Page 49 of Existential

“He doesn’t say much about anything.”

It’s usually the ones who need to, that don’t. Dog and I ride in silence for the rest of the trip. I opt to sit in the truck while Dog collects King’s favorite for lunch—nachos with everything—and run through the pros and cons of staying in my head as I people watch.

On the plus side, I’m fed. All they’ve asked for in return so far is to help out around the place where I can. But how long that hospitality lasts, I don’t know. The “property” as Dog called them, made it pretty clear that women who don’t belong to anyone don’t usually stick around long if they aren’t prepared to shake what their mamma gave them for the men’s enjoyment.

Also on the negative side is the glaringly obvious: I’ve got no interest in becoming a biker’s woman. And let’s face it; Hooch is the only reason I’d stick around.

Still, it’s enough to keep me curious, and the niggle of never knowing if I don’t try has me ready to stick out the hell that is feeling as though I’ve over-stayed my welcome for a little longer.

Dog climbs into the cab with me, handing the cardboard container over. “What’d you decide?”

“Huh?” I settle the package on my lap, buckled up and ready to go.

“You coming back, then?” He gives me a knowing smile.

“What made you think I wouldn’t?”

He indicates to my feet as I rearrange my legs over top of my bag. “You bought all your worldly possessions with you.”

Busted. “I wasn’t sure, okay?”

“But you’re settled now?”

“Settled, no. Made peace for now, yes.” I offer him a wane smile. “Take me home, Dog.”