” I breathe a sigh of relief and thank her before hanging up.

“How long have you been sitting here?” Carter looks concerned.

“Not long.” I lie. “I was actually enjoying the peace and quiet before you came so...”

“What happened to your wrists?” He reaches over the table and brushes his thumb against the red imprint. “Handcuffs?”

“What can I say, my boyfriend likes to be rough with me.”

He notices the small white bus-transfer paper that’s sitting underneath my plate and pulls it out, reading it to himself.

Sighing, he shakes his head. “Let me take you home.”

“No thanks. My coworker is going to take me home later. Thanks for your offer though.”

“It wasn’t a request.”

I roll my eyes and look down at my e-reader. Sexy or not, I don’t know him well enough to accept a ride.

“
Emerald
...” His voice is low and he’s standing right next to me.

“
Carter
...”

“Get up so I can take you home.”

I scroll to another page of my book, tuning him out. He’ll get the point soon.

The next thing I know, he’s picking me up and tossing me over his shoulder, carrying me out of the diner. By the time I completely process what the hell he’s doing, he’s placing me into his car—a classic red Mustang, and shutting the door.

“Are you
comfortable
?” He smiles as he slides into the driver seat.

I groan and pull the door handle, but it won’t budge.

“Seriously?” I glare at him. “Are you aware that this is
kidnapping
?”

“Not when the captive is
willing
.” He steers the car out of the parking lot and onto the road.

I sigh and turn my attention to my e-reader, immersing myself in a better world again.

Half an hour later, the car stops at a red light and I look up. We’re entering the next county over and still have a long way to go before we’re back in Blythe.

“What book are you reading?” Carter’s blue eyes meet mine.

“
Light in August
.”

“William Faulkner,” he says, nodding. “You don’t strike me as the Southern gothic literature type.”

“I’m an
all
literature type.”

He moves his hand over my lap and picks up my e-reader, placing it in his door’s side compartment. “How many books do you normally read in a week?”

“Five or more, depends on how I feel.”

“Hmmm.” He eases the car onto the gravel road ahead of us as the light turns green. “Are you an English major?”

I want to mention the ‘no personal questions from strangers’ rule, but since he’s not playing any music and has prevented me from reading, I allow myself to answer. “I flunked out of college.”

I wait for him to ask “Why” so I can say “None of your goddamn business,” but he doesn’t.

“Did you know that William Faulkner was a drunk?” he asks.

“The best writers usually are. Do
you
drink?”

“Occasionally. Do you?”

I don’t answer. “Can you turn on the heat?”

He presses a button and turns the windshield wipers up a notch. “How long have you been dating your boyfriend?”

“From Faulkner and alcohol to ‘How long have you been dating your boyfriend’? You couldn’t think of a smoother transition?”

“Figured I’d get straight to the point. Is it serious?”

“Does it matter?”

“
It does
.” He slows the car as the yellow light in front of us turns red. Then he faces me. “
I want you
, so I need to know how hard I have to work to make you see that your boyfriend will
never
compare to me.”

I cross my legs. “How charming.”

“Is it
serious
?”

“Very.”

“What’s his name?”

“The light is green. Drive.”

He puts the car in park. “Tell me his name.”

“Brian.
Drive
.”

“How old is he?”

“
What
?! None of your business.”

“Because he doesn’t actually exist or because you don’t want me to know?”

“I don’t want you to know.”

He’s silent for a while, but then he leans back. “Your boyfriend—
Brian
, let you sit in a diner for
hours
so you could wait for your friend to get off work and take you home?”

I don’t answer.

“Even if he does like to be
rough
with you, the marks on your wrist look like he’s hurting you. Doesn’t seem like boyfriend material.”

“This is exactly why I don’t get in cars with
strangers
.” I sigh. “I made him up. He doesn’t exist, and the handcuff marks are from being arrested last night. Don’t ask me what for because it’s none of your damn business, and I would really appreciate it if you gave me my e-reader so I could go back to enjoying the ride home.”

“I’ll think about it. How long have you been living in Blythe?”

“If I didn’t answer that question on the first day we met, what makes you think I’ll answer it now?”

“Because you want to.” He pauses. “And because as badly as you want to deny it, you’ve been thinking about me since we first met.”

I can’t help but laugh. Hysterically.

I shut my eyes and toss my head back against the seat, holding my sides because they haven’t experienced laughter like this in years.

By the time I calm down, I notice that he’s turned the car off and is looking at me with his eyebrow raised.

“
What
?” I ask.

“What’s so funny?”

“You are. You think I like you just because you’re
sexy
?”

I notice him slightly clenching his jaw and decide to take advantage of this moment. I need to set the record straight. “You think I’m going to open up to you and tell you shit I’ve never told anyone else before because you’re
sexy
? Because you think I’m a lost soul who’s turned to stripping and need a Prince Charming or a knight in shining armor to save me? If you do, you’ve got the wrong fucking girl. And if you think for one second that giving me a ride home will change any of that, let me know so I can walk the rest of the way. I don’t
need
you, and contrary to whatever is going on in your mind, I don’t
want
you.”

He blinks. Then he shakes his head before looking directly into my eyes. “For the record,
Emerald
—I’m not trying to be your Prince Charming or your knight in shining armor. You’re too fucked up for me to even
think
about saving you. I don’t have the wrong girl, and I don’t expect you to open up and tell me shit except what I already know. You’re definitely
not
from Blythe and I’m just interested in knowing where you came from.”

Silence.

I sigh. “My grandparents are from Blythe. I’m from New Jersey. I moved in with them several months ago. However, I honestly have
not
thought about you at all. I just think that you’re extremely attractive. That’s about all I can—”

He presses his lips against mine and runs his fingers through my hair, whispering, “
Shut up
” as he kisses me.

Slipping his hand behind my neck, he pulls my head even closer to his, softly biting my bottom lip.

Besides the pelting raindrops on his hood, the sound of his tongue softly exploring my mouth is the only sound I can focus on.

He slowly pulls away from me, leaving me wanting more, but I don’t let that show.

“Don’t worry,” he whispers. “I’ll still work hard to show you
how much
I want you.”

I immediately face my window and pretend to be fascinated with what’s going on outside.

As he drives the car back onto the road, I silently scold myself for allowing that kiss to happen, for
liking
it.

We don’t speak for the rest of the drive—except for when he asks for my address, and when he pulls up to my house I murmur goodbye.

Anxious to get away, I pull on the door handle as soon as he parks, but it doesn’t open.

“Going somewhere?” he asks.

I don’t turn around to look at him because I know he’s smiling.