Joyride. Colleen Collins
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boldly proclaimed, life was too short to hide your best assets.
So what were her best assets? Considering she’d worn see-through plastic and Tony’s gaze hadn’t slipped once, she was left a bit clueless. She raised one leg, and checked out her calf. The muscle was nicely molded from her daily runs. She ran her fingers up her thighs, firm, to her tummy, flat. She tilted her head and sighed. The tummy she’d once wished would soon be round. “Well, you’re not gonna be round for a while,” she whispered.
When her stomach growled, Corinne realized she hadn’t eaten since that pit stop in some small town near the Utah border where she’d grabbed a bag of chips and a soda. Reminded her of the nights she sat up waiting for Tony, munching on a pretzel or a carrot, not wanting to spoil her dinner because she figured they’d still eat the stew—or lasagna or casserole—that’d been sitting lukewarm on the stove the last two-plus hours. After a few more pretzels, Corinne would give up and go to bed. In the morning, Tony would apologize, claiming he’d had a late business meeting with a client.
“A frizzy blond-haired client,” Corinne murmured. How could I have been so naive?
Click click click.
The staccato of Sandee’s heels brought Corinne’s thoughts back to the present. She looked up as her cousin crossed the faux wood floor of the small dining room, carrying a white wicker tray piled high with food and several pop-sized bottles. Corinne could finally walk straight in her stilettos, but it would take some practice for her to simultaneously carry trays of food like Sandee. That girl was multitalented.
“Egg rolls,” explained Sandee, pointing at some crispy fried cylinders with her rose-tipped index finger. Her finger waved over the rest of the items, like Vanna White gesturing over letters. “A chili relleno, chicken nuggets, some carrot sticks and two Mai Tais.” She set the tray on the glass coffee table next to a stack of women’s magazines.
Sandee then plopped herself onto the couch and uncorked one of the bottles with “Maui Zowie Mai Tai” embossed in purple letters on a shiny label. She toasted Corinne with a short “Here’s looking at you, kiddo,” took a sip, then began talking rapidly. “So, here’s the deal, I got this job at a local casino…”
Corinne uncorked her own Mai Tai and tasted it, liking how it fizzled sweetly on her tongue. She settled back into the cushy couch, eager to hear one of Sandee’s life stories.
“And then this dude Hank enters my life,” Sandee 30 Joyride continued, picking up an egg roll. She paused, her blue-lined eyes misting over as she looked at the roll. “Reminds me of a baby bird he picked off the asphalt once. Little thing must have fallen out of its nest. Hank—we was driving past—lurches to a stop, hops out, and picks up that little bird. Big ol’ semi barely missed Hank as he carried that little feathered creature across the road to safety.” Sandee sniffed and set the egg roll back onto the plate. “For a guy with a record, he has such a soft heart,” she whispered, her voice choking.
Sandee, crying? Could this Hank guy be the one who twisted her heart? Corinne handed her one of the cocktail napkins, then sat quietly while Sandee dabbed carefully at her eyes, expertly wiping away her tears without mussing her makeup. Corinne was way impressed. When she cried, she needed a mirror and multiple tissues to do damage control.
When Sandee gained control of herself, Corinne quietly said, “We don’t have to talk about this.”
“You kiddin’? Honey, this is part of the deal. You need to know what’s happened.” Rolling back her shoulders, Sandee cleared her throat and continued, “Hank was a lightweight contender years ago. He works as a bouncer now, but he’s mostly on standby, so his paychecks get sketchy.”
Sandee wiped her fingers on a cocktail napkin with “The Mirage” printed diagonally across it. “On our second date, Hank starts tellin’ me I’m ‘the one’ and his heart is mine forever. I’m used to stuff like that on maybe the fourth or fifth date, but on the second?” Shooting Corinne a can-you-believe it look, Sandee took another sip of her Mai Tai.
Yes, Corinne could believe it. Sandee always had that effect on men. Even when she was fourteen, the year thirteen-year-old Corinne and her mom moved to Texas. Shy, quiet Corinne had at first been aghast at her cousin who wore tube tops, skintight jeans and bright-red lipstick that matched her hair. And when the two of them walked down a street, Corinne couldn’t believe the number of catcalls and whistles Sandee got. It was like walking through a human jungle.
“So this Hank fell for you,” Corinne said, enthralled with sultry Sandee’s power over the opposite sex.
“Bam!” Sandee snapped her fingers. “Like a megaton of bricks. So after the second-date dinner—steak and candlelight, Cuz, none of that cheap stuff—when he takes me for a ride outside town, I figure the guy’s gonna pop the question.” Sandee took another sip of her Mai Tai while wriggling her perfectly plucked eyebrows at Corinne.
“So?” Corinne asked, feeling thirteen again as she listened to her wild, sexy cousin tell forbidden tales.
“So he pops all right!” Sandee slammed down her bottle. “Pops the rear end of some shiny antique car! Now we’re off the side of the road, it’s dark, and Hank and some old dude get out to exchange insurance info.”
Corinne was wanting illicit tales of lust and love, not cars and insurance. Hiding her disappointment, she helped herself to the last spicy wedge of relleno, waiting for the rest of the story.
“Suddenly,” Sandee said, her voice dropping to a dramatic low, “Hank opens the back door and shoves this old guy’s limp body into the car! I yell, ‘What the hel—?”’ Sandee blinked. “Anyway, I yell some stuff, then Hank yells back, ‘Cool it. You drive this car back to your place. I’ll meet you there.”’
Corinne almost choked on the relleno. “You—” She coughed. “You drove some dead guy back here?” She looked around, half expecting to see a leg sticking out from underneath a chair.
“He wasn’t dead.” Sandee rapped her lighter against the thick glass top of the coffee table, the tap, tap, tap adding dramatic suspense. “I get to a stop light near the Strip and Mr. Back Seat suddenly comes to life, hops outta the car and runs like hell. The light turns green and I floor it. Last thing I need is Mr. Almost-Dead flagging down a cop and pointing at Hank’s car, which yours truly is driving!”
Corinne waited. But instead of explaining further, Sandee began adjusting her top so both boobs bulged the same bulge amount. This was a woman who knew her priorities.
“So,” Corinne finally said, “is that the end of the story?” Although with Sandee, one never knew the real story.
Sandee, satisfied she was bulging appropriately, stopped her adjustment and leveled Corinne a look. “And the end of Hank! He keeps calling, calling, but I want nuthin’ to do with a bump-and-run dude. Especially when he endangered me over an old Studebaker!”
Corinne only heard the words “bump and run.” The term Sandee had used on the phone. “What’s does, uh, ‘bump and run’ mean?” Corinne took a quick, involuntary breath in anticipation of the answer. It had to be as fiery as the color of Sandee’s hair.
“It’s…” Sandee lowered her gaze, suddenly preoccupied with one of the sequins on her fuchsia-pink sandal. “It’s nuthin’ really.”
Just like her cousin to avoid the question when she was up to no good. Definitely “Sandee Trouble,” but Corinne didn’t care. She was aching to know. “Bump and run” had to be better than any chapter in How to Make Your Man Howl. Probably a book in itself! “Tell me more,” she whispered, almost losing her voice in her thrill-drenched state.
“I gotta split town,” Sandee said matter of factly.
Not exactly the “more” Corinne wanted. But before she could elaborate, Sandee began speed-talking again.
“After that crazy stunt Hank pulled, I gotta put some distance between me and him, which is where you come in. You can stay at my place—there’s