Dad is too busy to teach me how to drive, and Ryan would never entertain himself with the idea of giving me a tool to independence, so I’ve never had a chance to learn how to do it before.
“Any pointers?” I ask as the GPS fires directions at me. I knew exactly where I wanted to go after I convinced him to spend the day with me. It ticked all the boxes. No one was going to spot us, and I’ve always wanted to visit there.
“First and obvious one is to breathe,” he mutters, seemingly entertained. “You look anxious.”
“I don’t want to ruin your car. It’s really expensive.”
“It was your idea to drive it.”
“Ideas seem better in theory than in practice,” I admit.
“You should keep that in mind next time you try to seduce your educator.”
“Not the same thing.” I tsk. “I’m very much on board with being with you, Mr. James. I think we both need this distraction in our lives.”
After we agreed on the place we wanted to go to, I grabbed my backpack that Pierce had managed to grab from my room before he ushered me to his car last night. It contains my most important possession—my camera. Other than that, Pierce went to a food mart down the road before we hit the road and bought us food for the trip. Basic stuff. Plastic-wrapped sandwiches, chips, and soda. Everything is thrown in the backseat as we zip through the golden roads and dusty mountains.
An hour after we start driving, Pierce tells me to pull over.
He wants to drive the remainder of the way to St. Thomas, the ghost town that was demolished by the very Lake Mead his boat floats on. It’s an historic site I always wanted to see, but Ryan never wanted to go, and Dad was always on the road. The last thing he wanted to do on his days off was more driving.
I take a sharp right to the shoulder of the deserted road. There is something naked and intimate about sharing the desert with no one but him. No one can see or hear us here. We can get away with anything.
With everything.
With what I want to be able to do with him every. Single. Day.
I unbuckle my seatbelt, throw the door open, and hop out. He does the same, sans the jumping, because Pierce is like six two. I walk around the car and meet him halfway by the trunk. Our shoulders brush, and he clasps my arm out of nowhere. My eyes shoot up and meet his. He squeezes my bicep lightly.
“What’s your game, Remington Stringer?”
I shake my head. “Just a poor girl from the wrong part of town trying to claw her way out. What’s your secret, Pierce James?”
“I have no secrets.” His throat bobs with a swallow.
“Bullshit. You already have me, and I’m a secret. What’s your other one? The one that’s eating you alive? You’re not the first privileged person I’ve met. But you are the first who’s tried to save me.”
He doesn’t answer. I shake my arm away from him.
“If you want to touch me, make it good for me.”
“I don’t want to touch you.”
“Is that why you jerked off after I fingered myself yesterday?”
“How the fuck would you know that?”
“You let out a groan I heard from across the room. You’re lucky I didn’t open the door to help you finish the job. I’m patient, Mr. James. But I have my limits, too.”
“We should make a U-turn,” he snaps.
“We’ve already gone way too far to go back now,” I say, and I’m not just talking about St. Thomas.
The rest of the drive is silent. I clutch my camera to my chest and look at my surroundings, snapping pictures all the while. I’ve never come face-to-face with nature before. It’s always been concrete and dirt for me, from day one. And I decide here and there that I want more of what life with Pierce James would offer, even if he isn’t offering.
When we get to St. Thomas, he parks the car, and we both step out. It used to be populated by Mormon settlers in the mid to late 1800s before the waters of Lake Mead submerged it. The lake lowered back in the early 2000s, and the town resurfaced from its watery grave. We walk around for a while, taking in the crumbled beige remains of the town’s buildings. It’s crazy to think they were under water and stayed somewhat intact until just fifteen years ago. The desert wind is hot, and it moans against my skin. I peel off my top, but I’m in my sports bra, so it’s no big deal. It looks more like a cropped shirt than anything else. We don’t speak much. But it’s a comfortable silence. We don’t need words. I think we are both reveling in the feeling of being with each other like this.
“The Chamber of Commerce looks like a hand giving you the finger,” I comment dryly, and Pierce chuckles beside me. I shrug. “It’s true.”