Free The Edge of Never by J. A. Redmerski

He’ll have to make do with the first-name-basis only.
    As he finishes the last of his burger and scarfs down a few fries, I secretly study him and notice the bottom of a tattoo poking out from underneath both sleeves of his t-shirt. He can’t be older than mid-twenties, if even that.
    “So, how old are you?” It still felt too personal of a question. I hope he doesn’t read something in it that’s not there.
    “Twenty-five,” he says. “What about you?”
    “Twenty.”
    He glances at me ponderingly, pauses and then subtly purses his lips.
    “Well, it’s good to meet you, twenty-year-old Cam short for Camryn heading to Idaho to see her sister who just had a baby.”
    My lips smile, but my face doesn’t. It’ll take a while before any of my smiles directed at him can be genuine. Genuine smiles can sometimes give the wrong impression. At least this way, I can be civil and kind, but not the civil kind who after a few big smiles ends up in a trunk with their throat slit.
    “So, are you from Wyoming?” I ask and take another sip of my shake.
    He nods once. “Yeah, was born there, but parents divorced when I was six and we moved to Texas.”
    Texas. How funny. Maybe all of my crap-talk about their cowboy boots and reputation is finally catching up to me. And he doesn’t look like he’s from Texas, at least, not the stereotypical way that most people assume everyone from Texas looks like.
    “That’s where I’ll be headin’ back to after visiting my dad—what about you?”
    OK, to lie or not to lie? Oh screw it. It’s not like he’s a private investigator sent by my dad to get information. As long as I steer clear of #1…my last name, and #2…any addresses or phone numbers that might lead him back to my house in the event that I ever go back home, and then end up in his trunk with my throat slit. I think telling mostly the truth will be a lot easier than trying to conjure up a fitting lie for just about every question that he asks me and then having to remember all of them later. This is going to be a long bus ride, after all, and just like he said, we’ve got several busses to share before we part ways.
    “North Carolina,” I say.
    He looks me over. “Well, you don’t look like you’re from North Carolina.”
    Huh? OK, that was really weird.
    “Well, what’s a girl from North Carolina supposed to look like?”
    “You’re very literal,” he says, grinning.
    “And you’re sort of confusing.”
    “Nah,” he says with a harmless, humorous snarl, “just outspoken and sometimes people can’t deal with that kind of shit. It’s like, you ask that guy over there if your ass looks big in those jeans and he’ll tell you, no. You ask me, and I’ll tell you the truth—anything out of people’s usual expectations throws them off track.”
    “Really?” I’m not any closer to understanding this guy’s personality than I was before I knew his name. I just continue to look at him like he’s sort of nuts and I’m sort of intrigued by it.
    “Really,” he answers matter-of-factly.
    I wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t.
    “You are very strange,” I say.
    “Well, aren’t you going to ask?”
    “Ask what?”
    He laughs. “If I think your ass looks big in those jeans.”
    I feel my face crinkle.
    “I’d really rather not…I uhhh—.” Screw this times two. If he’s going to play games, I’m not going to sit back and let him win all the hands. I smirk at him and say, “I know my ass doesn’t look big in these jeans, so I don’t really need your opinion.”
    A devilishly handsome grin sneaks up at the corners of his mouth. He takes another drink from his soda and goes to his feet, offering his hand. “Looks like our eight minutes are up.”
    Maybe it’s because I’m still completely confused by this entire exchange, but I accept his hand and he pulls me to my feet.
    “See,” he says looking over at me once and letting my hand go, “look how much we learned about each other