Clash (Crash 2)

“India,” I said, hopping up, “will you find him and drive him home? Please?” I wasn’t above begging.

“No can do, chicky-dee,” she said, plopping into her chair and firing up her laptop. “I’ve got more homework tonight than a Latin man has mojo.”

“India,” I whined, giving her a sad face that did nothing but earn an eye roll from her.

“Sorry, I can’t do it,” she said, fishing something out of the pocket of her hip-hugger jeans. “But you can use my sweet ass car. She’ll get you there fast and safe.” Tossing the keys at me, she waved me away. “Now be off with you. He can’t be more than a couple miles down the road.”

Looking up at me, she smirked. “Two down, only about another two hundred and fifty to go.”

Glaring at her, I grabbed my purse and marched towards the door.

“Have a nice trip,” she called after me, purring like a minx.

Making my way back down the hall, down the stairwell, and out the door, I debated taking India’s car over mine. As soon as I stepped out into the cold November night, I decided. Heated leather seats it was.

Trudging over to the luxury something or another, I glanced around, not really expecting to see Jude, but kind of hoping I would. I fumbled with the buttons on her key, finally managing to get the thing unlocked on the third try. Sliding into the seat, I adjusted it forward because India was pushing six feet, turned the key over, and cranked the heated seats to the high setting. Warmth drifted up my body almost immediately.

Pulling out of the parking lot, I decided to drive the route I drove every other weekend when I headed up to see Jude. I didn’t know if he’d taken it‌—‌I didn’t even know if he was on foot‌—‌but it was a starting point.

I cruised a few miles below the speed limit, whipping my head from sidewalk to sidewalk, sure I’d see him the next block down. The next block turned out to be three miles down the road. India’d been right. He was planning on walking the journey from New York to Syracuse on foot.

Not that I needed any more confirmation, but the man was crazy.

His walk was purposeful, his shoulders rolled forward and his hands stuffed into his pockets, likely to stay warm. I could see the fog from his breath from half a block back. Steering over beside him, I rolled down the window.

“Need a ride, cowboy?”

His mouth curved up as he continued down the sidewalk. “Girls shouldn’t offer rides to crazy men roaming the streets late at night.”

I reminded myself I was mad at him and that we were taking a break. After I gave him a lift home. “I like my men crazy.”

Stopping, he turned and walked towards the car. “Then I’d love a ride,” he said, sliding into the passenger seat and smiling over at me. It was the sad kind though because it didn’t hit his eyes.

“Cold?” I asked, turning his seat to the high setting.

He lifted a shoulder. “I’ve been colder.”

I could tell he was hiding something between the lines‌—‌like a subliminal message‌—‌but I wasn’t sure what.

“Okay then,” I said, hitting cruising speed. “Syracuse or bust?”

Hanging his hands in front of the heater, he looked away from me and stared out the window. “I’ll take ‘or bust.’”

I glanced over at him. The heat blasting through the car heightened Jude’s normally subdued scent. Every breath I inhaled smelled of Jude. Every breath hurt to take. “Of course you would.”

“You and I both know where I’d rather be, but since I can’t have that, then sure, Syracuse will work.”

I looked down at the clock glowing neon green in the dark. We’d ticked off a whole five minutes in what was a five hour journey. If he kept throwing these kind of topic punches, I was going to be TKO because we hit the interstate.

“Could we not do that?” I asked. “I need a break. You agreed to one. But I couldn’t let you walk a million miles in the cold and dark. Can we just play nice?”

“Yeah, Luce,” he said, tilting his head back on the seat rest. “I can play however you want me to play.”

By the time we were cruising down the interstate, Jude and I hadn’t said another word to each other. We’d never mastered the art of small talk and since the heavy stuff was off the table, we settled into an agreed upon silence. Although it didn’t feel quiet.

At the first pit stop, Jude insisted he drive the rest of the way and those were the first and last words he said to me the rest of the way.

CHAPTER TWELVE

I jolted awake, but my jolt fizzled short. I was in the passenger seat of India’s car, the seatbelt tight around me, the morning light just starting to make its way into the car. I was staring at the ceiling since my seat was reclined. Unbuckling my belt, I shifted in my seat.

Jude was reclined in the driver’s seat, awake, and watching me.

“What time is it?” I asked, shifting farther onto my side to look at him straight on.

“A little after five, I think,” he said, the crescents beneath his eyes darkened. I wasn’t sure how long Jude had gone without sleep, but I knew whether it was one night or four nights, it was unhealthy.

I‌—‌us being the real stick of dy***ite‌—‌was as unhealthy for him as he was for me.

My first class was at nine, so there was no way around being late unless I booked twenty miles over the speed limit. “I’ve got to get going,” I said, reaching for the switch on the side of the seat to lift the seat back up.

o;India,” I said, hopping up, “will you find him and drive him home? Please?” I wasn’t above begging.

“No can do, chicky-dee,” she said, plopping into her chair and firing up her laptop. “I’ve got more homework tonight than a Latin man has mojo.”

“India,” I whined, giving her a sad face that did nothing but earn an eye roll from her.

“Sorry, I can’t do it,” she said, fishing something out of the pocket of her hip-hugger jeans. “But you can use my sweet ass car. She’ll get you there fast and safe.” Tossing the keys at me, she waved me away. “Now be off with you. He can’t be more than a couple miles down the road.”

Looking up at me, she smirked. “Two down, only about another two hundred and fifty to go.”

Glaring at her, I grabbed my purse and marched towards the door.

“Have a nice trip,” she called after me, purring like a minx.

Making my way back down the hall, down the stairwell, and out the door, I debated taking India’s car over mine. As soon as I stepped out into the cold November night, I decided. Heated leather seats it was.

Trudging over to the luxury something or another, I glanced around, not really expecting to see Jude, but kind of hoping I would. I fumbled with the buttons on her key, finally managing to get the thing unlocked on the third try. Sliding into the seat, I adjusted it forward because India was pushing six feet, turned the key over, and cranked the heated seats to the high setting. Warmth drifted up my body almost immediately.

Pulling out of the parking lot, I decided to drive the route I drove every other weekend when I headed up to see Jude. I didn’t know if he’d taken it‌—‌I didn’t even know if he was on foot‌—‌but it was a starting point.

I cruised a few miles below the speed limit, whipping my head from sidewalk to sidewalk, sure I’d see him the next block down. The next block turned out to be three miles down the road. India’d been right. He was planning on walking the journey from New York to Syracuse on foot.

Not that I needed any more confirmation, but the man was crazy.

His walk was purposeful, his shoulders rolled forward and his hands stuffed into his pockets, likely to stay warm. I could see the fog from his breath from half a block back. Steering over beside him, I rolled down the window.

“Need a ride, cowboy?”

His mouth curved up as he continued down the sidewalk. “Girls shouldn’t offer rides to crazy men roaming the streets late at night.”

I reminded myself I was mad at him and that we were taking a break. After I gave him a lift home. “I like my men crazy.”

Stopping, he turned and walked towards the car. “Then I’d love a ride,” he said, sliding into the passenger seat and smiling over at me. It was the sad kind though because it didn’t hit his eyes.

“Cold?” I asked, turning his seat to the high setting.

He lifted a shoulder. “I’ve been colder.”

I could tell he was hiding something between the lines‌—‌like a subliminal message‌—‌but I wasn’t sure what.

“Okay then,” I said, hitting cruising speed. “Syracuse or bust?”

Hanging his hands in front of the heater, he looked away from me and stared out the window. “I’ll take ‘or bust.’”

I glanced over at him. The heat blasting through the car heightened Jude’s normally subdued scent. Every breath I inhaled smelled of Jude. Every breath hurt to take. “Of course you would.”

“You and I both know where I’d rather be, but since I can’t have that, then sure, Syracuse will work.”

I looked down at the clock glowing neon green in the dark. We’d ticked off a whole five minutes in what was a five hour journey. If he kept throwing these kind of topic punches, I was going to be TKO because we hit the interstate.

“Could we not do that?” I asked. “I need a break. You agreed to one. But I couldn’t let you walk a million miles in the cold and dark. Can we just play nice?”

“Yeah, Luce,” he said, tilting his head back on the seat rest. “I can play however you want me to play.”

By the time we were cruising down the interstate, Jude and I hadn’t said another word to each other. We’d never mastered the art of small talk and since the heavy stuff was off the table, we settled into an agreed upon silence. Although it didn’t feel quiet.

At the first pit stop, Jude insisted he drive the rest of the way and those were the first and last words he said to me the rest of the way.

CHAPTER TWELVE

I jolted awake, but my jolt fizzled short. I was in the passenger seat of India’s car, the seatbelt tight around me, the morning light just starting to make its way into the car. I was staring at the ceiling since my seat was reclined. Unbuckling my belt, I shifted in my seat.

Jude was reclined in the driver’s seat, awake, and watching me.

“What time is it?” I asked, shifting farther onto my side to look at him straight on.

“A little after five, I think,” he said, the crescents beneath his eyes darkened. I wasn’t sure how long Jude had gone without sleep, but I knew whether it was one night or four nights, it was unhealthy.

I‌—‌us being the real stick of dy***ite‌—‌was as unhealthy for him as he was for me.

My first class was at nine, so there was no way around being late unless I booked twenty miles over the speed limit. “I’ve got to get going,” I said, reaching for the switch on the side of the seat to lift the seat back up.