Hitchhiker (8 page)

Don’t look down, Chandler. Don’t. Look. Down.

Dammit! I looked down and saw bare feet. The most obnoxious girly sigh came from my mouth and I couldn’t even be ashamed of it. His arm crossed in front of my face, as he reached for a mug from the cupboard.

“Mornin’,” he said, lazily.

I couldn’t breathe while he was so close to me. Taking my coffee, I moved away from him and stood closer to the fridge, leaning my hip against it.

“Hey,” I squeaked out.

Glancing at me over his shoulder, he gave me a strange look. “You okay over there?”

“Yep, just peachy!” I was going to need a cold fucking shower.

He went back to pouring. When he placed the coffee pot back in its holder, he walked toward me. What was he doing? I purposefully moved so I didn’t have to be so close.

“Excuse me.” His voice was low and still sleep filled.

“What?” I blinked up at him.

“I need ice. You’re kind of in the way.”

“Oh shit, sorry,” I said, pushing off the fridge and moved yet again.

Ice? What on Earth did he need ice for? The coffee wasn’t that hot. I watched has he gathered about five cubes in his hands and dumped them in his mug. He stirred them with a spoon until they melted, and only then did he bring the coffee up to his lips to take a sip.

With a raised brow, he took notice of me paying attention to his every move.

“What?”

“Why did you put ice in your coffee?” I questioned.

He was looking at me like I was stupid. “Because I don’t like my coffee hot.”

“So you prefer it cold?” I attempted not to curl my lip.

He looked up at the ceiling as if he was aggravated. “Yep.”

“Huh,” was all I responded with. I felt like all of these little things I was gathering from him were bits of information being stored in a folder marked ‘Dawson’ in my head.

Once again, there was silence between us. After a couple of very awkward minutes, we both started moving about the kitchen as if the other wasn’t there. I made a cup of oatmeal that tasted bland because it wasn’t my usual sugar loaded kind, and he fried himself some eggs. He finished before I did and walked back to his room. I nearly chunked my bowl into the sink in aggravation. I had no clue what was going on with me. Sleep deprivation, confusion, and loneliness were making it hard to function like a normal person. I had to calm down or this living situation, no matter how short, wasn’t going to work.

I reached up, tugged on my messy hair, and grumbled under my breath. I was in desperate need of a shower and clean clothes. I made my way down to my room, passing the hallway bathroom. The water was running on the other side of the closed door, and music was playing softly. Dawson must’ve decided to take a shower, too. I figured I should wait just in case two people couldn’t bathe at the same time without stealing each other’s hot water. Instead of going to lie back down and maybe catch a few zzz’s, I stood there like a total creeper, wondering what he was doing on the other side. In the couple of minutes I stood listening, I never heard the water switch over to the shower. Was he taking a bath? Since when did men take baths? And how on Earth did he even fit in the tub?

I shook my head. “It’s none of your business, Chandler,” I whispered. I didn’t need that kind of visual after the mental torture I’d put myself through all night. I went to my room and shut the door, locking it tight, and buried myself in my bed. Sleep. Sleep was a must.

The morning flew by. I’d fallen back asleep and managed to get two more hours. After getting ready for the day, it was mid-afternoon and the sun had already hit its peak in the sky. Before opening my bedroom door, I waited to hear any sounds to let me know that Dawson was moving around. There was nothing. Hmmm.

Coming out into the living room, I saw that it was empty. I’d already glanced in his room when I walked by, but he wasn’t there either. As I went from room to room, my heart kicked into overdrive. Where was he? Oh my God, did he leave and not say anything? That fear felt more devastating than it should, but right now that didn’t matter. I wanted to know where he went. I’d gone down to the basement to search for him there, but that came up empty, too. Racing back upstairs, I went into his room only to see that a few of his items were sitting atop the dresser and his backpack sat in a corner. I sagged in relief. He wasn’t gone. Dawson wouldn’t pick up and leave his things here like that. I had a feeling he kept everything he owned in that backpack. Stepping out, I closed my eyes and my shoulders sagged. As my mind calmed, my own reaction to the possibility of him being gone baffled me. I wasn’t in the mood to analyze yet another thing going on with me. This one would have to be pushed aside for now.

Not having any clue where Dawson even was, and telling myself it shouldn’t matter, I grabbed my cell phone and went out on the deck. It was cold outside, but there wasn’t a breeze. With the sun out in full force, I’d be okay without a jacket for a few minutes. Hitting the power button, the phone lit up. My heart started beating for a whole other reason. I had no clue what sort of messages or voicemails awaited me, but I had no doubt it would be enough to make me want to close off for the rest of the day.

Seven texts and ten voicemails. Oh, boy.

Dad: Where are you, Chandler? I’m very worried.

Seth: Came home and you weren’t here. If you needed some space, you should have just said so.

Seth: It’s been two days, Chandler. This isn’t like you. Call me; I’m worried.

Sydney: Your dad is two seconds away from contacting the police. Where in the hell are you?

Sydney: You told me that you’d call. I won’t keep lying to Seth. Please call me.

Seth: Chandler, Syd told me that you ran away. What does she mean you ran away? Where are you?

Seth: I love you. Please just come home and we can work out whatever is going on.

The texts alone were enough to send me spiraling. The sensory overload I was feeling made me want to throw my phone into the woods and pray that an animal ate it. Deciding that reading their words were all that I could handle right now, I powered down my phone and went back inside. Sinking down on one of the leather sofas, I brought my knees to my chest and held myself like that as tightly as I could. I could only imagine what the voicemails contained. Fear that my dad might have actually called the police sat at the forefront of my mind. I had no idea what kind of thing they would do if they were actually out searching for me, but I knew that this was a possibility prior to leaving just over a week ago. It was the sole reason why I was living on a cash only basis. I didn’t want any record of credit card use leaving a trail. Seth could pull it up and see everywhere I’d been and where I was likely staying. Out of the question. I wanted to be left alone. I’d let them know where I was in due time.

Needing something to occupy my head and take me away from my inner thoughts, I got up, grabbed my e-reader, and came back out to make a place for myself in the living room. I figured I had nowhere I needed to be. Dawson was off somewhere, and too much stress was giving me a headache. Not feeling sleepy, I figured my best bet was to immerse myself in a fictional world for a bit.

The front door opened a little while later, and I looked up, seeing that the sun had gone down. Dawson came tracking inside; his cheeks were a rosy red, and his boots covered in snow. He kicked them on the doorstep before coming all the way in and shutting the door. My God, he was a sight to see. He was wearing khaki cargo pants and a navy blue Henley that looked painted onto every curve of his muscular arms. I swallowed hard.

“Hey,” I greeted, trying to appear unaffected.

His dark brown eyes scanned the living room until they landed on me. “Hey.” He looked surprised to see me sitting there.

I powered down my e-reader and laid it in my lap, allowing him a couple of seconds to walk the rest of the way inside before I asked any questions. When he eased off his boots, I went ahead.

“How was your day?”

The side of his mouth tipped up. “We’re making small talk?”

“Well, considering you were here this morning, and then you left without saying anything, I figured I’d start off with ‘small talk.’” I quoted with my fingers.

He rounded the couch I was sitting on and sat down on the one opposite me.

“Day was fine. Went into town, took care of some business, and I came back.”

Short and sweet. Why would I expect anything different?

I frowned. “You went into town? Why didn’t you take the Rover? I wouldn’t have minded.” I didn’t realize I really wouldn’t have until the words left my mouth.

“Because it’s not my vehicle.”

“But that’s a long walk.”

“What’s your point? I walk all the time.”

“The point is you didn’t have to. I could have easily taken you, or you could have borrowed it. The keys were on the counter.”

“No.”

I found myself growing agitated by his less than enthusiastic responses. It was like he knew that I wanted more words from him and he was purposefully withholding them.

“Are you going back to town tomorrow?”

“Does it matter?” he challenged.

I paused then it struck me. It was a damn game to him. He had somehow over the last three days come to like that he could annoy me. And why I gave him the reaction he was hoping for I didn’t know. But I wasn’t playing into it right now.

“It doesn’t.” I picked up my e-reader and turned it back on.

I could feel his eyes on me as he watched me ignoring him. I wasn’t reading a damn word. I couldn’t focus right now even if I tried. He was burning a hole through me with his intensity. I couldn’t even remember the name of the story. I saw minute shifting out of my peripheral. He seemed to be getting comfortable. I thought for sure he’d get up and leave, but nope, he was settling in. Was this an attempt to make me uncomfortable?

“How was your day?”

Having him ask me a question nearly had me choking on my own spit. “Fine, I suppose. Just caught up on some sleep then spent the afternoon reading.”

He stayed quiet after that; he just sat across from me, making me uneasy. Maybe that was his point, and I eventually caved. “Well, I think I’ll make some dinner. Do you want anything in particular?”

He looked like he wanted to smile as I got up from the couch. “Nah, I ate while I was in town.”

I got up and went to the kitchen to make myself something. Dawson stood and stretched his arms above his head. His shirt raised just enough for me to see a little skin. My mouth watered, and not from the food I’d started cooking. When he dropped them, he gave me a sideways smile and winked.

“I think I’ll shower and call it a night. Good night, Chandler.”

As soon as he was out of the room, I threw the grilled cheese I’d been cooking away in the trash. It was official. He knew he had an effect on me, and he was toying with me. Looked like another long sleepless night ahead and a couple of decisions to make. I needed to decide if I wanted to kill Dawson or fuck him. Both sounded good right about now.

THE NEXT COUPLE OF DAYS
passed by at a snail’s pace. Dawson and I seemed to get into some sort of rhythm of moving around each other in the house but never really saying much. I was growing more and more agitated that I didn’t know anything about him, yet he was essentially living with me. Fantasies of being with him riddled my nights. But come morning, reality had slammed me back. I was really starting to question myself and why I had allowed him to come here in the first place. It was all torture—day in and day out. I watched him move about my place, and yet I felt more lonely with him here than if the house was actually empty.

I’d learned that he had taken on a job at a local lumber mill in town. That was who he had been talking to when I’d left the grocery store. That man apparently owned the company. In fact, I found out his name was Robert Newman, and he owned over half of the town. Lumber was the bread and butter of Big Sky, next to tourism from the ski slopes. I didn’t have a clue what Dawson did for them, I just knew he woke up early every single morning and wouldn’t come home until the sun was down.

Tonight was no exception. However, something about his demeanor was different the moment he walked in the door. The air around him felt lighter. I’d been standing in the kitchen when he came in and set a box on the counter. Pizza, he’d brought pizza. I looked at him inquisitively.

“You hungry?” he asked.

I stood there, slightly taken aback. “I suppose I am just a little bit.”

“Grab some paper plates and ranch out of the fridge.”

“Ranch?”

He turned and gave me a face that said I was being stupid. “Just get it and don’t question it.”

I scrunched my lips up in a sour expression but did as he asked.

Coming to sit at the table, I went to the chair opposite him. I was so far away that he scowled at me. “I don’t bite you know. You can come and sit closer.”

I gulped and stood from my seat, scooting down to the one next to the head of the table where he was. I attempted my best at small talk to break the awkwardness I was feeling.

“How was your day?”

He opened the box and grabbed a slice of pizza that was loaded with every topping known to man.