“Okay then…” He exhaled a drawn-out sigh that made her wonder how long he’d been holding his breath. “Guess we’re done here. I told Mom I’d be by today. You’d like her, but hey. Wouldn’t want you to have to walk on the wild side with a loser like me.”
“I never called you a loser.” Yet she had in a way, and she knew it. “Umm…” Ashley had no idea why she was still sitting in his truck. This wasn’t a date. Yet she didn’t want to end things this way, with him mad at her for doing her job, with her wondering what might’ve been if she’d taken the chance to get to know him. Not that there was anything going on between Tripp and her. There wasn’t, and not all guys were creeps. Most of them, yes, but it was just possible that he’d told the truth. That his sister, what was her name? Oh, yeah, Trish. That she’d lied. It was possible. Make that highly probable. After all, street urchins weren’t known for their honesty. It just seemed so bizarre, his sister naming him as one of her sexual partners.
“Does your mom like coffee?” she asked, watching him out of the corner of her eye.
He nodded at the windshield. “Mom likes everything and everybody. Her name’s Andrea, by the way, but you can call her Andy. She’d like that. Hell, she’d like you.”
“She would? Then, umm…” Ashley couldn’t believe she was still sitting there. By herself. Without Mrs. Harrison as a buffer for protection, as if Barbara could protect anyone.
Ashley was on the verge of doing it. Being brave again. Taking a chance. Not running away. Until, right on schedule, her chest was too small for her heart and lungs. Inhaling took effort. Her ribs felt cramped and tight, as if her bra had shrunk two sizes too small. Something inside of her rattled like crazy. It took everything she had to relax her left shoulder, lower it, and then turn enough to face him.
“W-what are we waiting for?” she stuttered breathlessly.
Truly, breathlessly. As in, without sufficient air in her lungs to make her vocal cords form those few words, to make them sound firm or loud, strong and confident, or—anything. Her heart was pounding behind her eyes, at the top of her head, even at the tips of all her fingers and toes. She was a coiled spring wound so tight that if she broke loose, she might tear the inside of this truck apart. Silly black dots danced at her peripheral, pushing her closer to the edge of control. The truck’s walls were closing in. The windows weren’t big enough or open wide enough. This was a mistake. Too early. Too soon. Too much!
“Because you still don’t trust me,” he said firmly, “and I get that, Ashley, honest, I do. You’re a single woman, and women need to be careful these days. I’ve done nothing, yet you’re unwilling to consider that the source of your information is the liar, not me. That maybe none of the men Trish slandered to get whatever drugs she needs to keep working the streets, did what she’s accused them of. Trust me, I know my sister, and Trish would lie even when the truth sounds better. I know that’s harsh, but do you honestly think hookers always tell the truth? Or is it just men you don’t trust?”
“Men,” Ashley whispered, swallowing hard, her trembling body and her heart at war with her common sense. But it only took once to be wrong. Which was why she worked in a nice, safe job for the city now. Also why she never went out at night, never left her apartment for anything but work, never dated and had no friends. Women’s lib and personal freedom didn’t mean anything if you let the wrong person into your safe place. All it took was once. “I’m sorry. It’s my job to notify people who’ve been identified as possible carriers of… you know.”
Tripp snorted. “See, you can’t even say the words. You condemn people without a fair trial. You impugn their names, and I’ll bet that info, right or wrong, gets stored in some deep, dark government file, doesn’t it? Christ!” There went his hand again, up the back of his neck and over his head. Ruffling that pretty hair like a combine mowing over stalks of wheat in a field of gold. “If the government has it, the whole damned world can get it. Just what I need, more shit to deal with.”
Panic whispered, “I can’t do this.”
He turned his head and looked closer at her. “What? Ashley? Are you—?”
Cranking that slick, sweat-covered door handle, she clutched her bag to her chest and exploded out of the truck. “I’ve got to go.”
“Ashley, no!”
The curb was a long way down. She didn’t make it very far. By the time her feet were safely on concrete, Tripp’s big strong fingers were gently curled around her biceps. He was in front of her, holding her up. Not letting her fall. Not shoving or threatening. Just—there.
He crouched low enough to peer into her face, but she couldn’t let him see her. Not like this. Couldn’t let him in. She hated being vulnerable, couldn’t let it happen again. Closing her eyes, Ashley bowed her head and raked her fingers through the ponytail now sagging at the nape of her neck. The knot let loose. Her hair was long and thick enough. It made a solid curtain to hide behind. Instantly, Tripp vanished from view.
“My God, you’re shaking.” He exerted just enough pressure on both of her arms, forcing her knees to bend.
It would be so easy to lean into him for support.
Never.
“You’re hyperventilating.”
Tell me something I don’t know.
“On the curb, Ashley. Sit down, now,” he ordered quietly. “Nice and easy. You’re having a panic attack, that’s all. No worries. I’ll stay with you. I won’t let you fall. Hold my hand. There you
