Page 17

IF ANYONE TELLS YOU the backcountry wooded towns of Oregon are boring, they’re a liar. I haven’t seen “creepy guy” since that morning a few days ago. I lace up my sneakers and stretch, feeling my hamstrings pull looking up with a grin hearing Toad pull up to the curb. I shake my head.
“What?”
“Do you own anything besides that leather jacket, jeans, and boots?”
“Why? Don’t I look damn sexy?”
“Maybe you would, if you didn’t smell,” I answer wrinkling my nose.
“Come run with me,” I ask trying to make friends with the man who has been appointed my bodyguard.
“Hell no. I smoke and drink too damn much to keep up with you. My damn lungs are full of tar.”
“That shit will kill you.”
“I know. But it’s my way of life.”
“Why did you join Creed?”
He shrugs, “You running today or what?”
My feet pound the pavement, earbuds in place, I run against traffic, turn up the volume high to drown out the engine of Toad’s bike coming up behind me. I’ve been avoiding the cemetery, trying to figure out how to broach the subject with Roger. I wasn’t expecting to like him, or for him to be so damned hot.
After a few miles, I turn into the small shopping center in town. Sweat drips down my back, and I lift my shirt to wipe some from my brow.
“What’s up?” Toad asks climbing off his bike.
“Come on,” I command circling my hand in the air. I lead him inside the sports store. Picking out a T-shirt, athletic socks and shorts turning to him, “What’s your shoe size? Twelve?” I don’t wait for him to answer but pick up a box of Nikes and dump everything on the cashier’s counter. Taking out a damp hundred-dollar bill from my sock, I slap it down.
“I can’t let you do this.”
“Too late I just did,” I answer swinging the bag off the counter and placing it in his arms.
He shakes his head and lifts his sunglasses up. Toad’s actually kind of hot when he smiles. “Thank you. It’s been a long time since anyone’s bought me anything.”
“How old are you Toad?”
“Twenty,” he answers looking down.
“You have any family here?”
“No. The club’s my family.”
“I see. Come on, we’re not done yet.” His cheeks turn pink as I lead him next door to Supercuts.
“I’m not sure about this.” He drags his feet, eyes downcast looking anywhere but at me.
“Well, I am. How do you see? You’ve got longer bangs than me.” I grab his arm yanking him inside.
“Jesus. I’m not an intervention. The guys are gonna laugh their asses off.”
“No, they won’t. Especially when you get all the bunnies at the bar this weekend.”
He perks up and doesn’t say shit when I direct the hairdresser to crop it close to his head.
“Level two okay?”
“Make it a level three,” I answer as she holds the buzzing clippers in her hands.