Page 118 of A Real Goode Time

Like this guy. When all he saw was my black ponytail, backpack, jeans, and boots, he was all Mr. Impatient, hurry up, I’m so important. All I had to do was turn around, grin, show him some tank top and cleavage, and he’s tripping over his own saggy balls to help me.

“Well, I just need to get out of the city and out of suburbia.”

“Yeah, sure, but to where?”

“I mean, just generally west.”

He looked me over again. “Well, I’m heading to Buffalo for business, but I could take you as far as Scranton, if you want.”

I could see the wheels turning in his head. Thinking maybe he might get something out of giving me a ride. Wondering what kind of girl I am.

The question for me, then, was whether my creeper radar pinged. I in turn looked him over, assessed him. Brusque, self-important, vain, wealthy, impatient, selfish. Kind of a prick. But…mostly safe. He’d be the type, if he made an overt move on me and I turned him down, to leave me on the side of the highway.

I shrugged, extended my hand. “Scranton it is, Mr.…?”

“Zelinski. Don Zelinski.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Zelinski. I’m Poppy.”

“Ahh, if we’re gonna be sharing the car together for an hour and a half, you oughta call me Donny.”

I thanked the young Sikh behind the counter, and followed Donny Zelinski to his car.

After fueling his sleek silver Audi A8, we headed out of suburbia westward. He had a podcast on, something by NPR, and he turned it down when we hit the highway, offering a grin at me.

“So, Poppy. Generally west, huh?”

I nodded. “I have family in Alaska, and I’m taking the long, scenic route to visit them.”

He whistled. “Alaska, huh? That’s a hell of a trip.”

“Well, I’m young and I’m in a bit of a transitional point in my life, so I may as well see some of the country, right?”

He fiddled with something on the touchscreen, and the A/C blew colder. “Sure. Makes sense to me. When I was your age, I took a gap year and hiked Europe with my brother.”

“Yeah, I might do that next.”

A few minutes of silence; the cabin of the car, wrapped in luxurious black leather, grew colder by the minute—I caught his gaze flicking subtly but consistently to my chest, and I realized why he’d turned the A/C up so high: to give me headlights. And he’d succeeded, noticeably so.

Douchebag.

Joke was on him, though, because I just tugged my flannel shirt closed to cover them.

“So, what’s your boyfriend think about you doing this whole trip on your own?”

I laughed. “No boyfriend.”

“You mean to say a sexy young thing like you is totally unattached?”

Ick. He was old enough to be my dad. Don’t call me sexy, my dude.

“Yeah, well, I don’t need a boyfriend to be happy, and on a journey to self-discovery like I’m on, a boyfriend would just be in the way. So yeah, unattached and proud of it.”

“Good for you,” he said, and it was hard to tell if it was meant genuinely or not.

I let the silence extend, and eventually Donny turned his podcast back on, glancing at me to assess my reaction. I just turned the volume up a bit, to indicate I was fine with the podcast.

It was a long-winded discussion of some political thing or another, boring as hell but better than nothing, and better than trying to make conversation with Mr. Make-it-cold-in-the-car-so-your-nipples-get-hard.