“Are you serious?” I asked.
“Do I look like I’m jokin’?” he asked back and the answer was no, he didn’t look like he was joking.
I apparently had two choices. Sit in the Cherokee while he had a burger or crawl over the driver’s seat.
That was really only one choice so I expelled a heavy sigh, unbuckled my belt, hitched my purse up my shoulder and started to crawl over.
I barely had a hand in the seat when his hands went under my armpits and he hauled me bodily across the cab. Automatically I reached out to clutch his shoulders and one of his hands went out of my pit and around my waist, the other one went around my upper back and he pulled me to his body. Then, sliding me down his body, he set me on my feet in front of him. Right in front of him. Full frontal in front of him.
When he didn’t immediately let me go, I tipped my head back and told him, “I think I made it.”
“You smell good,” he said in return.
“I’m sorry?”
“You smell good,” he repeated.
I pushed back against his arms but they didn’t budge.
“Max –”
“You call him?”
I blinked at the same time I shook my head, confused. “Sorry?”
“Your man, you call him?”
Something strange shifted inside of me. I didn’t know what it was but I knew I wasn’t going to explore that either.
“Yes.”
“You tell him you were sick?”
“Yes.”
“What’d he have to say?”
My hands slid from his shoulders to his chest, I put light pressure there but said softly, “Max, I’m not sure that’s any of your business.”
“Yeah,” he said softly back, “that’s what I figured he’d have to say.”
“What?” I asked, back to confused but he let my waist go, put a hand to my belly and pushed me back several feet. Then he closed the door, beeped the locks, grabbed my hand and started walking fast with wide, long strides. “Max…” I called but stopped speaking.
We hit the boarded sidewalk and he answered, “Yeah?”
I decided to let it go so I replied, “Nothing.”
We walked fast, side by side, hand in hand. I let the hand in hand thing go too. He was often a jerk but he had nursed me back to health and, anyway, his hand was big, it was strong, it was warm and the night was cold.
I saw ahead of us that there were people hanging outside a door looking like they were waiting to be let in. When we passed the windows I saw it was a restaurant, rough looking but also welcoming. And packed.
Max opened the door the people were standing around, pushed me through using his hand in mine and kept the contact as we went to the hostess station.
The hostess wore no makeup, a t-shirt that announced she was a fan of the Grateful Dead and she had a mop of coppery curls pulled up in a mess on top of her head.
She also had on a pair of unusual, huge, silver hoop earrings, the silver hoop a wide, curled, web. They were stunning.
She looked up, her face brightened immediately when she saw Max and she shouted, “Max!”