runaway

THREE | EXTRA INCENTIVE

THREE | EXTRA INCENTIVE

A cigarette dangles from her lips, smoke whirling around her in a cloud of addiction. She leans against the warm, sun-touched brick with one leg bent and foot propped. Were it not for the lingering scent of virulent smoke, Jett could potentially blend into the ageing brick from her still silence. Yet, every passing figure cannot help but take note of her.

Everyone spares glances her way, whether intentional or subconscious. Children's eyes are wide with curiosity; mothers' narrow in judgement, tightening the grip on their little ones' hands. Young women scoff and turn towards one another to exchange cruel comments; men of all ages watch her with eager eyes, striving to memorize her for use of later daydreams.

The scorching Georgia sun beats down on her, small beads of perspiration forming along her forehead. She brushes the strands, fallen from the bun messily fashioned atop her head, behind her ear. With a drag of her cigarette, a smirk decorates her pink lips as she lets her eyes wander throughout the city streets, stumbling along the tourists and townies.

They amuse her, truly, the way they meander about their lives without so much as an acknowledgement towards others. Sure, they make note of her in their passing, but a note is nothing more than a fleeting thought not worth remembering. Everything about Jett is memorable, though, from her lips to her eyes to her ability to leave without looking back at what has been left, but these fleeting glances leave her memorable only for that one moment.

Still, they amuse her, truly, so she props against the aging brick and watches them be too lost in their own predictable lives. The boy across the street strolling behind the group of girls pines for their affection, the group of girls being too distracted with their own discussions of an overly-attractive boyband member to notice him. The young woman to her left, texting as she walks, has only one earphone in hopes of a certain someone stumbling upon her and asking for the other earphone. And the man to her right is walking straight towards her.

"Well, if it isn't Miss Jett?" he says once close enough, his lips curling into an all-out smile as they form her name.

"Charlie!" she says, taking the cigarette from her lips and letting the butt fall from between her fingers and crush beneath her ragged Converse. A wide smile grows the closer he comes. "How are you?"

The thirty-year-old male is heavily attractive, which most likely attributes to her appeal towards him. His blonde hair grows rustled in the subtle breeze, though his piercing green eyes are still evident through the disarray strands he doesn't bother to tame. Charlie nestles his hands in the front pockets of the black slacks he wore despite the heightened temperature, the sleeves of his tucked white dress shirt rolled up and tie undone leaving it hanging lifeless from under his collar.

"I'd be better if you hadn't disappeared on me," Charlie accuses. "Where have you been, gorgeous?"

"I got a new job," she admits, not bothering to go into further detail. She had mastered the art of knowing when someone wanted further detail or was simply seeking brief explanations. Charlie didn't care what she had been doing, only that she hadn't been with him.

"Oh," he nods. "Do you like it?"

Jett shrugs. "It's alright, I guess."

"I'm happy for you," he says. "But selfishly, I miss you. You don't happen to do house calls, do you?" He chuckles to hide the hope in his eyes.

"Not typically," she says. The joyous smile on her lips clashes with the mischievous glint in her eyes, the glint he instantly recognizes, the glint that drives him wild. "But I'd be willing to make an exception for you."