A/N; What can I say? I know I probably shouldn't start another multi-chapter fic, but hitch-hiking stripper Ally just won't leave me alone. She's poking my brain and it's starting to hurt, so I had to let her out.
This will be just a few chapters long, like 2 or so. 3, tops. Absolutely no more than 4.
The chapters will vary A LOT in length.
This first chapter is rated T, but the rating will change eventually, most likely within the next couple of chapters.
...
Las Vegas, Nevada - Late, late, late at night or perhaps very, very, very early in the morning (he wasn't quite sure and he really, really didn't care)
The music was too loud, the venue too smokey, and he was too drunk.
Well, he guessed too was a relative term. He was very, very drunk, but perhaps only and exactly as drunk as one was expected to be while attending your best friend's bachelor party.
He really had nobody but himself to blame, as he was the one who had planned out the out-of-town weekend.
He was going to be the best man at said wedding, after all.
If he survived the freaking bachelor weekend, that was.
He sighed, and although he had intended for it to be an internal one,he was about forty-eight percent or so sure that it ended up coming out loud.
Not that anyone could hear him.
He almost sighed again.
It wasn't that he minded going out. He had absolutely nothing against a beer or two, but it wasn't exactly their first night out.
And they also, coincidentally, hadn't had just a beer or two.
The last few days were a blur of alcohol, very late nights and random hook-ups on the part of the single guys in their fairly large group of friends.
All the single guys except for him.
He had gotten used to the constant ridicule and half-bad attempts at humorless jokes at his expense, but he didn't really care, because hooking up with random strangers wasn't his thing, it had never been his thing, it would never be his thing.
He was a relationship type of guy, and had it been up to him, he would still be in one.
Damn it.
He just wasn't ready.
For any of it.
He groaned, inwardly this time around, as he once again looked around the small, run-down place, and was once again unsuccessful in locating the groom-to-be along with any of the other guys.
All he could see was girls, so many girls, all of them in various stages of undress.
It really wasn't that surprising.
They were in a strip club, after all.
A strip club in Vegas.
They had been in sin city for a few days, a few days that felt like half a lifetime.
He was ready to leave, craving the somewhat comfyness of his hotel room bed, but then again, he had been ready to leave before they had even entered the place.
If he was never to step foot in a strip joint again it would still be too soon.
How had they ended up there? He was trying to retrace the events of the evening in his intoxicated mind, unsuccessfully so as all he could remember were foggy images of taking shots.
So many shots.
Fuck.
He finally located Dallas by one of the nearby tables, with one girl in his lap and another one next to him, alternatingly making out with both of them, and although he was pretty sure that he had heard somewhere that a threesome was supposed to be every man's sexual dream, he was thoroughly grossed out.
Dallas had the same taste in women as he had in food, namely cheap and greasy.
He shuddered.
He decided against interrupting whatever was going on at that table, as he continued to scan the semi-dark room in search for Dez, to be able to let him know that he was leaving.
He was kind of hoping that he would leave with him.
He was a bit worried that his best friend and groom-to-be would get lost and end up wandering the streets all by himself, and that kind of concerned him, because that would simply be a robbery waiting to happen.
He finally spotted him, the tall redhead dancing in haphazard somewhat-rhythm to the too loud music close to the stage, seemingly oblivious to the 'performance' that was playing out a few yards away.
He tapped him on the shoulder, nodding towards the exit.
"I'm heading back to the hotel." He had to scream to make himself heard.
Dez wrinkled his eyebrows in disapproval. "Duuuuuuude. This is our last night. One more song, one more shot. Come on."
He nodded because how could he not.
Dez was right.
For once.
It was their last night.
One more song. One more shot.
But that was it.
What felt like a second later, and they had some shots lined up on the bar desk in front of them.
He held his breath as he put the small glass to his mouth, the liquid burning his throat, and he couldn't even tell what type of alcohol it was as he swallowed it down as fast as he possibly could.
Dez was already calling the semi-nude waitress over for another one.
Four shots and countless songs later, and his head was spinning faster than the pompoms that were strategically placed on the very large breasts of the...person...who was currently 'dancing' around a tall pole on the small, dimly lit stage.
Time to leave. At least for him.
He hugged Dez goodbye, and he was almost by the exit when the next song began blasting out of the large speakers. For some reason, it made him stop dead in his tracks and turn back around.
The music was different from what had been playing throughout the last few hours, a little edgier, a little darker, and it intrigued him.
Someone new entered the stage, some smoke shooting out of somewhere (he had no clue from where) just as a small spotlight turned on, landing on said someone.
It was a girl, a petite girl, with long blonde hair and an odd-looking outfit, and he wasn't sure whether he had seen her on stage earlier in the evening. Actually, he knew he hadn't.
He would have remembered her.
She was pretty. Very pretty. Too pretty to take her clothes off for money.
He was pretty sure all girls were too pretty for that, though.
As she started to slowly move, beginning to undress, he couldn't tear his eyes away from her. She was stunning. Granted, she was wearing too much make-up, and something was definitely up with her too blonde, too long hair, but she was fucking breath-taking nonetheless.
She was swaying her hips in ways that probably would have made him want to blush if he hadn't been so drunk. As it was, however, it made him want to do other things.
Several other things.
Their eyes met, and she flashed him a tired smile, or maybe more a smile of defeat, and it hurt his heart a bit, the same heart that was currently making funny du-dunking noises as he was suddenly breathing heavier. Her eyes were lingering on him, and he still couldn't look away, although he wanted to, or kind of wanted to, eh, he really wasn't sure anymore. It was kind of like watching one of those movies where you were too scared to watch, so you covered your eyes with your fingers, but ended up peeking through them anyways.
There was something so oddly intimate about her performance. She was very good at it, whatever it was, good at making him feel like the only guy in the room, managing to make him forget the crowd of horny men who undoubtedly were ogling her like she was the nearby buffet that he hadn't even dared to touch, although, come to think of it, he was actually starving.
But as she was seducing him, albeit perhaps not literally, he was also overcome with an weird side effect of protectiveness, because with each piece of clothing that she removed, he kind of wanted her to put it back on.
It wasn't that she wasn't sexy, she was, she really, really was, but although he was incredibly turned on, he was also kind of wishing he could somehow find a blanket and wrap her up in it.
The song was coming to an end, and he realized that she was finished taking her clothes off, leaving her in some sort of lingerieish looking piece and him in a state of rock-solidness.
And he wasn't talking about his abs that he worked tediously and meticulously on maintaining.
He felt his heart rate speed up even further as she walked off of the stage and approached him.
Her high heels were clacking against the floor in the momentarily quiet room, and he had to admit that he was fairly impressed by her ability to walk in those shoes, those shoes that made her only half a head shorter than him rather than the full head shorter she would have been without them.
She was getting closer, and he could smell her, her almost too heavy perfume like a breath of fresh air in the otherwise less than nicely-scented space.
He soon realized that her hair was a blonde wig, like in that old movie that he had watched once (or maybe twice). Although in the movie, the leading lady had been a prostitute and he really, really hoped that the only similarities between reality and said movie was the fact that he owned a nice, expensive car (although it was nicely parked in his neat, two-door garage) and was very afraid of heights, and that she was wearing a wig.
She extended her small, well-manicured hand and he took it because he kind of wanted to touch her skin.
She was smiling, but although he had just met her, and despite being drunker than he probably should be, he could tell it wasn't real.
"I'm Roxxxy Rocket."
He laughed. "Aha. Right. I'm..." It took him a few seconds too long to come up with something. He wasn't used to using aliases. "I'm Jackson Lowe."
She smiled, an understanding, almost mischievous smile, and he knew that she knew who his by now washed-up childhood idol was, and that somehow, kind of, made him very, very happy.
"So...private dance?"
Right. She was working.
It felt as if his head was working on overtime, or perhaps it was just a tad slower than usual due to the large amount of liqueur that was flowing through it, but he knew he needed to come up with something.
If he turned her down, she would go elsewhere, perform a private dance for someone else.
He really didn't want that.
But he also had absolutely no intention of spending the night (or early morning, whatever) having a beautiful, semi-naked girl grind up on him only because he had paid her too much money to do so.
"How about I pay you double not to do that?"
She looked at him with big, dark eyes, the nearby, flashing spotlights reflecting in them and there was something about her that made him feel like he had met her before.
It kind of bothered him.
Maybe she just reminded him of someone else, he wasn't sure, he really couldn't put his finger on it.
"Why would you do that?" Her voice was a loudish scream in his ear, as the music was once again relentlessly pumping out from the speakers.
He shrugged as he pulled his wallet out of his pocket, pulled out whatever bills were left in it and handed them to her.
She immediately handed them back to him.
"People who offer me money like that usually expect...other things, and I...I don't do that."
His emotions were mixed. He wasn't sure whether he was more relieved to hear that she wasn't a hooker, or more offended that she thought that he was that type of guy who would be interested in something like that.
"I...I wasn't suggesting...I don't expect anything from you."
She raised an eyebrow. "Ok." He could tell that she didn't really believe him.
He wasn't sure why it bothered him so much.
"I'm serious. I...I don't even want you to dance for me." He had to lean down to get close to her ear for her to hear him, and he had to fight the urge to wrap his arms around her and carry her out of there, throw her over his shoulder before walking off into the sunset.
Or sunrise.
Whatever.
"Don't like what you see?" She had a teasing smile on her face, but he also noticed that she almost looked sad, and he could see that her confidence had wavered a bit, almost as if she had been faking it completely in the first place.
That really wasn't it.
How could he explain it?
He shook his head, as if that would help him to form coherent sentences.
The problem was not that he didn't like what he saw, the problem was that he liked it a bit too much.
He couldn't recall being as attractive to anyone else since...
He interrupted his own train of thoughts.
"Maybe you could take the rest of the night off or something." He handed her the bills again.
"That's not exactly how it works, but...thanks." She kept the money this time around, tucking it into her corset, before she turned around and walked away, heading towards the backstage, most likely to her dressing room, turning around a few times to smile at him before disappearing from his view.
He lingered for a few more minutes, almost as if he wanted to make sure that she wasn't going to come back out, yet silently praying that she would, just so he could catch another glimpse of her.
For a split second, he contemplated trying to get back there, perhaps trying to get her number or something, before he realized that there was absolutely no use.
He was leaving the next day.
And he wasn't ready, anyways.
It was really, really time for him to leave.
He exited the building, reappearing from the underground space while inhaling deeply, as if he had been swimming under water and was short on oxygen. The hot morning air immediately filled his lungs, and he started to cough excessively, letting out the second-hand smoke that he unwillingly but inescapably had swallowed throughout the night.
If his lungs weren't black, he was at least pretty certain that they were a light shade of grey.
The morning light was piercing his tired eyes as he walked alone down the surprisingly somewhat still busy street, soon getting to the nearby hotel that was their temporary, soon-no-more home.
He threw himself on the bed, too tired to change but also too tired (fine, drunk) to actually go to sleep.
He laid there, letting the morning sun-rays that were peeking in through the window dance on his face while his head was spinning in rapid circles, and he tried to focus on a large dirt spot in the whitish ceiling.
An hour later, and he made another attempt at going to sleep, but it proved difficult as he now kept on hearing Dallas and his latest conquests (and most likely the causes behind his next STDs), going at it in the adjacent room in some sort of three-way, unmistakable noises seeping through the seemingly paper thin walls, and he sighed as he pulled the comforter above his head, not managing to block out the unison choir of the two girls apparent moans of pleasures.
Whatever.
The last night was over.
The trip was over.
He could finally go home.
As he was laying there, alone, exactly as he had been every other night since they had gotten there, and quite a few nights prior to that, too, he covered his ears and closed his eyes and finally dozed off into an uneasy sleep.
The only difference from the previous nights was that his disorganized, drunken dreams were now preoccupied by a pair of big, brown eyes and a long, too blonde wig.
...
Somewhere in Nevada - Late afternoon but still way, way, way too early.
He had gotten off to a late start.
The plan had been for him to leave early in the morning.
With Dallas.
He had overslept, ending up paying for another day at the already ridiculously expensive hotel as he had missed the check-out time, but whatever.
It had kind of been worth it just for the few extra hours of sleep.
But then Dez had convinced him to stick around to eat something, mumbling something about 'your best friend only getting married once'.
He really hoped that was going to be the case.
Then said plan had drastically changed even more, as Dallas had decided to stay behind in the city of sin, apparently not having had enough of the crazy Vegas life that he would be happy to never, ever experience again.
Dallas had begged him to stay for a few more days, and he quite honestly couldn't think of anything else he would want to do less.
He used work as an excuse for needing to get back home, although both of them knew that one of the privileges of being his own boss was that he could take time off as he pleased.
But as the good friend he was, Dallas didn't question it.
And then he was finally on his way, the rental car making funny noises as he speeded out of the city and onto the highway.
His head was pounding despite the several pain relievers and multiple cups of coffee that he had already consumed. He was thirsty, so fucking thirsty, and he eyed the multiple water bottles that he had bought prior to taking off. He kind of wanted to drink some as his throat was as dry as the air outside, but he didn't want to drink too much as he didn't want to need to pull over every five minutes, like some elderly lady with an continence problem.
He could see the steam rising from the too hot pavement in front of him, the air vibrating with heat, as he was now almost literally flying down the narrow highway.
He needed to make up some time.
He had not been planning on driving the whole way by himself.
That, and he was ready to get home.
Even if said home was empty.
Too empty.
He couldn't wait to sleep in his own bed. With the best quality mattress.
He had driven for about half an hour when he spotted something by the side of the road.
He squinted his eyes, as if that would make him see clearer, but it didn't help as he still wasn't sure of what it was.
Something.
Something that was moving.
Wait a minute.
The something was a someone.
Who the fuck was walking in the freaking desert heat, in the middle of the afternoon, the scorching sun burning hotter than sauce Dez had insisted he had to try on his pancakes during their joint late lunch prior to his take-off.
He was sweating inside of the car, and he had the AC blasting on full power, yet still feeling as if he was about to melt away despite only wearing a tank-top and shorts.
The walking someone must be crazy.
He slowed down, perhaps from curiosity or perhaps from idiocracy, as he really wasn't completely sure of what he was doing, and not even a hundred percent sure that he was actually going to stop.
And then he did, going against every bit of good judgement that he had left after a wild weekend of partying in Vegas, pulling the car over on the side of the narrow road and coming to a full stop a few hundred yards in front of the walking person, watching in the back mirror as they slowly made their way towards him.
He rolled down the window when the someone was a few steps away, and then he almost had a heart attack. At least that's what it felt like.
Was he still drunk? It was either that or he was disgustingly dehydrated, because apparently he was now hallucinating. His eyes were clearly deceiving him, he wasn't sure of why. Maybe it was because he really, really wanted it to be her.
Yeah, that must be it. She would probably disappear if he blinked.
So he opened and closed his eyes a few times, rapidly.
Nope.
She was still there.
So it was her. It was really, really her.
The girl of his dreams. Literally.
Roxxxy Rocket, or a prettier version of her.
He was sure of it, although she didn't look much like the performer he had given his last cash to as recently as less than twelve hours before.
She wasn't blonde anymore, so his intuition of her wearing a wig the previous night had clearly been correct. She also wasn't as tall anymore, in fact, she was noticeably shorter, and as he looked down, he realized why. Her feet were completely heel-free, the ridiculously high shoes replaced by some beat-up converse that he immediately preferred.
From what he could tell, she wasn't wearing any make-up, and her naturally brown, beautiful hair was pulled back into a semi-messy ponytail, but he couldn't determine whether that was on purpose or not.
Her face was a slight shade of red, most likely from her walk in the sun, her cheeks slightly flustered and it effected him in weird ways.
Her eyes were as big and brown and mesmerizing as he could remember, or perhaps even more so, as the late afternoon sunlight was now reflecting in them, making them less dark but even more beautiful.
Her clothes weren't completely clean, and he could tell that she was tired, and perhaps a bit angry, but the long walk she already had behind her must have also subdued her mood a bit, as she also looked kind of sad.
She was in a very different outfit from earlier the same day, now wearing some short cut-off jeans and a printed t-shirt that probably had been white at some point.
She was so much prettier.
Like, a hundred thousand times more attractive.
Shit.
What were the fucking chances of him finding her walking around in the middle of nowhere?
He really wasn't sure, but not large came to mind.
Did he believe in destiny? No. Yes. Maybe. He wasn't sure. At one point he had, but it hadn't turned out well. Maybe because he had been operating under the false conception that things that were 'meant to be' were always positive, always with a happy ending, when in reality, destiny could be a hung
He wasn't entirely sure that he even believed in happy endings anymore.
Any lingering doubts he had had had evaporated the moment that he realized that it was her, disappearing into thin air along with his very heavy hang-over, immeidstely replaced by a surge of really misplaced protectiveness, the exact same odd feeling he had had the previous night, the feeling that it somehow was his job to make sure she would be ok.
He cleared his throat. "Can I help you?"
She stared at him in what he could only assume to be disbelief and she didn't answer.
They stared at each other, through the rolled down car window, for what felt like forever. He was trying to figure out whether she recognized him, as well, but quickly discredited the thought. After all, she probably saw hundreds of men every night, so the probability of her recognizing him was minimal.
He had probably just been another faceless body to her, one of too many in the large crowd.
He cleared his throat, preparing to restate his question when she finally spoke.
"I think there must have been like, I don't know, four hundred cars that passed me by, and I'm currently trying to figure out whether you are a pervert or a serial killer, because those are the only people I can think of who would pick up a complete stranger by the side of a highway. Especially in a state where it is illegal to do so."
He wasn't sure of whether he should feel offended, but as he was kind of trying to figure out his own reasoning, too, he really couldn't blame her.
There was a stream of sweat floating down her forehead, and he could tell that she was probably dying to cool down.
"Ok. You...do you want some water while you think about it?"
She nodded and he handed her one of the semi-cool bottles of water, then watching in stunned disbelief as she opened it and poured some of it over her head, the drops speeding down her tanned skin, mixing with the sweat into a sensual waterfall, and he kind of wanted to lick her.
The water was making her shirt stick to her skinny body, and he could see the outline of her bra through the now semi-sheer material.
"Ah, that's better."
He couldn't do anything but nod in agreement.
He cleared his throat to clear his mind. "So, what's the verdict?"
"Well, you're definitely not a serial killer. Your car is too small and clean for that."
"It's a rental."
"Figures." Her laughter was life and doodled hearts and butterflies.
In his stomach.
"I'm not a pervert either."
"I'm not sure I believe you"
"I'm not, I promise."
"Then, what's in it for you?"
He shrugged as he wasn't sure. "Maybe I'm trying to fill my quota for good deeds?" He flashed her an uncertain smile.
"What are you, a saint? An angel looking to earn his wings?"
That, he was not.
He shrugged again. "Maybe I'm your good karma."
"Doubtful. I don't think I have any of that coming my way."
He laughed but she was still serious.
Oh.
She was still looking at him, as if she was processing something, and then she opened the car door and jumped into the car, throwing her small bag into the backseat without checking whether there was enough space there first.
There was.
Plenty of space.
Enough space for two people to lay, if not next to each other, at least on top of each other.
Not that he was thinking of laying down on top of her in the backseat.
Not at all.
He raised a questioning eye brow at her. "So you decided that I'm not a pervert?"
She shrugged. "Still haven't made up my mind. But it really doesn't matter. That I can handle. That I am used to."
He wasn't sure whether he should laugh or cry at that.
He started driving, pulling back onto the highway, gradually speeding up as he was staring at the road in front of him, trying to focus on anything but her still see-through shirt.
"How long have you been walking for?"
"I don't know. I just woke up, threw some stuff together and started walking."
"Well, where are you going? Do you have a destination in mind?"
"Anywhere but here?" Her laugh sounded a bit sarcastic.
He laughed "I guess I could help you out with that."
She was looking at him again, a small smile on her face.
"So, Jackson, have you recovered from last night yet?"
He almost drove off the road.
"You recognize me?"
"Yeah. Believe it or not, there aren't a whole lot of men who have paid me not to dance for them."
Right.
He nodded his head.
"I'm more surprised that you recognize me, you were pretty drunk."
He bit his tongue from saying something dumb and cliche about her being unforgettable.
Even if it was true.
Heck, he had even dreamt of her all night (or early day).
(Maybe all his life.)
"How did you know that I did remember you?"
"Please. You looked like you had seen a ghost when you saw me. And you were kind of checking me out over there, very similar to how you checked me out last night."
He couldn't deny that, so he just changed the topic.
"So, what's your real name?"
"Ally."
He liked it. It was pretty. Innocent. Ironically, it fit her.
And he liked her. But, ironically, that didn't fit him.
"I'm Austin."
She smiled again, and he was once more overcome by the feeling that he recognized her, not from the night before, not as Roxxxy, but as Ally.
Weird.
"So, Austin, where are you, we, going?"
The way she said his name made his grip on the steering wheel a bit tighter.
"Well, I'm going to Miami."
"Shut up!" She punched him in the arm and it made him swirl a bit, not from pain but from surprise.
"What?"
"That's where I'm going."
He laughed. "I thought you didn't have a set destination?"
"That's where I'm from. My dad still lives there."
She suddenly turned to look out the window, and he instinctively knew that that that part of their conversation was over.
At least for now.
She spoke again a few minutes later.
"So, why are you going to Miami?"
"That's where I live. I'm heading home."
She nodded. "Most people would fly."
"Yeah. But most people don't have an all-consuming, irrational death-fear of heights or anything involving them, including flying."
"You're scared of heights, but you're not scared of picking up strangers by the road?" She was clearly teasing him.
"I never said it made sense. It's called irrational fear for a reason."
She smiled and he died as they continued to fly down the highway.
"What's with the speeding, are you in a hurry to get home to your girlfriend?"
He shook his head. "I don't have one."
"Oh." She sounded genuinely surprised.
It made him curious.
"Why are you so surprised?"
"I don't know? I guess you look like the type that would have a girlfriend."
"What type is that?"
"The good-looking, well-groomed, too nice one."
He had to clear his throat. Again.
"Well, I don't."
He was grateful that she didn't push the issue any further.
"I'm driving fast, because i was supposed to be on my way hours ago, and my friend was supposed to drive back with me so that we could take turns driving. Now, I have to stop to sleep somewhere, and in all honesty, I just kind of want to get home."
She smiled. "If you want to, we can take turns driving." Something in the way she said it made him look at her.
"Do you have a valid license?"
She nodded her head but he wasn't convinced. At all.
But he knew that sometimes, it was better not to ask too many questions.
Arizona - Early evening, and he was suddenly not in such a rush to get home.
They had been driving for a few hours, periodically arguing over what radio station to listen to, when she turned towards him.
"Do you have a phone I could use?"
He nodded and reached for the phone, taking it out from his shorts pocket, and handing it to her.
He turned down the radio as she quickly dialed a number that she clearly had memorized by heart.
"Hey. Yeah. Yeah, I had to get out. Yeah, yeah, I love you too."
She hung up and handed it back to him as jealousy, complete and irrational jealousy, shot throw him. She loved somebody.
"Thanks. I had to let my roommate know that I'm gone for good."
Roommate? He sighed in relief, although perhaps only in his mind.
"So, who's the girl?" She sounded innocent.
"What girl?" He had no clue as to what she was talking about.
"The girl that is plastered across your lockscreen."
Oh.
"Someone that used to be important to me."
"Used to?"
"Yeah."
"Aha. That's why she's still on it."
"Force of habit. I've been too busy to change it."
"Sure."
He knew she probably had unanswered questions, but he wasn't going to delve into details about his sad love life with a complete stranger, no matter how comfortable he felt around her.
"How about you? Are you single?"
"There's nobody important enough to be the first thing I see when I make a call, that's for sure. If anything, there may be someone I'm trying to forget."
"So...is that why you are leaving? You're running away from someone?"
She shook her head. "Just my old self."
"Oh."
"Yeah, it's kind of annoying. I mean, that slut is following me around like we are attached to the hip or something."
He laughed. "So you're like a reversed Peter Pan, trying to lose your shadow?"
"I guess. But this Peter Pan grew up a long time ago."
He knew she was joking, but it kind of made him sad.
She was quiet for a minute, as if she was thinking about something.
"Can I borrow your phone again?"
He handed it back to her, because why not.
She pressed a few buttons, and suddenly he could see her making funny faces in his peripheral vision, puckering her lips together, making a ridiculous duck face and he couldn't help but laugh as he realized that she was taking a picture.
She pushed a few more buttons before once again handing it back to him, her hand touching his in the process.
He looked down at his phone and was met by a picture of her. Looking like a duck.
"See? It didn't take long at all. And now you will remember me when this improvised road trip is over."
She smiled and he died.
She reached for the volume button on the radio, turning it back up before leaning back in her seat, already bopping her had to the beat again.
"Ahhh, I love music."
"Me too." He really did.
"It reminds me of when I was younger. I used to work at my dad's music store,. It was called Sonic a Boom, and..."
He stepped on the breaks and made the car donut on the thankfully empty highway, almost driving them off the road, his heart beating faster than the speed of the car that he had almost just flipped over.
"You used to work at Sonic Boom?"
She nodded, her eyes big, most likely from the shock of his all but good driving skills.
So he had been right. He had seen her before.
"You. You are you. You are the girl who kicked me out of there years ago."
It had been like what, ten years or so, and he still remembered that day, her, clearly.
She looked at him and smiled. "It's weird, I had the feeling last night that you looked familiar, but I just figured you had been to the club before."
He raised an eyebrow. "Why would you assume that?" It wasn't as if he frequented those type of places.
She shrugged. "I don't know. Come to think of it, you looked kind of uncomfortable."
He had been.
Partially so because he had had a hard-on the size of the hotel they had been staying at.
"I think I remember you. You were with a friend, right? A redheaded guy?"
He nodded. "Yeah. We were going to film a video. It was Dez's idea. I had been talking his ear off about becoming an internet sensation ever since 4th grade, and I guess he felt it was time to do something about it."
"He seems like a good friend." She was still smiling, as he was reversing the car and getting back on the road in the right direction.
"The best. Other than letting me believe that zebras weren't real, he has never let me down."
"I'm sorry I kicked you guys out." She sounded like she meant it.
"Eh. We made the video anyways." He couldn't help but smile at the juvenile memories that often warmed his heart during the too long days in the fucking mattress store flooded his mind. "That was the only video I ever made. I..I might have gone back there a few times to see if you were there but you never were. I never saw you around after that."
"Yeah, I moved away to stay with my mom." She sounded incredibly sad.
He still couldn't believe it. "It really is a small world, huh?"
She started to hum something, and he laughed as he recognized the melody.
"I wasn't talking about the amusement park ride."
Now she laughed. "I know. But I love Disneyworld. I haven't gone there since I was a little girl. My dad used to take me there all the time." She sounded sad yet again and that made him kind of sad.
They continued down the highway, her still humming the catchy signature melody of the just mentioned amusement park ride.
"So, Austin, since the music career didn't work out, what do you do?"
"I...I sell mattresses."
She laughed. Loudly.
"Hey, it's a good job. It's a family business."
"You can try to lie to yourself, but you and I both know that you're bored to death."
She wasn't completely wrong, but rather almost completely right.
"What about you? Was it always your dream to become an...entertainer?
She laughed and shook her head. "You don't have to be politically correct around me."
"So...dancer? Stripper?"
"That's not exactly what I would put on my business card, but I guess it works."
"You have a business card?"
"No." She was still laughing as she turned around to look at him, suddenly much more serious.
"And no, that wasn't my dream. Not even close."
He stayed quiet, mostly because he wasn't sure of what to say, and he really didn't know her well enough to ask any of the myriad of questions that were currently procreating in his head.
So they just sat there, watching the outside sky dying like a slow burning fire, until all that could be seen was darkness.
New Mexico - Too late at night.
She was leaning up against his shoulder as they pulled into the parking lot outside of the hotel he had quickly booked online. She had been sleeping for a few hours, on his shoulder as he drove, a small snore escaping her every now and then as he alternated between looking at the road and glancing at her.
She looked innocent, carefree, peaceful, comfortable and so incredibly attractive.
As the car came to a stop, he got the strange feeling that she trusted him, and an even stranger feeling that it really meant something to him that she did.
He got up, momentarily resting her head against the car seat before getting out of the car and walking around it, opening the passenger door and lifting her up, soon carrying her bridal style into the hotel lobby.
