Two Thousand Miles (7 page)

Mason helped me put on a solid black helmet with a tinted face shield. He put on one just like it, got on the bike, and started it up. I gracefully managed to get on behind him.

“Put your arms around me,” he said, twisting the motorcycle’s handles, revving the engine. Butterflies filled my stomach as I encircled my arms around Mason
, and we began to move. He put his feet on the foot pegs and leaned slightly forward. I moved with him. Once we were out of the subdivision, we were floating, flying into the darkness down a straight stretch of fresh blacktop.

Mason was an experienced rider, so I knew he was nowhere near as nervous as I was about how fast we were going. I tried to distract myself by looking at the landscape, but we were whizzing by it so fast that it only made me dizzy. Instead, I closed my eyes and concentrated on holding on to Mason.
He must have sensed my uneasiness because he slowed down. In return, I loosed the death grip I’d had on him. A few minutes later, I was feeling better and started to enjoy the ride.

When we got back to his house, Mason drove the bike into the garage and shut off the engine. I got up and pulled my helmet off. He pulled his off, too, but remained seated on the bike.

“You alright?” he asked.

“Fine,” I smiled, although I felt like I was still moving.

Mason studied me for a moment and then asked, “You hungry?”

“Why? Are you offering to cook?” I asked, an eyebrow turned up.

“No,” he laughed. “I’m
offerin’ to take you to eat.”

“Can we go in the truck?” I asked, hopeful.

He laughed, “Sissy.”

“I’m okay with that,” I deadpanned.

Mason laughed harder.

“I figure you’re probably burned out on Cajun food,” Mason said, opening the driver’s side door and helping me into the truck. “A little,” I admitted, scooting to the passenger seat.

Mason hopped in and fired up the truck. “I’m
takin’ you to one of my favorite places. They have a little of everything.” He looked at me, a calculating smile on his lips. “So, you should be able to have whatever you want.” He was an infuriating flirt.

“Sounds good,” I said, pretending his words hadn’t fazed me.

Fastening my seat belt, I caught a glimpse of the crisscrossed bats on the shirt he’d let me borrow. “Are you going to play baseball in college,” I asked.

M
ason gawked at me like he couldn’t believe I’d changed the subject instead of addressing his flirty chatter.

He looked back at the road.
“Nah. It’s too much of a commitment. They travel a lot, and I don’t feel up to it. I played in high school ‘cause I loved it. Guys play in college ‘cause they wanna be drafted into the majors, and that’s not what I wanna do for the rest of my life.”
“What do you want to do for the rest of your life?”

“I’
m still deciding, what about you?”

“The same, I guess. We had a career day last year, and the presenter told us to imagine ourselves in the career we wanted. Honestly, all I could imagine was laying by the pool with my best friend, Olivia—not that
, that’s what I want to make a career out of, but I’m seventeen, I think it’s okay for me to be undecided.”

“I’m
enrollin’ under general studies. I’m gonna take the required crap you have to take to get any degree, givin’ me about a year, and a half to figure out what I wanna do. If I haven’t decided by then, then I guess I’ll be officially fucked.”

“I know what you mean. Things change every day. We’re constantly evolving
; our attitudes, opinions, feelings. How are we supposed to know what we want to be doing at forty when we’re teenagers?”

“Maybe
we’re not meant to know everything, maybe sometimes the universe gets to decide. Sometimes, something you never expected or imagined presents itself to you, and things fall into place on their own.” Mason smiled, melting me. “I think it’s called kismet.”

As I considered the possibility
that he was talking about us—that we had been destined to meet, Mason bumpily pulled off the road into a pea gravel parking lot, jarring me out of my fantasy. He stopped in front of a building that looked like a shack. Clad in whitewashed barn wood and a rusted tin roof, it had a sliding window for ordering and a large menu with stick-on lettering above it.

Mason
came to the passenger side of the truck and turned around. “Get on,” he said.

“Seriously,” I chuckled. “You want me to get on your back?”

“Just until we get to the sidewalk—unless you wanna walk across some pipin’ hot pea gravel in your bare feet,” he said. His tone was slightly high-pitched and made me laugh.

I’d left his mom’s shoes at his house. I had to wear them to ride his motorc
ycle so I didn’t burn my feet, but they were two sizes too small and wearing them was uncomfortable.

I climbed onto Mason’s back and instantly started laughing. I didn’t think I’d ever ridden on anyone’s back before. I leaned forward, let my arms curve around his shoulders, and wrapped my legs around his waist. He carried me easily. People looked at us, but just generally, not like we were doing anything out of the ordinary.
I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

Once we were under the covered portion of the sidewalk
, I slid down Mason’s back and stood next to him. He took my hand and intertwined our fingers as we studied the menu, making it hard for me to concentrate. Like Mason said, the place had a little of everything—from apple pie to zucchini fries. I read the words on the menu; I just couldn’t process them. I was too absorbed in holding Mason’s hand.

When it was our turn at the window, I still didn’t know what I wanted.

“What are you getting?” I asked Mason.

“Jalapeno
cheeseburger and a strawberry shake.”

“
Mmmm,” I hummed. “That shake sounds good. I’ll have that and a couple chicken tacos, please,” I said to the guy behind the counter.

“What movie’s
playin,’” Mason asked him.

“
Grease.
It’s the last half hour, go on in if ya want,” the guy said.

“Alright, thanks.” Mason looked at me. “There’s a drive-in on the other side. You
wanna hang out and watch
Grease
?” 

“Sure
.” The last half hour had always been my favorite. I loved it when Sandy got all badass.

Mason hunched down in front of me. “I’ll take you to the truck, then come back and wait for the food,” he said.

After getting
our order, Mason drove to the back of the building where there were only three other cars, and parked dead in the center of the lot, giving us the best view of the screen.

“How many times have you seen this movie?” Mason asked as he flipped the radio dial to the station
supplying the movie’s sound.

“About a dozen, I guess.”

“Like every other girl I know,” he mumbled.

“
Please
don’t bunch me in with every girl you’ve dated.”

“Who said anything about who I’ve dated? I’ve never seen thi
s movie with a girl I was datin’. When Bit was twelve, she had Grease playin’ on a loop. Her friends were nuts over it. My mom’s seen it a bunch. My grandma used to watch it and talk about jumpin’ Travolta’s bones, which still gives me nightmares, by the way, and drama club did it all four years I was in high school. They even tried to get me to play Danny Zuko one year. Shall I continue?”

I shook my head. “No.”

“Now, I’m not gonna lie and say I’ve never been here with another girl because I have.”

“
I don’t want to hear about your past conquests,” I complained. Some details should never be revealed.

M
ason stared at me, his tongue in his cheek. “Conquests,” he finally said.

“Yes, conquests.”

“I’m no slut either, Cali girl.”

“I didn’t call you a slut,” I said, appalled.

“I don’t sleep around,” he said, sternly.

“I never said you did!”

“You insinuated it!”

“You must love that word,” I groaned.

“I don’t think I ever used it until you came to town, but if you’re gettin’ tired of hearin’ it, I’ll say it another way.
Imply
,
suggest
,
hint
.”

“Sorry if I
implied
,
suggested,
or
hinted
that you sleep with every girl you go out with! That wasn’t what I meant,” I growled.

“Then you shouldn’t use big
words you don’t know the meaning of.”

My mouth fell open. “I know what conquest means!”

“Alright, then,” Mason said, a brilliant smile on his lips.

“You did that on purpose, didn’t you?
You riled me up on purpose.”

“Yep,” he said, popping a French fry into his mouth.
“Goading you into apologizin’ is fun for me.”

“Enjoy it
, because it’s not going to happen again,” I warned.

“We’ll see,” he winked
.

I rolled my eyes and unwrapped one of my tacos. I took a couple bites
; it was super spicy. “Does everything in this state have hot peppers in it?” I asked.

“We do like our food spicy, Cali girl.”

“It’s good, it’s just so hot,” I said, fanning my mouth.

Mason handed me my milkshake
. I sucked on the straw until I was cross-eyed, but nothing came out, so I pulled off the lid and slurped from the side of the cup. The shake was thick; I had to chew it.

“Better?” Mason chuckled.

“Better,” I confirmed.

Mason wiped his forehead with a napkin; his jalapeno burger was making him sweat. I offered him a bite of my shake
, and surprisingly, he took me up on it.
He did have one of his own
.

“What’s it like out in California?”
Mason asked.

“Different than it is here.”

“Damn, I never would’ve guessed it,” he said, sarcastically. I smirked. “Everybody in Cali look like you?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

“
Almost.” California was full of bronzed, blue-eyed blonds.

“I think I might like it there then,” he
grinned.

“
Doubt it,” I laughed. “Besides, I like you where you are.” Mason’s eyes suddenly smoldering, he said, “I like where I am right now, too.”

Thankfully
, the finale music began, giving me an excuse to look away before I embarrassed myself by drooling, or blabbing to Mason about how beautiful I thought he was.

When the movie ended, I had finished one taco—that was all the heat I could stand—and almost all of my milkshake. Mason was sucking the last bit out of the bottom out of his cup when the guy who’d taken our food order appeared. “We’re
closin’ up,” he said. “Y’all got to go.” I glanced around the lot; we were the only ones left.

“Alright, man,” Mason said
, and drove to the main building and tossed out our trash. “What time do you have to be home?” he asked me.

“I don’t know. We’ve never discussed a curfew.”
Frankly, I never thought I’d be anywhere without one of the Broussard’s, so I had no idea.

After working something out with Dana, Mason drove us to a place I recognized; the property where the pontoon boat was docked. Although I could have walked on the step stones in bare feet, Mason put me on his back and carried me to the boat.

Our
surroundings were full of nature’s noise, crickets chirping, and frogs croaking. I sat across from Mason and watched him drive the boat through the calm, moonlit water. I thought about how ten days earlier I’d been watching him, sitting next to Dixie, believing I’d never have a chance with him. 

Mason pulled
beside a steep bank and let the boat idle; he opened one of the storage compartments and pulled out a long stick with pointy spikes on one end.

“What is
that
?” I asked.

“A frog gig.”

“A what?”

“Y’all don’t go frog
giggin’ in Malibu?” Mason snickered. I’d overheard Cody and Russ talking about frog gigging a few days ago. It wasn’t something I was dying to try.

“You brought me out here
to…
hunt frogs
?” I growled.

“Yes ma’am,” Mason said
, and stuck a spotlight in my hand. “Shine this on the bank for me.”

Disappointed, my arms fell limp, making the light shine on the interior of the boat. I thought he’d brought me on the boat for romantic reasons, not to hold a light as he stabbed frogs.

Mason pulled my arm up, bent my elbow, and maneuvered my wrist to point in the direction he desired, and then let go. He took a careful step back with his hands out, making sure my arm stayed in place before taking his eyes off me and focusing them on the bank.