Chapter Seven
Cassidy
Over one hundred and fifty thousand words in the English language, and I can only access one.
“Wow.”
Luke’s mouth flatlines.
“Not a sarcastic wow,” I add hastily. “I’m surprised.”
Shocked, actually, that he listened to what I had to say on the plane, and is going so far as to validate my side of the argument.
Doubly shocked that he’s gleaned how badly I need to get to California based on our limited interactions and actually wants to help.
My stomach tilts on its axis, just enough to unsettle me.
But none of this means riding with him is a good idea. Twenty-something hours trapped together in a car with someone you barely know and will probably argue with at least nineteen of those hours feels like a punchline to a joke or a punishment for losing a bet.
The steady drum of desperation to get home beats harder and faster in my chest the longer we stand here staring at each other. Like I’m on the blunt edge of a cliff, awaiting my body to decide if it’s willing to jump.
Isabelle needs me. Atlas Airlines clearly can’t be trusted to get me there.
Luke scrubs his chin and takes a few steps toward the door. “Forget it. It was just an idea. Best of luck—”
“Hold on.” I cross the hideous tan linoleum, closing the gap he created. “I’m interested. But I have a few conditions.”
He quirks a brow. “Conditions?”
“First, I need to see your license. To make sure you are who you say you are.”
While he removes his wallet from his pocket—leather, bulky, probably filled with credit cards of absurdly high limits—I navigate to the favorite contacts in my phone and tap Berkeley’s number.
Luke, halfway to offering his ID, recoils his arm. “Wait, are you FaceTiming someone again? Right now?”
“Obviously. I need a witness. Her approval is condition number two.”
“What, she’s going to judge me by my face?”
It’s probably the most pleasant thing about you, I don’t say, because I’m not in the business of alienating my only means of escape. Even if it’s true.
Berkeley’s room is pitch black when she answers.
“Th’ell?” she grumbles, sleep rumpled.
I interpret this as the hell, which makes perfect sense, given it’s about eleven a.m. Asheville time and working swing shifts has turned her into a night owl who sleeps in. “Morning, Sunshine! Listen, I’ve got a bit of a situation here, and I need your help.”
“Okay. I see you’re still in public, and I’m naked. Give me a second to throw on clothes.” She tosses the phone onto the bed as she rustles around.
I snort at Luke’s peachy blush. “Relax, Stranger Danger. People sleep naked.”
“That’s not—who is this person, exactly?” he whispers, as if iPhones can’t pick up frantic, spluttering huffs.
“My roommate, Berkeley, is going to help me validate your identity.” I extend an open hand. “License, please.”
Luke deposits it on my palm and watches me intently, as if afraid I might pocket the thing and make a run for it if he blinks.
I peek up at his caramelly blond coif and then back at the license.
6’2”, blond hair, hazel eyes, organ donor.
He doesn’t flinch at my once-over, even when it segues into a twice-over. “Is this roommate of yours going to blast my name and address across the internet?” he asks.
I stroke my chin and pretend to consider this. “Not if I’m delivered to California in one piece.”
“What’s this I’m hearing?” Berkeley asks as she switches on a light. Her illuminated face fills the screen. “Delivering you?”
“The airline has stranded us in Missouri and left us to languish in obscurity, and I met a guy who can drive me back to California. But in the off chance he has mafia ties and tries to disappear me—”
“What? I’m not in the mafia,” Luke blusters.
I spare him a look. “That’s exactly what someone in the mafia would say.” I turn back to my phone. “I want you to have his full identity and know the sound of his voice, all that good stuff. So you can identify him, if needed.”
Berkeley morphs into a human emoji, the one with hyphen-slits for eyes. “Who is this man? More importantly, why is this man offering you a ride?”
I swivel to get Luke in frame—he was hiding directly behind the phone before—and position myself as if we’re about to take a photo together. He looks like he’d rather witness his own execution than endure even a second of shared screen time, but I persist. “He scored the last rental car and is taking pity on my poor soul.”
Luke rakes his hands through his hair twice, wilting under Berk’s scrutinous stare. “Hi. I’m Luke.” He clears his throat. “Carlisle. Luke Carlisle. I work at De Leon Consultants, if you want to google me. I’m a really normal, boring dude.”
Also what someone in the mafia would say, but I don’t speak it aloud for the sake of moving this along.
“Greetings,” Berkeley chirps. “Why are you trying to lure my roommate into your car, Luke? What’s your endgame?”
“I don’t have an endgame. I’ve got a car.”
“And of all the people presumably stranded from your flight, my gorgeous, big-hearted best friend is the one you’re feeling charitable toward?” She clicks her tongue. “Interesting.”
“Aw, Buttercup,” I say, a grin splitting my face. “You’re big-hearted and gorgeous.”
“We had an altercation in the parking lot, and I owe her,” Luke says matter-of-factly. “She is under no obligation to take the ride. Just trying to help.”
“Which I could desperately use,” I admit. “I’d like to actually make it to California this century.”
Berkeley wrangles her curls into scrunchie submission. “Fair enough. I’m not trying to hang out in California with Mommy Dearest without you. Hold up his license so I can see it, you, and him all at the same time.”
The frame freezes as she takes a screenshot.
“Now the back of it.”
I oblige.
“Hmm, what else?” She taps her chin.
“Need my blood type, too?” Luke says under his breath.
Berkeley scoffs. “You can’t blame us for being careful. Safety is important. Cassidy is precious cargo. In fact, I think we need a character witness.” Our teal cabinets dance behind her as she glides across the kitchen, the tell-tale sounds of coffee preparation audible in the background. “Someone to vouch that you are who you claim to be.”
“Do you think we really need that?” I peek over my shoulder and catch Luke’s eye. His nearness prickles the back of my neck. “We’ve got his picture and license information. If I don’t make it out of this alive, just delete my browser history and tell my mom I died doing something impressive.”
“Exactly no one at your funeral will be surprised by your soft-focus porn taste, Cass.”
“Soft focus? Excuse you! And that’s not what I was referring to. I’m more worried about people learning the embarrassing celebrity factoids I search—”
Luke plucks the phone from my hand. “Here.” He presses the plus sign on the top right and dials a number. “You want a character witness? Meet Will.”
“Who’s Will?” I ask.
“We grew up five minutes apart in California. Knows me better than anyone.”
A flushed face appears in the top left of the screen on cue. “Hello? Oh, hello, beautiful ladies. And Luke.”
This man is mid-run with a reflective headband, barely winded, and judging by his inflections extremely excited to interact with us at eight a.m. Pacific time.
Luke doesn’t mince words. “Will, meet Cassidy and Berkeley.”
“Hi, Cassidy and Berkeley. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
I’m so distracted by Will’s head bobbing up and down as he jogs I forget to talk. Who answers a call and then continues to exercise?
“To make a long story short,” Luke says, “I need you to tell these women I’m not in the mafia or otherwise dangerous.”
“Objection! Leading the witness,” Berkeley snaps, thrusting my favorite overpriced Anthropologie coffee mug in the air.
Will’s laugh is uncontrolled, perhaps from all the cardio. He slows to a stop, and his dark hair and even darker five o’clock shadow come into focus. “Why are you trying to convince two women you aren’t a dangerous menace? Oh, is this a Tinder hookup? Nice work. About time you got your ass back out there.”
Luke and I emit competing screeches of dissent before babbling over each other.
“Will—”
“What—”
“This is your character witness?” Berkeley’s sardonic laugh crackles the phone. “Doesn’t bode well, Luke.”
Will slows to a walk. “Whoa, now wait a second. Why would that be an indictment of his character? Sex positivity is important. Throupling is valid.”
“Of course it’s valid. It’s just that sex is the first place your mind went when thinking of Luke,” Berkeley explains. “That’s telling.”
“The first place my mind goes when thinking of Luke is not sex. It’s tacos,” Will corrects. “And then probably spreadsheets and cosplay—in that order. But since two young, stunning women called to ask whether my best friend is a good guy, and literally none of you explained what we are doing here, I made a wild guess. Forgive me.”
Berkeley arcs a brow. “Cosplay? What’s your fandom, Luke? Got any pictures?”
I peek over my shoulder, accidentally inhaling his citrusy sweatshirt-smell from the source again. “Yeah, got any pictures?”
Luke pinches the bridge of his nose. “I should’ve called my boss.”
“This,” I say, “is far and wide the most interesting thing I’ve learned about you, and you want to brush past it?”
He lances me with a stern look. “Can we start over?”
Given I’m melting under the rays of misery radiating from his body, I acquiesce. “Fine. Let’s start again. Hi, Will. My friend and I were just trying to make sure Luke is a good enough guy that I’d be safe to get in a car with him. Can you confirm that is the case?”
Will’s forehead creases in concern. “What happened to your plane, Luke?”
“The windshield cracked. I’m about to drive home in a rental from Missouri. Cassidy may or may not be riding with me.”
“Oh, I see. Sorry, ladies, I’ve never had to vouch for Luke before because he’s usually the one vouching for me. Or bailing me and everyone else out of trouble.” He runs a hand over his stubble. “Like, if there’s a party, he’s the designated driver. It’s a foregone conclusion that he’s always the most responsible one in any room. To a fault, actually. Sometimes I just want to shake him up a little, you know? Hence why I jumped to the Tinder sex conclusion. I was hoping he was having fun for once in his life—”
“M’kay,” Luke says, hovering a finger over the end call button. “That about does it, right?”
“So he’s responsible and you want him to be…less that way?” Berkeley takes a sip from the steaming mug. “And you’d rather him be drunk and sloppy instead of the designated driver?”
Will’s laugh is deep and scratchy. “Sorry, I’m trying to imagine Luke being sloppy, and it’s too amusing for words. The man irons his jeans.”
“I do not iron my jeans,” Luke insists.
Will cocks his head to the side, waiting.
“Once. I ironed them once.”
“There it is. Listen, the bottom line is I support my friend having fun. However it looks.” Will slaps on an innocent smile. “And if ‘fun’ happens to include the beautiful Cassidy—”
“Do not call her beautiful. You don’t even know her,” Berkeley huffs.
Will hits us with an arched brow. “My apologies. Cassidy, tell me a little something about yourself.”
My mind is swirling to make sense of their rapid-fire discussion. “Uh—I’m a dancer?”
“An athlete! That takes serious discipline.” Will spares me a charming grin. The dude is a nicer character witness than the character himself. “Your turn, Berkeley.”
She rolls her eyes. “You don’t need to know anything about me.”
“Fair enough, gorgeous. Don’t say I didn’t try to get to know you.”
Berkeley all but short-circuits. “What’s your deal? Are you clinically incapable of commenting on anything other than looks?”
“On a FaceTime with strangers? Nope.” Will’s lips hook a devilish smile. “I have four sisters. I respect the hell out of women. Doesn’t mean I’m not going to point out that you’re cute, even while scowling, because you’ve given me no personal information to work with. Can’t very well compliment you for anything else, can I?”
“Sisters,” she echoes, tapping her cheek. “Okay. So you’d be fine with strangers calling them beautiful and cute, then?”
His eyes flash a glimmer of amusement. “Sure, if they’re okay with it, since they’re capable of making that decision for themselves. That’s the definition of empowerment.”
If I had to guess Berkeley’s detonation switch, it’d be someone mansplaining empowerment to her.
“I think we’re done!” I blurt, glancing at Luke for confirmation. He nods ardently, and I return my gaze to the phone. “Yup, we’re good. Thanks to you both. We’ll check in later.”
Berkeley takes to pacing the living room. Her go-to flustered move. “If Luke even so much as looks at you funny, use Mace. If you don’t have Mace, buy some!”
“Mace?” Will winces. “Luke, if your girl so much as looks at you funny, don’t use Mace because that shit does permanent damage. Have a conversation. Choose peace.”
“Okay, thanks!” Luke jabs the red button.
I leap sideways out of his personal space bubble.
“That went well,” he deadpans, handing me my phone. “Feel better?”
“Now that I know you cosplay and eat tacos, I feel much safer, yes.” I bite my bottom lip, trapping a laugh. “Will seems…colorful?”
“That’s one word for him.”
The other would be friendly, though Luke likely doesn’t identify with the concept.
But then again, this ride Luke’s offering is a huge favor to me, even if it’s only to absolve himself of guilt. Even if it looks like he’d rather lick a hot engine than talk about it any further.
Luke eyes a set of double doors wistfully. “Any more conditions or can we make this drive sometime today?”
I pivot toward the door, signaling for him to lead the way outside.
As we close in on the small black car I’ve just tethered myself to, trepidation quickens my pulse. “This is ours?”
“Yes.” He pops the trunk of the Volkswagen Jetta and tucks his suitcase inside, then removes my suitcase from my hand and unceremoniously throws it in next to his.
His face morphs into a grimace as he opens the driver’s side door. “There’s no way I’m going to fit in this.”
“Title of your sex tape?”
He stares blankly my way for about three seconds before I mumble never mind under my breath and take my seat in the smallest cabin that ever was.
The car feels even more cramped than it looks when we’re both inside, knocking elbows as we plug in our seat belts. He wasn’t kidding about not fitting; he has to hunch a little so the top of his head doesn’t knock the roof.
The gravity of what we’re about to do settles over me as silence falls between us.
“Are you a cautious driver?” I ask. “How many stops are you planning to make?”
“I have every intention of driving safely, I assure you. And quickly. As few stops as humanly possible.”
“Good. I was nervous you’d want to stop a lot to eat, or sleep, or take pictures of those state-shaped welcome signs at the borders.”
“That’s what makes you nervous?” A tiny burst of air escapes his mouth. “Me taking the scenic route? Not that we just met?”
“Nope. Signage is my biggest fear. Walls cluttered with demanding placards. Live, laugh, love! Fran’s kitchen, take it or leave it! Eat like no one’s watching! Or worse, all those signs that are just one word. Gather. Dine. Why do I need instructions to exist in a home?”
His face Fort Knoxes harder than ever.
The cool morning air slips over my skin like an ice bath. “That was a joke. Mostly. I have way bigger fears.”
“Didn’t want to laugh until I was sure.” He starts the car and fiddles with the temperature.
I roll my eyes. I’m learning our senses of humor are mutually exclusive. It’s going to be a long twenty-something hours.