Conceal

Are there cameras?

I pull my coat tighter around my body and walk to the pump with my head down.

Grabbing my wallet out of my bag, I look for money.

Shit.

Shit.

Shit.

I can’t use my credit card, and I forgot to ask Maggie for hers.

The amount of cash in my bag . . .

One dollar.

Wow.

This is pathetic.

In my rush, I also forgot to grab some cash. Since I had spent what I had in my wallet earlier on tissues and soup and medicine, I have no more money on me.

This is bad.

There is no way I can drive to the party and make it home. Maybe I’ll get lucky, and I’ll get tips, but what if I don’t? What would I do then to get back home?

I pull my bag apart and try to find some spare change but come up empty-handed. What am I going to do? I look around. Maybe the car next door will be someone who can help me.

Reluctantly, I look up, and I’m met with the clearest green eyes I have ever seen. They are a color I imagine is only present in the tropics.

Endless depths.

But it’s the whole picture that does me in. This man is gorgeous and dangerously so. With tousled dark brown hair and a sharp jaw that looks like it was molded from granite, he could have stepped off the cover of a magazine.

“Like what you see?” a voice asks, and I shake my head and right myself.

That’s when I realize I was not just staring at this stranger but gawking. And not only did he notice, but he called me out on it, too.

Ass.

Who does that?

If someone is caught staring—maybe drooling is more like it—you say nothing. You pretend you didn’t notice.

Jeez.

Common courtesy.

My cheeks begin to warm, and I know they are turning crimson.

I lower my gaze, but before I can fully pull away from him, I notice the smirk. A damn smirk with a dimple and all. This guy’s head is so big, it probably has its own zip code.

My back goes ramrod straight.

Old Willow would have told him she’d seen better. A lie, but she never passed up an opportunity for a good comeback.

New Willow mutters a comeback under her breath. “Not particularly.”

I turn away from him. I’d rather walk home from the city than ask this prick for money for gas.

“Shame,” I hear, but I refuse to look. I peer down at the ground and watch his footsteps. Staring awkwardly at the asphalt has my other senses heightened.

I can smell the faint waft of cologne as he passes. I can hear him rummaging in his pocket.

Then I hear him answer his phone. He’s distracted as he walks toward the convenience store attached to the gas station. He’s so distracted that he doesn’t even realize he dropped his wallet while he was fumbling in his pocket for his phone.

I open my mouth to speak, to get his attention and tell him what happened, but I don’t say anything.

Fuck that.

The dick doesn’t deserve it.

He deserves to have it stolen.

I grab it off the ground before anyone notices and pocket it. The wallet is much heavier than I would have thought. Ducking behind my car, I open it. I see a bunch of credit cards first, and then I see some cash. I wonder if he’ll even notice if I take a bill.

That’s stealing. But you’re desperate, so what’s the harm in taking a few bucks? It’s the same as if he dropped cash on the ground. That’s not stealing. If I saw a bill on the floor, I would take it. Because anything left behind on the ground is no better than trash.

At least that’s what I tell myself as I pocket the money and return the wallet back to where he dropped it.

With the money safely in my bag, I head into the convenience store as he walks out. I know he’s looking at me, but I never lift my gaze from the ground. I can’t risk a camera getting a clear picture of my face.

“Twenty dollars on pump three,” I say, bringing the money up and handing it over.

The cashier takes my money, and from the corner of my eye, I can see him reaching into the register and placing the bill my friendly douche at the neighboring pump provided for me inside, then he grabs my change. He dangles it in front of me, but when I refuse to look up, he drops it on the counter. My hand reaches for it, all while I never lift my head up.

The man must think I’m rude or strange, but I don’t care; it’s not worth the risk.

“You’re all set,” he says, and I nod, turning on my heel and walking out.

Now that I’ve paid, I head over to the pump and fill my tank. I don’t have a lot of time, so as soon as it’s done, I jump back into the car and head in the direction of the house.