Tilt: Love Unexpected Collection Read online

  Tilt

  A Love, Unexpected story

  BJ Bentley

  © 2020 BJ Bentley

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  The characters in this book are entirely fictional. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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  13

  14

  15

  Epilogue

  Other books in the Love, Unexpected series:

  1

  _______

  Tuesday

  Stranded.

  Wonderful.

  I waved the smoke from my face as traffic continued to pass me by. No one had a care for a young woman who obviously needed assistance on the side of the road.

  So much for southern hospitality.

  “Well, Suzie Q, what are we gonna do now?” I muttered to the 1992 Tiffin Allegro Bus I’d purchased the second I graduated from Edinboro University of Pennsylvania with a bachelor degree in fine arts and an unrelenting need for the open road.

  The traffic on I-40 between Amarillo, Texas and Albuquerque, New Mexico wasn’t heavy, but it was steady. Steady enough that, statistically, someone was bound to stop at some point.

  Weren’t they?

  I didn’t have AAA, a fact that frustrated my father to no end, and I didn’t have a reliable cell phone, a fact that caused my mother so much anxiety, it was a wonder she had any refills left on her Paxil. What I did have was a spiral bound Rand McNally Road Atlas and a cheap, pay-as-you-go cell phone with spotty service.

  The forty bucks I’d had in my pocket this morning would have come in handy right about now. That is, if I hadn’t used it to top off Suzie Q’s tank when I stopped for breakfast, depleting my cash stores. With the option of a taxi off the table, I held my phone up in the air in the hopes that one bar would grow to two.

  I wasn’t thrilled with the prospect of leaving Suzie Q on the side of the road while I caught an Uber to the nearest garage, that was, if I could have even afforded it.

  “C’mon,” I muttered, swinging my arm around my head as I turned in a circle in search of a signal.

  I nearly came out of my flip flops when they stuck to the tarred asphalt. It had to be at least ninety degrees, and it was only ten A.M. I was a native of the northeast; I was not acclimated to this heat. Nor were my flip flops, native to Old Navy’s clearance rack.

  I decided to take my signal search to a higher elevation.

  Fifteen minutes later, I was growling with frustration.

  And hunger. That truck stop breakfast burrito I’d eaten around seven o’clock had been a mistake in more ways than one. My lower GI tract didn’t hesitate to remind me that maybe those mushrooms weren’t really mushrooms after all.

  In those fifteen minutes, I counted exactly four minivans, seventeen pickups, and four big rigs passing by. Zero of them stopped. Ten minutes after that, my prayers were answered in the form of a trucker who strongly resembled Yosemite Sam.

  “Is this some sort of hipster performance art, you being up there?” he yelled over the roar of his diesel engine.

  “No,” I yelled back, shaking my head for emphasis in case he didn’t hear me.

  “Well, then what are you doing up there?”

  I looked around from where I stood on the top of my RV. “Looking for a signal,” I stated what I thought was obvious and frowning when I saw that my one pitiful bar had disappeared, the display cruelly announcing that I had no service at all.

  “You’re not likely to find any on this stretch of road. You need a ride somewhere?”

  And that was how I met Wade.

  ***

  “How can you even say that?” I gasped, my hand flying to my chest. If I’d been wearing pearls, I would have clutched them.

  Wade shrugged. “He’s no Merle Haggard, that’s all I’m sayin’.”

  “Okay, I’ll admit, Merle’s a legend, but Fogerty’s voice pierces my very soul.” I turned the volume up, the knob leaving a slightly sticky residue I didn’t want to examine too closely on my fingers. “Listen,” I commanded, Creedence Clearwater Revival’s “Have You Ever Seen the Rain?” filtering through the speakers of the truck’s crackling radio.

  I peered at Wade through narrowed eyes, watching his face as I forced him to listen to the greatest voice to ever bless the radio waves. The bushy, red overgrowth on his face made it difficult to ascertain his expression. “Do you hear it?”

  “I hear it,” he grunted.

  “No, but do you hear it?”

  His eyes sliced to me. “I said I hear it, girl.”

  My eyes narrowed at his grumble. “With that attitude, Wade, I don’t know how we can be friends,” I huffed.

  His eyes cut to me again. “You’ve been in my rig for twenty minutes. We’ll never see each other again once I drop you off at the closest garage. How do you figure friendship factors into this situation at all?”

  Eyes bugging out, I let my mouth fall open. “Rude!”

  “Not being rude, girl, just being real.”

  Throwing myself back in my seat, I crossed my arms over my chest and huffed. “What could have been, Wade. What could have been.”

  Wade ignored my melodramatic lament and we trucked along for another twenty miles before exiting the highway. It was fine. I’d win him over in the end.

  We pulled into the loose gravel parking lot of a slightly unkempt building. All three garage bays were open, though only one of them seemed to have a vehicle inside.

  “Wait here,” Wade ordered, stalling my hand on the door handle.

  “Why?”

  Wade looked at me. “Because the kind of girl who eagerly climbs into the cab of a grizzly trucker she’s never met before for an impromptu road trip is the kind of girl who’s likely to get herself killed someday,” he grouched. “Let me talk to him,” he added, nodding slightly at the man in greasy overalls standing in the doorway of the one occupied garage bay.

  My heart warmed at Wade’s show of protectiveness. We were totally going to be friends.

  I watched him approach the mechanic, and within seconds Wade had the younger man smiling. Figuring that was my go sign, I hopped out of the cab and made my way toward them.

  “Thought I’d told you to wait in the truck,” Wade growled.

  “I did wait. Then I saw him,” I said, tipping my head in the mechanic’s direction, “smile, and I knew it was safe.”

  Wade looked at me like maybe I’d grown an extra appendage I hadn’t noticed. “You saw him smile?”

  “Yup.”

  “And that made you think it was safe?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Girl’s plum crazy,” he muttered, though I didn’t figure he was talking to anyone in particular.

  “You should listen to your friend, mamacita,” the mechanic offered. “It’s better to be safe than sorry, especially in a world with a whole lot of sorry to go around.”

  “It’s kind of you to look out for me,” I paused, glancing at his name tag, “Miguel.”

  Wade huffed.

  “And you too, Wade.” I beamed at him. “Anyway, Miguel, my RV is sitting on the side of the road back there.” I hitched a thumb over my shoulder in the general direction from which we came. “And I could really use your help getting her back into fighting shape.”

  Miguel grimaced. “RVs aren’t exactly my specialty, mama, but I can take a look and see what I can do.”

  Wade insisted I ride back with him to where Suzie Q was woefully abandoned despite grumbling about how I was jacking up his whole route schedule. I got the warm fuzzies that he felt the need to protect me from Miguel, even though I’d already deemed him harmless. Miguel followed behind us in his tow truck.

  I breathed a sigh of relief when the old girl entered my field of vision. I’d had horrible visions of her being stolen or vandalized while I was away, my transportation and home done for. Thankfully, that wasn’t the case, as it appeared folks ignored abandoned vehicles on the side of the road just as they did stranded young women.

  I led Miguel to where I’d seen the smoke billowing out of Suzie Q and let him do whatever magic he needed to perform in order to get my girl back on the road.

  He coughed, cursed, and tinkered until he finally stood back and gave me a long look. “I can’t be certain it’s the only problem, but it looks like you just overheated.”

  “So…what do I do?”

  “Don’t know much about engines, I take it?”

  “Pfft. Not a thing.”

  Miguel darted a quick glance at Wade, who made a strange choking noise at my admission. “From what I can tell, there are no obvious leaks, but you’ll want to be sure to top off your coolant since you’re low. Don’t run the A/C, it puts too much stress on the engine.”

  “Okay, I can do that. Anything else?”

  Miguel had me put the RV in neutral and turn the engine over so he could finalize his off-the-cuff assessment before closing the
compartment panel and giving me the go-ahead to drive to the nearest gas station for a bottle of coolant.

  “You’re a lifesaver, Miguel! How much do I owe you?” I silently prayed that it wasn’t more than I had in my checking account, but chances were, it was.

  He looked me over. “On the house, mamacita.”

  I threw my arms around him. “Thank you so much!” I sent a little extra gratitude into the universe as well for my good fortune.

  Miguel laughed, patting my back awkwardly. “Alright, alright. You’re going to get grease all over your pretty outfit,” he warned.

  I jumped back, quickly glancing down to survey my white, eyelet shorts and white tank top which declared, “Suns out, buns out.” The hotdog buns sunning themselves on lounge chairs holding margarita glasses were free of any dark stains. Whew.

  “You can answer me a question, though.”

  “Sure. What’s that?”

  “What did you mean you could tell I was safe by my smile?”

  I shrugged one shoulder. “You can tell a lot by a person’s smile.”

  His eyes narrowed and a funny smile graced his full lips. “You can?”

  “Sure.” It was true. Was their smile close-lipped and tight? Was it open and toothy? Did it reach their eyes or was it strained? I tried not to judge people as a general rule, but if the situation called for it, a person’s smile told me all I needed to know. “And I knew right away, you were one of the good ones.”

  “Interesting method,” he murmured. “Well, I’d best be getting back to the garage. It was nice meeting you, Tuesday.”

  “It was nice meeting you too, Miguel. Oh, wait! If you’re not going to let me pay you at least let me give you something.”

  “That’s not….”

  I didn’t hear the rest of what he said because I was already back in my RV rummaging around in Suzie Q’s back end for the big plastic tote that held my handmade mugs. Finding one with colors I thought suited Miguel best, I wrapped it in old newspaper and hurried back outside.

  “For you,” I declared, shoving the gift into his hands. I watched him peek inside.

  “You made this?” he asked, his face softening.

  “I did. It’s what I do. Make things, that is.”

  Miguel wrapped the paper tightly around the mug, his grease-stained, calloused hands exhibiting the utmost care. “Thank you,” he said, his smile once again telling me everything I needed to know.

  I waved goodbye as Miguel climbed back into his tow truck and performed a u-turn, honking as he drove away.

  “Well?” I asked Wade, smug smile on my face.

  “Well, what?”

  “As you can see, I didn’t get myself killed.”

  Wade snorted. “Yet.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” I waved away his pessimism. “I have something for you too. Wait right here.”

  “Don’t need nothing, girl!” he shouted at my back.

  “Too late!” I called from inside Suzie Q. These boys were gonna have to be a little quicker if they really wanted to thwart my generous nature.

  It took me mere seconds to find exactly what I was looking for. I hopped down out of the RV and handed my gift to Wade.

  He held it up to the glaring Texas sun to examine it, the blues and greens swirling together in the glass casting a kaleidoscope on the asphalt. “I take it you made this too?” he asked gruffly.

  “I did.” In addition to ceramics, glass art was my jam. “Do you know who that is?” I asked, indicating the small medal hanging from the leather strip which also suspended the glass medallion.

  “Saint Christopher,” he whispered.

  I smiled. “Patron saint of travelers,” I confirmed.

  Wade lowered his arm and cleared his throat. “Thank you, Tuesday.” His voice was low and slightly raspy.

  “You’re welcome, Wade,” I answered just as quietly.

  2

  _______

  Daniel

  “I’d really rather not,” I groaned, letting my head fall back against the rust-colored velveteen couch, against my better judgment. Chances were, this couch, clearly from the disco era, had seen its fair share of bodily fluids over the decades. I was probably sitting in someone’s spent baby batter at that very moment, but I was too tired to care.

  “Dude, come on. You never come out with us anymore. Just come have a few drinks. Get laid. You deserve it.”

  I shook my head at my best friend’s whining. “Charlie, I’m beat.” I’d just finished a two hour set in front of twenty thousand fans, and I was going to do it all over again in less than forty-eight hours. Even if I wasn’t exhausted, alcohol was no good for my vocal chords, and I wasn’t about to disappoint the hordes of fans who flocked to my shows for the sake of Jack, Jim, and Jose.

  “Dan the Man, what’s the point in being a rock star if you don’t get to party like one?”

  I snorted. “I’m hardly a rock star, Char.” Multi-Grammy award winning singer-songwriter, yes. Rock star? Not even close.

  “Fine,” he huffed. “Well, I’m going out, and I’m going to get laid.”

  I cracked a smile, though I didn’t bother to open my achingly dry eyes. “I find it hard to believe there’s even a woman left that you haven’t already nailed.”

  Charlie, the notorious manwhore that he was, feigned offense. “I don’t nail chicks, Daniel, that term’s just offensive.”

  “And referring to women as ‘chicks,’ isn’t?”

  “Not when they start henpecking me for another go ‘round,” he grumbled.

  “You’re a pig. Get out,” I joked.

  “Yeah, I’m going, and I promise to have enough orgasms for the both of us, since you’re so intent on being a loser.”

  “Please, do not do me any favors,” I deadpanned right before a flying guitar pick hit me square in the forehead.

  “Whatevs. I’m out, loser!” he called before the door quietly snicked shut behind him.

  “Later,” I mumbled to the empty room. I raised my water bottle to my lips and downed half of it. Mustering up the energy to drag my sweat-sogged ass back to my tour bus was proving to be difficult. I needed about ten more bottles of water and a hot shower to wash away the stink before falling face first into bed and not waking up until I was due for sound check in two days.

  “Oh, good, you’re still here.”

  I cracked one eye open and bestowed my best side eye on my manager. “Sup, Kenny?”

  He barely spared me a glance, eyes locked on the phone in his hand. “Just talked to Arturo. He thinks we can extend the European leg of the tour to include extra dates in Spain and Portugal.”

  I sighed, wishing my tour manager wasn’t so damn proficient at his job sometimes.

  “What’s that all about?” Kenny asked, finally looking at me, eyebrow raised.

  With effort, I pulled myself up into a sitting position. “I’m just tired. Think I’m going to catch a cab back to the hotel.”

  “You don’t need to catch a cab. The car’s outside,” he said, frowning while indicating the door that led out to the back parking lot.

  Of course it was. Kenny was just as proficient at his job as Arturo was at his. “Right. Night, man.”

  “Daniel?”

  Kenny’s call gave me pause, my hand on the door. “Yeah?”

  “You sure you’re all right?”

  The truth was, I was exhausted. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. I was feeling jaded and disillusioned. Surrounded by dozens of people every day and yet so utterly isolated. “Yeah, Kenny. I’m all right.” Without looking back, I pushed the door wide and stepped out onto the rain soaked asphalt.

  Finally back in my hotel room, I peeled my clothes off on the way to the bed, letting them fall carelessly to the floor like a trail of breadcrumbs, before falling face first into the soft bedding. I felt slightly guilty, since the fine Egyptian cotton didn’t deserve the abuse of my rancid-smelling, sweat-soaked body.

  My limbs all but refusing to work, I log rolled myself off the side of the bed. Continuing to roll until I reached the bathroom with its multi-head shower was mighty tempting, but I again felt guilty about spreading my stink around. The plush, cream carpet deserving it even less than the bedding.

  I turned the water on and set it to scald-my-ballsack before emptying my pockets on the long, marble countertop and stripping. I prayed I didn’t pass out from my own stench before I stepped under the spray and reached for the fancy hotel body wash. Yeah, that’s right, body wash. None of that archaic bar soap for this highfalutin’ hotel. God forbid.