SWNOVELS Pump Two: Chapter 3
far my worst trait. In the past two weeks, I find my patience being tested when it comes to a certain gas station cashier.
Through no fault of her own, I want Violet, and I’m trying to hold back in fear that I’ll scare her away. So far, I’m failing.
This is by no means a love-at-first-sight situation, but lust on the other hand? Maybe.
It’s been four days since I last visited her, and I plan on going to the gas station tonight.
The first time I saw her was when I foolishly decided not to fill up before going on a ride at night. I almost ended up running out of gas, no thanks to my lack of organization. Violet’s gas station was the closest one that appeared on my phone’s navigation app, which showed that it was open overnight. When I arrived, I was met with a pair of dark eyes that were curiously peeking out of the window.
For someone who seemed shy at first, the way she shows her emotions is loud—her confidence seemingly amplified by my faceless appearance.
Our last meeting didn’t start with pleasantries because I was too busy seeing red. Some customer was giving Violet shit, and I arrived just in time to get him to fuck off. I would’ve handled it a lot more violently if I wasn’t so eager to make sure that she was okay. By the time I left, her shy demeanor and obvious attraction to me became completely addicting, and now, I just want to go back to see how much I can tease her.
I’m almost tempted to ride more often so I can deplete my gas and use it as an excuse to go back to the station. I can’t believe I’m considering increasing the size of my ecological footprint just to have a reason to visit her.
Her reaction when I lifted my visor was hilarious. I didn’t know it was possible for my eyes to elicit such a response from Violet. With her puffy lips opened wide in a silent gasp, it took everything in me not to meet them with my own.
I could stare at her face all day; angular and strong, adorned with full lips and sharp eyes. Black hair cascades over her shoulders, and under the fluorescent lights of the gas station, it has a sheen that makes it look like silk. In her nervous rambling, she let it slip what time her graveyard shift ended. After that fucker gave her trouble yesterday, I rode around for a bit and then followed her to make sure she got home safe.
“Bro.”
I shake my head as if coming out of a trance, my hair coming slightly loose from its hair tie. My best friend jerks his chin at me. “Choose your character,” Kas says. I forgot we were playing a fighting game on his console, so I mindlessly do as I’m told.
“I don’t know why I’m playing with you. I haven’t won once,” I complain, sinking back into the couch.
“We’re good at different things,” he replies nonchalantly, and I throw him a look of annoyance as I start moving my character around. I manage to land a couple of punches that don’t seem to do anything against Kas’ character.
“Yeah, and you’re good at everything,” I tell him, chaotically smashing the buttons on my controller as he casually works a combination to beat the living shit out of my on-screen fighter. “How long will it take until you beat me this time? Ten seconds? Five?” I question, leaning forward to get a better look at the screen and watch Kas’ hit streak increase as he gets closer to winning.
“Eh, I’ll give it a minute.” We go head-to-head, my controller vibrating with each punch he lands on me for the next sixty seconds. The screen promptly flashes with my defeat, and I throw the controller to my side.
“Unfair,” I mutter. “There’s no way it’s possible to beat someone that fast. I hope one day someone kicks your ass on this game.”
“The day someone beats me will be the day I get knocked out in the ring.” I huff out a laugh and he grins at me.
Kas is an amateur MMA fighter, and he is unbeatable. Both of us earn our money from sports; whilst he’s in the ring, I’m out racing bikes.
In my father’s lack of presence following my parents’ divorce when I was much younger, he bought me various vehicles to make up for his absence. I spent my time fixing them up and riding them for fun. It went from a hobby into a career, and I now find myself doing both for quick cash.
I stand up and stretch, yawning at a volume that’s unnecessarily loud. I’m starting to feel the aftermath of my insomnia that plagues me most nights.
“I’m going to bed,” I announce to Kas who looks at me skeptically.
“I hear you leave every night to go on a ride,” he says. Kas speaks mostly in statements—a quiet observer. He’s aware of every single little movement around him, and it’s what also makes him so good at his sport. He’s blunt and whilst seemingly silent, his actions speak louder than words.
This is definitely the case when he uses his fists.
“Since your nosey ass is so interested, I can’t sleep and riding helps.” He nods, watching me with suspicion as I start to walk out of the room.
“Oh, by the way, Micah is hosting a post-fight party after my fight next month,” Kas calls from behind me, just as I begin to round the corner to the stairs. Micah is someone we used to hang out with for a while. We became close to him after he bailed me out of jail a few years ago for getting into a fight at one of his parties.
During high school and college, Micah was known for throwing some of the wildest parties in the region. I never attended them on a regular basis, but his house was the perfect venue for people to engage in less-than-holy activities. His parents were constantly involved in their dodgy businesses abroad, so they were either none the wiser, or just didn’t care.
College-goers from multiple towns would attend his parties, and I’m convinced that some high schoolers managed to sneak in. Nowadays, Micah works as an event planner in Los Angeles and hosts some of the hottest celebrity events.
“Is this not below his pay grade? A party back in his hometown?” I question from the large archway that separates the lounge and hallway.
“Yeah, I don’t know.” I take Kas’ lack of enthusiasm about the party as my cue to stop asking him questions and head upstairs to try and nap for a while.
My body, with no choice but to rest, manages to allow me a few hours of sleep before waking up at one in the morning.
With some sort of dormancy in the brain during my power nap, I feel more reset and energetic than usual. I don’t know if it’s because I actually slept for a while, or because I’m going to see Violet. It’s probably the latter because I feel like my crush on her is becoming a bit obsessive.
I quickly shower and when I step out to dry myself, the blast of cold air against my wet skin reminds me to wear my ski mask under my helmet to keep my face warm when I ride tonight. I pull on my usual jeans and tee, then slip on the ski mask. It feels more uncomfortable than usual. My hair has reached its longest length ever and now extends down to my shoulders. The sensation of it against the mask is beginning to make me itch.
Impulsively, I rip off the black fabric and search for an electric razor in the bathroom drawer, stripping off my clothes to avoid getting hair on them. After thirty minutes of standing butt naked and covered in hair trimmings, I’ve completely shaved off my hair—adopting a similar buzz cut to Kas.
With no time to waste, I quickly rinse off in the shower to rid myself of any stray hairs before seeing Violet. It takes me around an hour to travel to the gas station on my bike. I shut off the engine and position myself in the shadows of the building to light up a cigarette.
The parking lot is quiet, and I wonder if Violet gets the creeps here at night. The gas station window is almost as wide as the brick wall it’s on, so you can see pretty much everything inside. From my position right now, I can see Violet’s long hair through the window as she…stands on a six-foot ladder.
Yeah, I don’t think so.
I quickly stomp out my cigarette on the ground and walk inside. She’s drawing something on the wall of the store. I can’t see what she’s working on and right now, I’m more bothered by her standing on the ladder.
“Do you know how dangerous it is to stand on a six-foot ladder alone with nobody within a mile to hear you if you fall?” She doesn’t respond and carries on drawing.
“I’m fine, everything’s under control,” she says, finally acknowledging my arrival.
I grip the ladder and give it a light shake. Violet lets out a squeal and grips the top rung, glaring down at me in confused anger.
Despite my tendency to be quieter during our previous encounters, I can’t help but find her reaction amusing. The last time I visited, my words were clipped in anger due to the asshole customer. I also pissed off Violet by overstepping a plastic barrier to give her change.
I admit, I was out of order to place the money in her pocket myself, but I don’t regret it.
She continues to look down at me a little perplexed and descends the ladder to walk to the counter.
“How can I help?” she asks dryly, her brown eyes glistening with a combination of annoyance, curiosity, and something else I can’t quite put my finger on. I lean against the old counter as if I have no other care in the world.
“Ten on pump two.”
Her dark eyes linger on my helmet and after a few moments, she punches in the amount so I can pay. I leave to fill up my bike and instantly return to the station.
“Forgot to buy coffee,” I say, pulling out my card. I pay and slowly walk to the coffee station.
“Are you going to drink it this time?” she calls, and I smile from behind my helmet.
“What’s it to you?” I counter, her words reminding me that I didn’t take my coffee with me last time. I genuinely forgot. Now I realize that to drink it, I’d have to remove my helmet and mask—based on Violet’s reaction to my appearance, I’m reluctant to do exactly that.
“A waste of coffee.”
“The coffee was for you,” I lie. Admittedly, getting coffee buys me a bit of time because it means that I can stay longer in Violet’s presence by dawdling at the coffee station. Now that I don’t intend to drink it, my lie appears to flatter her.
“Well…thanks, I guess.” She shuffles on her feet and presses her lips together, tucking some hair behind her ear.
After filling my coffee, I place the cup on the counter in front of her and move away to check out what she was drawing on the wall. I manage to make out the outline of a sandwich, and I can feel Violet’s eyes on me as I begin to notice more and more drawings of food items on the wall.
“Are you okay?” she asks, eyeing me suspiciously when I make my way back toward her. Only then do I realize how creepy I probably seem still hanging around the gas station.
“Nice drawing.” I tilt my head at the wall.
“Thanks, I’m trying to improve the interior,” she says, my eyes tracing the shape of her mouth as she speaks. We’re looking at each other with mutual intensity. It feels as if we are both trying to smother our attraction to each other and failing to do so.
“You’re talented,” I say, leaning on the counter.
“You think?”
“Wouldn’t say it if I didn’t think so.” She blushes a little and it only accentuates her already glowing face.
“Would you like a seat or something?” Violet laughs uncomfortably, watching me stand awkwardly in front of her.
“I’d love a seat, actually.”
She looks at me as if she was expecting me to decline, her hands trembling a little when she grabs a spare chair from behind the cash register. I take it from her, and she pulls out a sketchbook. Does this girl ever stop drawing?
I sit on the chair, removing my gloves and jacket in the process. Violet clutches her sketchpad to her chest like an old woman would clutch her pearls. Her eyes scan all over my upper body, unsure of where to look.
“I’m taking off my jacket, not flashing you my dick. Relax,” I mumble, hoping that my tone is more flirtatious than crude. Violet’s eyes widen so much that if she’s not careful, they might roll out of her head. I feel like I’m fucking this up.
Actually, I know I’m fucking this up.
Her mouth opens, and nothing more than a silent choke escapes her lips. She clears her throat and straightens her posture, ready to try again.
“You wouldn’t show me your dick, you can’t even show your face.”
Damn, I didn’t know she had it in her. I let out a low whistle of surprise. She suddenly starts drawing, her slender fingers wrapped unusually tight around the pencil. It’s sweet that she’s trying her best to keep her cool.
“Is that another challenge? Remember what happened last time?” I tip my head toward the counter.
“I’m not wrong, though,” she says, a light flush painting her face.
“You underestimate me. Hiding my face is foreplay, but we can skip that if you’d rather?”
I lean back and spread my legs wider, my hands resting on top of my belt buckle. She does a double take and opens her mouth in shock, quickly shielding her eyes with her sketchpad. “I’m playing, Violet. I’m just trying to break the ice.”
She peeks over her pad as if to check if I’ve exposed myself. Then, she exaggeratedly sighs in either relief or disappointment when she sees my bottom half covered—as to which one it is, I can’t tell.
“You’re very forward. Are you flirting or teasing?” she asks, her lips twitching as if she’s trying to restrain a smile.
“Both, I think you’re cute.”
“Cute?”
Cute, beautiful, stunning, angelic. The only thing on my mind for the past week. Yeah, cute. Sure.
“Yes, of course I think you’re cute. I’m not blind.” She purses her lips in thought at my answer.
“You’re a bit too forward.” Definitely not the response I was expecting. I would be a little offended if I was trying to take it slow, but as always, I’m impatient. I ignore her and focus on what she’s doing.
“Is that a car?” I ask, and she turns her drawing pad to face me.
“Yeah, I saw it outside earlier,” she says, dragging her eyes away from me. It’s one of the most amazing sketches I’ve ever seen in my life.
“From memory?” I lean further over the counter to get a better look at the page. The plastic divider stops me and from this angle, I can only just tell that she’s wearing those flared jeans from the other day. A sliver of skin peeks above the low waist, and I force my eyes away.
“Yep.” She pops the ‘P’ like it’s just normal to draw an entire classic car accurately from memory. I’m so impressed that I don’t even know what to say, so I just sit back down and watch her draw. It’s therapeutic as fuck.
She turns over to a fresh page and begins sketching something new. Her eyes dart between me and the paper as we enjoy a comfortable silence for a while.
“I need you to take the helmet off so I can draw your face.” She circles her pencil in the air to emphasize her words.
Absolutely not.
“Just draw me with the helmet on.”
“You sound muffled all the time, and it looks like you’d get hot under there. Usually, bikers take it off.” Yeah, it is a bit stuffy under here, though a little more comfortable thanks to my freshly shaved head. And yes, I would take it off. But since she is unable to see my face, it adds a little fun to our interactions. It encourages her to come out of her shell.
“No, you like the mask.” She pauses for a second and then carries on drawing. Her body language speaks for her when she doesn’t—I know she likes not seeing my face.
“So? You get to know where I work, my name, and my face.” She sketches more aggressively whilst glaring at me. “Can I at least know your name?”
“If I tell you, I die.”
“Oh, shut up.” Violet pouts in a way that fails to smother a smile, her eyes trailing over my thighs as she sketches. Her memory of the car she sketched was pretty good, and I’m sure she doesn’t need to look at me so much. I’m not going to complain because I love the feeling of her eyes on me.
We don’t talk whilst she sketches, and around fifteen minutes later, she’s done.
“Alright, here it is,” she announces.
She rips the paper out of the sketchbook, and I notice doodles on the back. Violet hands me the paper face down. Upon closer inspection, it looks like she’s been practicing her signature on this sheet because different versions of her name merge into various Violet flowers all over one side of the sketch.
I flip the page over to see the drawing that she’s just done. The sketch is definitely me. But there’s one detail that is completely inaccurate: My head.
Violet has drawn a clown mask instead of my helmet.
I don’t react, folding up the paper and placing it in my pocket. I cross my arms over my chest and look around the store, pretending to act indifferent as I try to fight back a smile. Giggles bubble up from Violet’s throat, the sound causing a jolt of heat to rush through me.
“That commission will be two-hundred dollars.” She holds her hand out and purses her lips. I know she’s messing around, but I reach into my back pocket and take out my wallet. “Kidding,” she says quickly.
Honestly, I’d pay her and she knows that. She could probably empty me of every penny I have and I’d say thank you.
“Look at you, cracking jokes. You’re lucky that you’re on the other side of that counter after that drawing,” I say in a mock threat, and she rolls her eyes.
“Well, I need to go and wash my hands.” She holds up her palms and twists her wrists to show me smudges of graphite on them, her bracelets jingling with the movement.
I watch her like a predator watching its prey as she slowly rounds the counter. I lean forward ready to pounce. She looks at me with a small, challenging smile before darting forward. She doesn’t get very far because I stand up fast and loop my arm around her waist, pulling her back against my body.
“Nice try, Sweetness,” I whisper. My lips graze her earlobe, and her hair is fragrant with something sweet and earthy. She freezes, the heat of her stomach radiating against my forearm.
The sound of the bell is the only thing that gets me to pull away from her. I drag my hand lightly over her midriff as I unlatch myself from her body, squeezing her waist before letting go. Her body goes unnaturally taut, and she walks stiffly to the cash register.
When the customer finally departs, she darts into the small bathroom at the back of the store. I can hear the faint sound of running water before she emerges a minute later. Her hands are wet and glistening as she shakes them in front of her to dry them off.
“Why did you come here today?” she asks, walking behind the counter and grabbing some napkins to finish drying her hands with. Good question. Why did I come here?
“To see you,” I reply honestly.
“To see me? Seriously?” I nod and she looks unbelieving of my answer. “Seems like a waste of gas if you ask me. We’re in the middle of nowhere, so it probably costs you an entire tank just to come here,” she says, brushing off the fact that I came here to see her specifically.
“Oh, thank god you work at a gas station.” I feign relief, and she forcefully slides a pencil across the counter at me with the obvious intention of hitting me with it. I catch it deftly in my palm, twirling it between my fingers. I can feel her watching my hand as I play with it.
“Did you come here to check up on me after last time?” Violet asks, her voice laced with amusement.
“No, I knew you were okay,” I grin.
“You followed me home.” Her words take on a questioning lilt. I can tell that she already knows the answer.
“Maybe.”
“I heard your bike,” she says, confirming my suspicion. “You wanted me to know that you were following me.”
“Maybe you imagined it because you wanted me to follow you home or something,” I tease. Violet flushes a little, which tells me that I’m not entirely wrong.
“You’re stalking me,” she accuses, her lips curving upwards. She’s completely unconcerned. Her reaction is relieving for me, but her willingness to trust me is somewhat alarming. Is she this trusting toward everyone?
“That’s a bold statement, at least pretend to be scared.” Violet’s smile grows, and she covers her mouth with a lightly tanned hand to stifle a laugh.
“I’m sorry, I can’t take you seriously with your helmet on. It reminds me of the Power Rangers.” I grip the pencil she launched at me earlier and pretend to stab myself in the heart with it in response to her jest. She smiles and rolls her eyes, fiddling with a piece of her hair.
That sentence alone has me wanting to rip off the black plastic encasing my head. She seems oddly unfazed about me following her home, even if she can’t take me seriously. I don’t know if it’s because she genuinely thinks I’m unserious and doesn’t care, or because she feels safe around me.
“So, if you’re not showing your face, can you tell me about yourself, Biker Guy?”
“Biker Guy? Creative. You couldn’t come up with something cooler?” Violet lets out a small huff.
“Sorry, Mr. Pump Two. Your fault for not giving me your name and being too scared to take off your helmet. Makes it hard when I’m looking at my reflection every time we talk.” I ignore her terrible nickname and decide to let her in on why I’m hesitant to reveal my face.
“This is what makes it fun. You have to admit, you would find it boring if you knew everything about me, including my face.”
“Yeah, I guess it’s…entertaining,” she says, her eyes lingering on my body for what may be the hundredth time tonight. “When are you coming here again?”
“I’ll keep you anticipating my next arrival, Violet.” I’m being annoying on purpose, and she knows because she side-eyes me whilst reaching under the counter for something.
“I preferred it when you were broody and angry,” she grumbles. I can’t tell if she’s joking because funnily enough, I’m actually enjoying today’s conversation. I guess talking to Violet when I’m not seconds away from chasing after a customer that disrespects her and beating him senseless will make anything enjoyable. “Wanna play?” She places a deck of cards on the counter.
It’s like every time we talk, we find something that will prolong our time in each other’s company. I like that she’s getting more comfortable with me, whether it’s because of my helmet, our natural chemistry, or a combination of both.
“Sure, I’ll shuffle.” I scoot my chair forward and for the next thirty minutes, we play until I finally decide to go home. When I make it to my bed, I manage to get a full eight hours of rest for the first time in a while.
I don’t want to point fingers, but I think I know the reason why.