Chapter 6

“What were you looking at?” he asks around a laugh.

Beautiful you is the only answer that swims around my rattled brain. It takes me a second to dig up, “Nothing, I guess. I must be tired.”

“Yeah, well, not anymore, I bet. That woke me the fuck up, anyhow.”

“Yeah. Right? Wow. Sorry, man. I just…yeah. Sorry.”

He’s laughing. We’re both unhurt, and only ten feet from the highway. All’s well that ends well, as the man said. This is more of a momentary blip to break up the monotony of a long desert drive than any kind of incident, what-might-have-been notwithstanding. I laugh too. His stomach’s shaking again, and as soon as my adrenaline levels pool back around a non-aneurism-inducing level, I quickly forgive myself. There are worse ways to die than from ogling a body like George Cortner’s.