Arizona Heat (4 page)

Francesca: So you big fat liar. Bet you didn't even get ice cream last night.

Crap.
I told her I would take a picture of Reagan to prove to her that I was really with him. That’s okay, he’s right next to me. Now, how do I get a picture as inconspicuously as possible? I hold my phone in front of my face, like I’m taking a selfie, and position it just right so the profile of his face is in view. I click the button and it makes a loud snap. Rookie mistake. Reagan looks at me like I’m some crazy psycho and I hold my hands up in defense.

“It’s not what it looks like,
”
I say with wide eyes.

“If you wanted a picture you could have just asked,
”
he smirks.

“No, I mean, yes, I was trying to take a picture.
”
Dear lord I sound like a creep. “Francesca doesn't believe that I’m with you and I will not be called a liar.
”
He throws his head back to laugh and I’ve never heard a more wonderful sound. He gestures for me to come closer so I scoot next to him until our hips touch. I am momentarily distracted by the smell of his cologne before I remember what I’m supposed to be doing. My hands miraculously figure out what to do while my brain refuses to focus on one task. I hold the phone up in front of our faces and snap a picture.

“Okay now make a different face,
”
I say.

“Why?
”
he asks with a curious smirk.

“She’ll think I edited your face next to mine if I don’t get two different ones,
”
I explain, reviewing the images. In the first one, Reagan is making a neutral face while staring up at the camera. My blonde curls are pointing in every direction, including covering his face. I slide to the next one and my heart stops. My mouth is open, mid-sentence, and I smile as I look at the camera. Reagan is in the middle of a laugh with his perfect smile on full display. His head is turned toward me, deep eyes full of curiosity. I shoot the picture off to Francesca with a stupid grin. She’s going to lose her freaking mind.

After setting my phone on the rock, I glance up to find Reagan staring at me. Our faces are inches away from each other and I hear my breath hitch. I want to look away. I can’t look away. His eyes bore into mine like they are searching for something. Just as I sense our faces are inching closer, a gust of wind throws me off balance and I feel my hand slip off the side of the rock. A loud yelp escapes my lips as a strong arm wraps around my waist, pulling me back to stable ground. I don’t realize I’ve done it until it’s over but I wrap my arms around his neck and glance backward at what was almost my impending death. As I swing my head around another gust of wind pushes us together and I laugh.

Rain comes out nowhere and I laugh even harder. Reagan swings his guitar around and tries to slide it back in the case so it doesn't get wet but it’s far too late. In seconds we are drenched and Reagan grabs my hand to help me to my feet. We take off in a sprint toward the car, barely finding it through the sheets of blinding rain. I tumble into the driver’s seat and listen as the water sounds like gunshots on the car. Reagan throws his guitar case into the back seat and settles into the passenger seat with a sigh.

“It’s too early for a monsoon,
”
I laugh.

“Global warming,
”
he shrugs with a sideways smile.

The rain eases slightly and I start to pull out of the parking lot.

“What are you doing?
”
he asks.

“Going home,
”
I answer, confused.

“You’re going to attempt to drive through this?”

I scoff and turn to him. “I’ve driven through western New York in the dead of winter. This rain has got nothing on that.”

Oh, how wrong I was. It takes a certain type skill to drive through an icy snowstorm but at least flurries allow for moderate transparency. The rain, heavy, unmoving walls of rain are impossible to see through. If I weren't so proud, I would have pulled over. We make our way slowly down the road and I lean into the windshield as if it will somehow allow me to see better.

“Please pull over,
”
Reagan begs for the hundredth time.

“I can see perfectly,
”
I lie.

“Fine. If I die, you are the one who has to deal with my vengeful fans.”

I open my mouth to make a rebuttal but the car starts to swerve. I yank the wheel to left in an attempt to regain control of the vehicle, but it’s no use. Everything that comes next happens in slow motion. I’m frantically grabbing at the wheel, my foot repeatedly slams on the breaks, I try to scream but my mouth won’t open, and in the moments before I lose consciousness, I look at Reagan to make sure this is really happening. His arm is straightened against the dash and I see his body falling forward. Are we falling? The last thought that goes through my head is an unclear mixture of regret and fear. The last thing I feel is pain.

My eyes flutter open and I’m momentarily disoriented before remembering the crash. The pounding in my head is unimaginable. I instinctually hold my hand to my forehead and find a streak of blood on my palm. The airbag is deployed and I’m thankful it worked. The way Rebecca looks from the outside, I wasn't convinced. My mind flutters to Reagan and I groan as I turn my head to the side, my neck aching in protest. He sits unconscious with his head turned away from me. My heart races and I ignore the ache of my entire body as I unbuckle the seat belt and lift myself over the center console.

“Reagan?
”
I give him a light shake and place a hand on his cheek, pulling it toward me. His head flops to the side and I feel a tear form in the corner of my eye. “Please,
”
I beg, hating myself for not pulling over. The doctor-in-training in me kicks in and I reach two fingers to his neck and look for a pulse.
Oh, thank god he isn't dead.
A wave of relief washes over me as I begin checking his vitals as best I can without any equipment or daylight. He seems to be okay, just unconscious, which you know, isn't great, but better than dead. I put the back of my hand over his forehead and he makes a low moan.

“Reagan,
”
I say, snapping my fingers in his face.

He groans.

“Say something.”

“I told you so,
”
he says and I resist the urge to slap him.

“Jerk,
”
I scold with a smile, happy he’s conscious and still has a sense of humor. I settle back into the driver’s seat as he shifts around, checking to make sure everything still works. Once we wrap our heads around the fact that we are alive and okay, I pull my phone out of my pocket to call for help.

“No bars,
”
I shrug.

“Me either,
”
Reagan says, holding his phone up to the window. I look down at my hands and remember that I am bleeding. What are the chances this car has a first aid kit? I check the center console and the glove box to find them both empty. Reagan eyes me curiously so I turn my head and allow him to see the blood.

“Oh shit, that is bleeding a lot.”

“Yeah, that’s why I’m looking for a first aid kit.”

“We need to get you somewhere and soon,
”
he says with wide eyes.

“I’ll be fine, we just need to call someone for help,
”
I insist.

“Even if we could get ahold of someone, they wouldn't be able to come get us,
”
Reagan points out.

“You’re sort of important. Can’t we just call the National Guard?
”
I suggest.

“Cute,
”
he smirks and I blush. Reagan starts grabbing his guitar case and reaches for the door handle.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m pretty sure there is a town just up the road,
”
Reagan says and before I can argue with him, he disappears into the rain. “Pop the trunk,
”
he shouts and I oblige before stepping into the storm. It feels like a thousand tiny needles simultaneously stabbing my skin. I feel around the side of the car to locate the trunk. My hands find a warm limb and I know that I have found Reagan. I try to yell over the showers but the pounding water is deafening. I place a few fingers on what feels like his arm and he places a hand on mine, leading my fingers to his. We hike up to the road and begin trudging through the windy rain.

A neon light shimmers in the distance and I sigh with relief as we approach a motel. The bell dings as we walk inside, dripping all over the entryway. A tall man with a scraggly beard appears from a room behind the counter and eyes us with curiosity as we approach him. The orange fluorescents pay tribute to the peeling wallpaper and grime on the floor. I look around the room with speculation as Reagan addresses the strange man at the counter.

“What can I help you folks with?
”
he asks with a toothpick sticking out of his mouth.

“We need to use your phone and a first aid kit.”

The man at the counter looks at my face and glares at Reagan.

“I crashed our car about a half mile down the road,
”
I explain.

“Uh huh.
”
He puts the phone on the counter and disappears in a back room without a word. Reagan looks back at me with an expression that mirrors my emotions. The man returns with a small box straight out of the eighties. I walk up to the counter and take out some bandages and ointment, mouthing a small mention of gratitude. Reagan finishes talking on the phone with his dad as I shift uncomfortably next to him. He looks down at me and I offer an uncertain smile.

“We have to wait the storm out,
”
he whispers to me.

I nod.

“We need a room,
”
Reagan announces to the man.

“All right,
”
he says, moving toward the keys hanging on the back wall. Reagan signs his name on a piece of paper and takes the key.

“Don’t I know you from somewhere?
”
the man asks.

“I don’t think so,
”
Reagan says quickly before placing a hand on my back and leading me out of the lobby. We walk under an awning to the room number that matches our key and I am taken aback by a foul odor. The room is as dingy as the lobby, rugs covered with mysterious stains and buckets on the floor for the drippy ceiling.

“Is your dad going to call mine?
”
I ask.

“Yeah, I told him we are fine and someone is coming to get us in the morning.”

“Great,
”
I nod before a cold shiver sends goosebumps over my skin. “I’m going to warm up in the shower,
”
I announce.

Stripping my clothes onto the bathroom floor is a sigh of relief until I look at the tub. There is an orange mildew covering the majority of the floor and the curtain is covered in black grime.
I guess my sandals are staying on
. I welcome the warm water and soon forget how gross the shower is. I have nothing to wash up with so I just let the water cascade over my body until my fingers prune. There are some “fresh
”
towels next to the sink that I use to dry myself off before regrettably putting my wet clothes back on and bandaging my forehead.

Oh, hello.
When I step out of the bathroom, Reagan’s gloriously tan chest is on full display as he sits on edge of the bed. One bed. Singular. No couch.

“I guess we have service now. Your phone was going off,
”
he says casually. I walk over to the desk and check my messages. There are a bunch of missed calls and a text from Francesca. I open the text first.

Francesca: YOU’VE GOT TO BE FUCKING KIDDING ME!!! That’s not real. Nope. Nope. Nope.

I send her the other photo and her response is instantaneous.

Francesca: AHHHHHH! Please have him sign something for me.

Yeah, no, I’m not asking him to sign something. Especially not while he’s shirtless, on the only bed in the room, where we are spending the night. I absentmindedly let my mind wander to a few choice fantasies. Somewhere between thoughts of a sweet serenade and something involving a pair of handcuffs, my phone lights up and “Simon
”
flashes across the screen.
Fucking hell.
My eyes dart around the room for some privacy and I quickly realize there is none.

“Hi Simon,
”
I say meekly.

“Josie, finally,
”
he says through the phone. I take a second to scroll through my missed calls and see six missed calls from Simon and two from my dad.

“Is something wrong?”

“No, why would something be wrong?
”
he asks nervously.

“Um, you called me six times.”

“Yeah, I texted you yesterday and you never responded.”

“So you called me six times?”

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay,
”
he says a little too sweetly.

“Yeah I’m fine,
”
I answer, glancing at Reagan who is eyeing me curiously.

“What have you been up to?
”
he asks.

“You know. Just hanging out with my dad.
”
That’s not a lie, right? I did hang out with my dad.

“Cool,
”
he says.

“Listen, I have to go. Can I call you tomorrow?
”
Why do I feel so guilty? It’s not like I’m doing anything wrong with Reagan. I’ll tell Simon about it tomorrow. I just don’t want to fight with him while Reagan is sitting right there.

“Sure, I love you,
”
he says, taking me off guard.

“I love you too,
”
I say, before hanging up the phone.