Inferno - Chelle Bliss by Chelle Bliss

“Well…” He pauses, adjusting his large frame in the driver’s seat of his truck as his fingers tighten around the steering wheel, “I guess I would, but it’s different.”

I turn my body so I’m facing him. “How?” I already know what he’s going to say without his having to utter the words.

“I’m a man.”

Ding. Ding. Ding.

There we go.

He’s a man and somehow can take care of himself, whereas I cannot because of my breasts.

“I’m just as capable.”

He grunts but doesn’t look my way. “Darlin’,” he says, and I hate that my heart flutters at that word. “No offense, but…”

Anytime someone says no offense, they are about to offend the fuck out of you. And while there may be a smidge of truth to his words when it comes to strength, there are no other reasons I can’t make it on my own, unlike him and his penis.

“I’ve been homeless before,” I blurt out, wanting to prove a point and not caring about sharing more details with him than I do with many people in my life.

That gets his full attention. He turns his gaze toward me as we idle at a red light. “No shit. Really?” I can hear the astonishment in his voice.

“Yep. When I was eighteen and for about a year. And even with my tits and ass, I somehow survived. I think I could do it again.”

“That’s some crazy shit. At eighteen?”

“Yeah. It was a learning experience.”

“I didn’t mean anything by you being a woman.”

“No?”

He shakes his head, easing off the brake when the light turns green. I take the opportunity to stare at him, memorizing the little details of his masculine face. “There’re so many shady fuckers out there.”

“Oh, I’m aware. I trusted no one until I met Jeff, and you know how well that turned out. But really, drop me off where there are other people, and I’ll figure it out for the night.”

“It’s late.”

“And?”

“It’s too late to be dropped somewhere with no money or phone. Where would you go?”

I shrug even though he can’t see me. “Everyone goes somewhere. Tomorrow, I’ll get my purse and find a new place to live.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It is, but obviously not one you’re willing to accept.”

He shakes his head. “Nope. I don’t accept it. I can’t drop you off and drive away, going on with my night like nothing happened. What kind of person would do that?”

My foster parents and Jeff.

Jeff did it tonight without any thought for my safety, and my foster parents did that when I was still a kid. As soon as the checks stopped rolling in, I was pushed right out.

“Don’t give it a second thought,” I reassure him. “I promise to stay alive. Just forget about me.”

He drives in silence without replying to my statement. As we approach a bar with a bright sign reading Neon Cowboy, he pulls in, parking close to the street but facing the front entrance.

I don’t say anything as he cuts the engine and sits absolutely still for a few seconds.

I reach for the door, figuring he’s already checked out and is just waiting for me to make my exit.

“Opal,” he says softly before I have a chance to pull the handle.

I look at him, his face illuminated by the sign. “Yeah?” I ask as my stomach twists.

His emerald eyes meet mine, making the knot in my stomach vanish. “Stay for a night, and if you want me to drop you somewhere tomorrow, I will. Please,” he begs. “I can’t leave you here and go home, falling asleep like nothing happened. I won’t be able to live with myself, and yes, my mother would kick my ass, but that’s beside the point.”

“Don’t tell her.”

He grimaces and shakes his head. “I’d be surprised if she doesn’t already know. My cousin Gigi has a big mouth, and nothing stays secret in my family for long.”

“Tell her I found a friend.”

His eyes widen as he pulls his head back, pressing his body into the door. “I’m not lying to my mom, Opal. We may keep a secret or two, but we don’t lie to one another.”

That’s oddly refreshing. I don’t think I know many people who don’t lie. We all have things we’d rather not confess to, even if they’re small.

“You wouldn’t exactly be lying. I’ll make fast friends with someone,” I tell him, trying to alleviate his anxiety about leaving me here.

He turns his gaze toward the bar and grabs the steering wheel with one hand, gripping the leather tightly. “I can’t force you to stay. You’ve had enough of that shit in your life, but I’m pleading with you…begging for you to let me help you—at least for tonight.”

“I don’t know,” I say, keeping my fingers wrapped around the door handle. “It’s not fair.”

“To whom?”

“You,” I whisper.

He exhales loudly. “Do you snore?”

I shake my head. “Not that I know of.”

“Do you fart in your sleep?”

I shrug and snort. “I don’t know. I’m asleep. Do you?”

“Sometimes,” he says honestly. “Then why wouldn’t it be fair?”