Wanderlust part 7

And away we go, kidlets. Here's today's piece. I have a super busy week coming up--I'm tired just thinking about it (O_O)--but I will do my darndest to post most every day if I can!

Morning, all! Happy reading...

XOXO
Sommer

Wanderlust
part 7
by Somme r Marsden

I pushed him away when the urge to climb into his lap became damn near overwhelming. "Beer," I said.

I proceeded to drink the rest down in two gulps. I waved a finger at the bartender feeling the pleasant heat of inebriation spread through me.

"Have some more pretzels before you slide of that stool," he chuckled.

I ate three at once and wondered how drunk you had to be to truly appreciate the taste of good pretzels. "This drunk," I snorted. I was talking to me, not Johnny.

"Mitch, can we get a burger?" His blue eyes scanned me and he added "And fries."

"For moi?"

"Yep. How long since you ate? Really ate?"

"Really, ate, Really," I laughed. "My name, it never gets old."

He grinned. "So, how long?"

"Yesterday?"

He grunted. "That says you're not a happy girl."

I grinned at him, openly buzzed and unafraid. He was imposing and scary and really very rough around the edges, but he was the kind of guy who instantly made me feel at ease. An impossible feat most days.

"Gee, what gave me away?"

"So why'd you marry him, Snowflake? You don't seem like the kind of girl to do stuff to please other people."

I bit my lip wondering how fast they could get me a burger. Because now that he'd brought up a burger and fries, all my brain could focus on was the burger and fries.

I sighed. This was the part I hated the most. Trying to make people understand if they had the balls to ask the questions. Johnny didn't seem short on balls. Or muscles, I thought, remembering the feel of his thighs under my hands.

"I didn't have the life my father imagined for me."

"And what was that?"

"I have no fucking clue. But I was wandering, as he put it. Cause I was so old at the age of twenty-six, right? Anyway, he had this idea. He didn't have a son, I didn't have any interest. He liked Jackson. Hell, at the time, I liked Jackson. Daddy's plan was I marry Jackson for business purposes. That way, if and when he dies the company would be in good hands, I would be taken care of, and I wouldn't have to dirty myself with other people's greed or money—also, as he put it. Quoting me, of course." I snorted.

Mitch the bartender—God bless him—slid a plate with a burger and fries onto the bar in front of me. I tucked into the food with enthusiasm I hadn't felt in a hundred years—or so it felt.

"And then you what? Changed your mind?"

"I started to resent daddy. I started to resent Jackson. Fuck me hard, I started to resent me," I said. "And now everyone is miserable but wealthy."

"And you amuse yourself with other guys?"

"I do. And I'm proud of it," I said.

"No you're not. Or you wouldn't be so pissed."

I tried to swallow but a bite of burger or a fry or fuck—my pride—was lodged in my throat. I coughed and took a swig of my fresh beer.

"I'm fine with it."

"Whatever you say, Snowflake."

"Don't call me that."

"You liked it a minute ago."

I ate some fries but now they had no taste. I shook my head but had no pithy comeback.

"You ever want to just go?"

"Go where? Where would I go?"

"Where couldn't you go?"

It had never occurred to me to go. I had had fantasies of driving off in fancy cars or lounging around islands in the sun with sand between my toes, but the thought of actually just going had never seemed real to me. No more real than Santa Claus or time travel or white pants that stayed white.

"I…"

"Just get in a car and toss a bag in the back and go. Wherever. Doesn't matter. There are hotels everywhere, Snowflake. Diners and clothing stores, alligator farms and the world's biggest ball of yarn. There's a whole big world out there and it doesn't' give a shit if you have money or not. Or if daddy chose your man or if you smile every night when you go to bed."

I blinked at him.

He pointed to my food and said to Mitch "Box? We're taking it to go."

Mitch nodded, reaching under the bar for a Styrofoam food container. He put it down and Johnny slapped money on the bar.

"I can—"

"Relax, even poor old me has enough to treat you to a burger, Really."

"You said my name," I laughed.

"I did. Now let's go."

"Where are we going?"

"My place. You can leave your car here. Mitch won't have it towed. Will ya, Mitch?"

"No way, Johnny."

Johnny took my hand and tugged me. It spurred me into action and when I stood, I blurted "What are you going to do to me?"

I don't know why I said it that way. Maybe it was the mix of fear and anticipation swirling in my gut. Maybe it was that every damn thing felt like it was going to change—that it was changing already.

Johnny brushed a stray piece of hair off my forehead and leaned in so that our lips were nearly touching but not quite. I could feel the energy off of him brushing over my skin—invisible but tangible.

"What do you think I'm going to do to you, Snowflake?"
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