AUTHORS NOTE: This story was written while deployed overseas, and prior to the horrible events of Katrina, which is why New Orleans is portrayed the way it is. Keep the people of the Gulf coast in your thoughts, prayers, and givings.
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"Where are you?"
"Texas."
"That's a bit vague, isn't it?"
"Probably about seventy miles short of San Antonio. Going to see the Alamo."
"You aren't really going to see the Alamo, are you?" Mothers are not very good at hiding concern in their voice. Or maybe they just don't try. She could never really tell with her mother. They were not what one might call close. Which was one of many factors leading to her current situation, or adventure, as she preferred to think of it.
"When am I going to hear from you again?"
"I don't know. If I find anything cool in Antonio, I'll give you a call."
"Ok. Be careful. Don't forget what is going on back here."
"Ok. I won't. Later." She hung up, and stepped out of the small booth, looking down the length of the dinner to the table she had left a couple of minutes ago, finding the man sitting opposite her bag, sipping his coffee.
He was just over six feet, solidly built with firmness and muscle in all the right places, his hair cut just a bit to short, his face constantly caught in a five o'clock shadow that seemed to show ten minutes after he shaved. The hands cradling the coffee mug were massive shovels, and the calluses on them each had their own stories to tell. She wanted to hear them, but he was not telling.
So she just slid into her seat again, flashed him a smile, and dug into the plate that had appeared in her absence.
"Family okay?"
"Yeah. Still worried about me."
"Families tend to do that." He looked out the window, then placed the cup down, and picked up the map again. "Ever been to San Antonio?"
She shook her head, and he laughed. "Me neither. Which is why I wanted to come." He had said the same thing about most of New Mexico and Arizona, the state they had meet up in. "So we have to hit the Alamo, and maybe one or two of these museums."
"And then what?"
"I don't know, what do you want to do?"
"I'm along for the ride."
He looked at his traveling companion for a second, considering her words. They had linked up in Phoenix, during one of the rare rainstorms that occasionally give life to the dust city. She had been standing on the corner, soaked to the bone, considering her next move, the motel she had approached booked solid over some stupid convention. He had approached her, and she had slept in his bed while he rolled around on the floor.
At the time, he had been pretty drunk, and she figured she could fight him off with mace and her taser if he got crazy. But he had no such ambitions. Instead they awoke the next day, and said hi over breakfast. He was surprised to see that the woman who had looked like a drowned rat the night before was actually a blond haired, green-eyed little hottie. Her tanned skin belied her east coast origins, and the nicely formed body told him that she was somebody who was not used to the streets. She had come out here on her own volitions, and was wandering the southwest for her own reasons, reasons he did not ask about. She did not ask his, and so they traveled together in a kind of mutual peace, enjoying each other's company and the beautiful country they both loved.
Over the last ten days things had come out about both of them, but neither had asked anything more then what the other revealed, content to let whatever happened happen. They shared the amount of tension filled moments that were bound to occur, but other then her hugging him tight as they rode his massive hog across the rolling roads, or dancing at night in some dive bar, they never had anything that could be called intimacy.
"I intend to end up down into Florida, the keys."
"Sounds good."
"Ok then." He dropped a twenty on the table, and they rose, heading outside. He watched as she secured the saddlebags on the bike, one of the first things he had taught her, again admiring her beautiful form as she worked. The lack of sexual relations between them was not due to any lack of desire on his part, but more out of a lack of courage. If he made a move, his lovely traveling companion might depart the holding pattern, and he did not think that temporary gratification was worth ruining what they were sharing.
They both slipped on their sunglasses and helmets, and then climbed on, and he fired up the Harley. Minutes later they were on the interstate, blowing into San Antonio, and heading straight downtown for the famous Texan holdout.
They spent the afternoon exploring the historic downtown and the riverfront, looking for the entire world like a traveling couple, wandering around, taking pictures with disposable cameras, laughing, eating at one of the small diners, and finally pointing themselves east, and heading out of town. They almost never stayed in the big cities, they cost too much. Instead they would head out into the wastelands again, and see how far they could push it.
Tonight they made it until about eleven, when he felt the familiar signs of heaviness in his eyes, and pulled over into the parking lot of the first hotel they came to, a Holiday Inn tonight.
"I got this one." Alexis hopped of the back of the bike, and walked inside, trying to shake her legs out. She was a cute little bow legged thing, he thought to himself.
The place had a pool, so they dropped in for a dip to rinse the dust off, then traded turns in the shower, with him going first while she ordered room service. He stepped out just as the waiter dropped of their food, and he watched her dig into the massive sandwich she had ordered for them to split. They shared a lot of food, neither of them big eaters.
Dropping onto one of the two beds in the room, he continued to watch her eat as he dried himself, then dropped the towel and slipped back into his boxers.
"You know, the most modest you are not."
"I almost take that as a compliment from the woman that prances around the room every morning in her thong and bra." Chris smiled at her, and she frowned.
"At least I'm dressed."
"Let's clarify dressed. Underwear that lets your ass hang out, and makes it very clear to me that you spend at least some portion of your time in the bathroom either shaving or plucking down there, is not considered dressed."
"You telling me I need new undies?"
"I'm saying that fair is fair. But if it bothers you, I'll stop."
She smiled at him, wiping the crumbs from her lips. No, it did not bother her. He was a damn good looking specimen of man, with a chiseled body and powerful hands and shoulders, dark eyes that seemed to constantly be surveying the world around him, evaluating, studying, learning.
"Where is Mrs. Chris at?" It was a question she had wanted to ask for a while, and the sudden courage surprised her when the words flew out of her mouth.
"Six feet under." It was apparent that the answer pained him, and he laid down on the bed, food forgotten, eyes closed.
"Where is Mr. Alexis?"
"Hanging out back home, I guess."
He rolled his head towards her, eyes open again. So there was somebody else. Good to know. Wrapping up the rest of the food, she slipped into her own bed, hitting the light and ending the conversation.
When she awoke, he was gone. The second night they had been together, this had disturbed her greatly. But now she was used to it, so she just relaxed, and looked over at the clock. It was eight twenty, he would be back soon. Stretching out, she took the chance to get her thong and bra on, along with pants, before he got back.
The clicking in the door signaled his return, and she looked up from the complimentary USA Today to see his sweat drenched form walk through the door. She did not know how far he ran, or what else he did, but he looked as if he swam a couple of laps in sweat river, his eyes hollow and drained, his face flushed, breathing ragged and shallow.
He looked at her, shook his head with a soft smile, then stepped into the shower. That was not the usual routine. Looking down at her outfit, she wondered what was wrong now. She was wearing jeans, the fashionable kind that hung low on her hips. Maybe he did not approve of the fact that one could see her thong, in keeping with their discussion last night. Or maybe he was just not a fan of hot pink demi cup bras. She shrugged, and separated the business and politics sections of the paper for him, the only parts he ever seemed to read. And comics, but USAT lacked those.
He remerged, already dressed in his boxer this time, a relaxed smile on his face. Walking over to his bags, he cast another glance at her, and shook his head.
"What?"
"You know…you are very beautiful woman."
She stopped for a second, surprised by the words. He had never said anything that might be considered flirty like that to her. She had gotten a haircut last week, and he had mentioned it. A new pair of sneakers two days ago, a mention of her small feet. But nothing that blatant.
