#Book 1 - Page 16 (1/2)

I looked over at him. His eyes were intently focused on the road in front of him, which was a good thing considering the fog. Still, I had a real issue with awkward silences to the point that I will always prattle on about G.o.d knows what just to fill the air.

I cleared my throat. “It’s nice to see you in the daylight.”

He nodded, still keeping his eyes forward.

“Was it a long drive?” I pressed.

“No more than usual,” he said bluntly. His voice was bordering on a growl.

I was so confused. Was this the same guy I was talking to on the phone for the last two days?

He must have sensed the stupid look on my face as he finally took his eyes off the road to look at me. He still didn’t say anything, though.

I managed a nervous, stupid smile. With the strange force behind his eyes, I preferred it when he was ignoring me.

“Do you drive to Portland often?” I asked, sounding even more pathetic. “I mean, we have no sales tax here so it’s pretty popular with Was.h.i.+ngtonites…er, Was.h.i.+ngtonians.”

He ignored me.

“Do you like music?” he asked in a way that suggested he didn’t really care what my answer was.

“Who doesn’t?” I asked by way of saying yes.

He shrugged and flipped on the MP3 player. It started playing a song that was immediately familiar to me. It was one of my favorite bands, it was loud, and it was very fitting that we were listening to it (the song was named after the 101 highway we were to take once we hit the coast). Somehow the music also suited him to a tee; intense, weird and hard to cla.s.sify.

I started mouth the words to the song, careful not to utter a peep. He raised his eyebrows at me.

“At least you have good taste in music. We might get along at this rate.” I could have sworn there was an audible trace of admiration in his growl.

It was a bit easier to sit in silence now that we had the music blaring. Its familiarity was comforting in this strange situation.

That said, we probably drove without speaking for another half hour before heading off the I-5 and getting on the highway that would carry us to Cannon Beach.

After eyeing his fuel gauge, Dex abruptly wheeled the car into a gas station, pulling up beside a gas pump. He turned off the car, got out and leaned in on the window, arms resting above the car. It looked like he was stretching, so I let him be. He had his head down and was shaking it slowly back and forth.

I tried not to stare at him. I focused my attention on the normalcy of the gas station, the minivans full of writhing kids, the man in his “midlife crisis” sports car who inexplicably had the top down despite the chilly temperatures, and the gas station attendant who was coming over to us. There were posters for hot coffee on the walls of the store. Another giant cup of steaming coffee would help all my woes.

I picked my bag off of the floor and started rooting around in it for loose change when the hairs on my neck began to rise. I cautiously turned my head to the left. Dex was staring straight at me, still as a deer, with a huge grin on his face.

Ada was right, I thought. He really is the Devil.

Even though I felt chilled to the bone, I put on my “Can I help you?” face and played it cool, like I was used to people just grinning at me for no reason.

“Can you get me a coffee too?” he asked, his voice a tad brighter than earlier.

I nodded, muttered “sure,” and eased myself out of the SUV. How he knew what I was thinking, well I didn’t know. Coincidence, I guess.

Once inside the ugly lights of the convenience store, I felt better. I decided it was a good time to text my mother. I was probably going to get an “ARE YOU ALIVE?” text from her any minute.

I went to the register to pay for the coffees—I realized I had forgotten to ask Dex what he takes in it but figured he was a “straight black” kind of guy—when the bespectacled store clerk asked me where I was headed.

“Just to Rocky Point for the night,” I said.

He shook his head. “There’s a huge storm heading this way. Bad weather for the entire Oregon and Was.h.i.+ngton coast.”

Oh, just great. Hopefully it wouldn’t get in the way of our filming.

I thanked the man for the coffee and scuttled out of the store. He was on to something; the sky to the west was growing darker instead of growing lighter. I s.h.i.+vered while somehow managing to not spill the coffee.

The attendant was busy pumping gas into the car’s tank and making some sort of small talk with Dex, who eyed my coffees greedily as I approached them. He smiled broadly, a toothpick sticking out of the corner of his mouth, his tongue fiddling with it rapidly.

“Sorry,” I said, handing him the coffee. “I didn’t know what you wanted, so I just got black. Hope that’s OK.”

He grabbed the cup from my hand. Our fingers touched, brushed, and sparked. It wasn’t a normal spark of static electricity. In fact, as he took the cup from me and raised it to his lips, he didn’t appear to notice. But it felt like a trail of energy pa.s.sed from his body onto mine. It ran up my arm, down my spine and surrounded me in luxurious, hazy warmth, like I was draped in hot towels straight out of the dryer. It was the weirdest thing on a day already full of weirdness.

His took a satisfying gulp, toothpick still in his mouth. His eyes were softer now, round, with sleepy lids. A smile twitched at the corner of his moustache. He looked younger, cute even.

Dangerously cute.

He gave me a wink and I abruptly looked away, turning my attention to the sky in hopes of covering up my blatant staring. The irony wasn’t lost in that he could stare freely at me—like a psycho, I might add—while I wanted to keep my actions close to my chest.