Chaos and Control(11)

He pouts, which only improves his already handsome profile. One hand leaves the steering wheel, and he touches a dial on the dash. Then he touches the others before returning to the wheel.

“Worked in my shop.”

“Shop? What kind of shop? What are you doing in there? Where is it?”

He gives a grin at my excited chatter and adjusts his side mirror.

“I’m refinishing old furniture in the attic space above the apartments.”

“Really? I knew I heard power tools yesterday. Thought I was losing my mind. I forgot about that place. It’s so creepy up there.” I pause before seizing such a great opportunity. “So, you must be good with your hands.”

“I’m good at a lot of things,” Preston answers.

I turn to find his eyes still on the road, but even in profile, that teasing smirk kills me. Houston, I think we have flirting.

“What kind of truck is this?” I ask.

“It’s a 1954 Chevrolet 3100 5-Window pickup. It was my grandfather’s project. We used to work on it together. Then he gave it to me for my sixteenth birthday.”

“It’s beautiful.”

Preston grins and subtly relaxes against his seat. He’s got one hand on the wheel and the other arm resting out the window. There’s a chasm of space between us, and more than anything, I want to slide over and tuck myself beside him. But we’re still strangers, and I have mostly learned to control my impulses. Mostly.

“Where is Bennie today? I’m sure you would much rather go shopping with her, right?” Preston asks.

“She’s spending the day with her friend Laney. I didn’t want to ask her to drop everything just because I’m back in town. I’m glad she still has her best friend after all this time.”

“What about you?”

I turn toward Preston. “What about me?”

“Do you have a best friend?”

“I used to,” I answer, frowning at the scenery flying by outside my window. “Bridget and I were inseparable after she moved here in tenth grade. That was until I found out everything she ever told me was a lie. After years, I found out that she’d only befriended me to get closer to Sawyer. She fed me lie after lie, while I confided everything in her. She was a hard lesson in trust.”

“Does that have anything to do with honesty topping your list?” Preston asks.

I nod. Memories of that traitorous relationship sit heavy on my brain, and I scramble to change the subject.

“What are you doing in Franklin today?”

He keeps his eyes on the road and takes a deep breath. “I have an appointment,” he says through tight lips.

I’m taken aback by the sudden change in demeanor, but I try to appear unaffected.

“Okay, well, if you could just drop me off at the shopping center near campus, I’d appreciate it.”

Preston nods. The rest of the drive is silent and a bit awkward. Preston pulls into the parking lot, and I hop out, not wanting him to have to get out to open my door.

“You can just pick me up right here when you’re done,” I tell him.

“Should be around three o’clock.”

“Perfect.” I give him a wave and watch as the truck rumbles through the lot and turns back onto the highway.

My shopping experience is pretty great. I buy some new bras and panties, a couple of pairs of shoes, some skinny jeans that make my ass look fantastic, and a vintage Beastie Boys T-shirt. A few times, while hidden away in a dressing room, I find myself looking at an outfit and wondering if Preston will like it. I want him to like me a little more than I’m willing to admit. It’s the uncertainty that’s killing me. Just when I think he’s coming around, something snaps him back in place.

I stroll through the food court, looking for something to fill my growling belly when a black leather jacket catches my eye. Dylan. My feet freeze in place as my heart leaps into my throat. The guy wearing the jacket has wavy blond hair and black boots, but I can’t see his face. I want to run and hide, but my body does not cooperate. I now understand the deer in headlights.

Someone bumps into me, and I am nearly knocked off my feet.

“Sorry!” a lady yells as she chases after her kid.

“It’s okay,” I mumble, righting myself.

When I check for the guy in the leather jacket, he’s gone. I shake my head and spin in place, searching the area. It can’t be him. Dylan is far away. I am home. I am safe. Once I’ve convinced myself that I’m in no danger, I grab my shopping bags and make my way toward the exit.

“What kind of idiot wears a leather jacket in the middle of summer anyway?” I ask myself, stepping out into the heat.

A little before three, I sit on a bench near the entrance of the shopping center. Bags of wardrobe loot surround me. I hear Preston before I see him. That engine signals his approach as I gather up all my stuff. While I’m collecting my things, he throws the truck in park, hops out, and comes around to help me.

“Hi,” he says, giving me a smile. He seems to be in lighter spirits than when he left, and I wonder about his appointment. I absolutely hate that he’s wearing those Ray-Bans. The best thing about his smile is the tiny lines he gets in the corners of each eye. Preston gives great eye crinkle.

“Hey,” I answer.

We slide my bags into the truck, and I hop in. Preston waits until I’ve buckled my seat belt before closing my door and running around to his side. After only buckling his seat belt twice, we’re back on the highway, heading toward Crowley.