Altered by Shelly Crane Page B

anymore anyway.
    To find to a tortured soul, just follow the road littered with his own transgressions.
    She fell asleep not long after that, slumped against her seat, but her face wasn’t peaceful. I felt guilt in my throat like a lump, pressing against me, not letting me breathe or think. I hated it. I’d never felt guilt until that girl in the alley and now this girl was bringing me to my knees with it. I took her legs and brought them into my lap. She leaned back and stretched out, wiggling to get comfortable. When she sighed, my very soul sighed with her.
    I hated it and loved it and prayed it wou ld stop and would never go away. I drove the rest of the way with that aggravating, precious female’s feet in my lap and my mind in tumbles.
     
     
     
     
    _______
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
                  We were so close, but I knew she was going to need to eat. I pulled into the restaurant off the interstate, our last stop for the day, and woke her gently, my hand brushing her knee. She woke as she always did—little moans and noises as she arched and pushed her chest up in stretches that would make any man insane. I averted my gaze to be honorable, because I’d done enough damage, but that was the absolute only reason. Otherwise the view was magnificent and could be watched for hours on end. I groaned a little and leaned my head back on the seat, pressing my fingers into my eyes.
                  She pulled her feet from my lap and I hissed. She gasped and halted before her breathing sped up noticeably.
    “I wasn’t trying to take over the whole car. Sorry.” She pulled her feet away and put her shoes back on. She wasn’t looking at me and I didn’t blame her.
    I was stacking up winning points left and right, wasn’t I? Did it even matter? I didn’t really want this girl, did I? Even after the insane conversation last night in alley where I had practically said that I did? And this morning?
    I opened my door , practically jumped from the car, and slammed it before I started analyzing my own questions. She got out and seemed puzzled with my outburst. She came to my side, but kept her distance. “Are we close?”
    “What?” I asked, but it was a gruff growl.
    She sighed and seemed even more disappointed. “Are we close? To Clara?”
    “Oh. Yeah, a couple hours.”
    “Good,” she answered and sighed again, licking her lips. “Then you’ll be able to get rid of me,” she muttered as she walked off.
    I didn’t even try to refute her words. There was no point. I was disappointing her left and right, and anything I said would just sound like I was lying or trying to cover. I just needed to get her there. If I could keep my promise to her and get her to her sister, then I could remove the persuasion and go from there. But until then, I just felt like a bastard no matter what I did.
    The place was crawling with country bumpkins. The hostess almost got a throat punch when she shouted, “Howdy, folks! Welcome to Cracker Barrel.”
    “Um, howdy.” Fay looked back with a peculiarly intrigued look and smiled. “Two, please.”
    As we followed her to the table past a roaring fire and people playing checkers, I leaned forward and whispered, “This place is strange.”
    “I would think it would be right up your alley.”
    “Why?” I asked wryly and looked around at the black and white pictures of people. She gave me a coy smile. “Because I’m old?”
    “That’s one way of looking at it.”
              “You don’t look old to me,” the older, plump waitress said and slammed some waters on the table. “What’ll you have?”
    “What do you suggest?”
    “The meatloaf is divine.”
    “I somehow doubt that,” I remarked, which earned me a kick from under the table, “but I’ll take a shot in the dark. Why not.”
    “I’ll have the same, please, with the mashed potatoes and mac-n-cheese.”
    “Same,” I remarked and handed her our menus.
    “Can I just