Page 7 of A Real Goode Time

“Hi.” I swallowed. “I’m Torie. Thanks for stopping.”

“Pleasure,” he said. “So. Where to?”

I laughed. “Alaska?”

2

Rhys

God Almighty, the girl was the single wettest human I’d ever laid eyes on that wasn’t in a swimming pool. She was wearing a thick black North Face hoodie, tight, faded jeans, and Timberland boots, and she was absolutely dripping wet. To call her a drowned rat would be generous to drowned rats. In fact, I’d seen folks come out of pools less wet than this chick.

Despite this, with her soaked hood drawn forward, black hair pasted to her cheeks, she was the most stunning girl I’d ever seen. I’d used the pretty lady line out of what you might call habitual southern charm, having not really gotten a good look at her. I mean, I’d noticed her tight backside as she’d climbed into the Jeep, and there was no mistaking the taut sway of an ass like hers for anything but that of a hot young thing.

She was tall, only a few inches shy of my six feet. She was slender, but not frail. Couldn’t tell much more about her body due to the heavy sweatshirt she was wearing, but her eyes spoke of equal parts sadness and humor, and I had trouble looking away in order to check over my left shoulder.

“Alaska, huh?” I chuckled. “Not sure I can go quite that far.”

She shrugged. “Nearest Greyhound station would be fine.”

I knew where that was, so I headed in that direction. “You’re serious? Alaska?”

She nodded, and pushed her hood back. Her hair was crazy long, black as mine. It’d be thick and glossy, if it were dry. She pushed it away from her face, and her hands came away dripping. “Yeah, seriously, Alaska. My mom and a couple of my sisters live up there, and my one sister is getting married, so I gotta get to Alaska.”

“A bus’d take…shit, days. Not even sure a bus goes directly there.” I rubbed my jaw. “Better to just fly, I’d think.”

“Flying is not exactly in the budget,” she said.

“Your sisters or your mom can’t help?”

The annoyed huff she gave me was an indicator that I’d just stepped into something smelly. “I’m sure they would, if I asked. But I won’t ask.”

I nodded. “That I get. Gotta make it on your own two feet, I guess, huh?”

She eyed me sideways. “Yeah. Something like that.”

“So…you really want me to take you to the bus station?” I asked.

“Yeah, why?”

I tapped the round analog clock in the dashboard—5:26. “Pretty sure departing buses will have left already.”

“I checked before I left work and there’s one at six thirty.”

I shrugged. “I mean, there might be.”

Six thirty in the morning, I thought, but didn’t say.

She didn’t respond, so I left it. One time I’d looked into taking a bus to see my folks in Lexington, Kentucky, and I knew most buses traveling west left in the morning.

But, if she wanted to go to the bus station, I’d take her to the bus station.

We got there in about fifteen minutes, and I parked as close to the doors as I could get, noting the lack of buses. She eyed the parking lot.

“Not too many people here,” she said.

I didn’t want to insult her, so I said nothing; she seemed like she was having a rough enough time without me adding snarky comments. She glanced at me. “Well, Rhys, thanks for picking me up.”

“Pleasure,” I said. “Good luck getting to Alaska.”