Surrender Read Online Free

attention at the moment.
    I put my truck in gear, back out, and drive slowly down the beach. I think North Padre is one of the last beaches in the U.S. where you can drive so close to the water. I love it. I grew up here, fishing and hunting, and partying with the locals. Spring Break should be a national holiday. I smile. At least I didn’t walk away empty-handed tonight. I technically caught something, didn’t I? I gaze at her again. She’s pretty skittish. I guess she has a reason to be afraid right now. I’d like to know why.
    “Where are you from?” I ask, not wanting to pry into her personal affairs too soon. Why was that guy chasing her? Drugs? She doesn’t look the type. She’s too pretty for that shit. Hopefully she’ll tell me soon enough.
    “Flour Bluff.”
    I look at her. She doesn’t look like a Bluff rat. “Really?”
    “Born at Spohn Hospital.”
    I laugh. Nearly everyone from Corpus was born at Spohn.
    “And you?”
    “Dallas,” I answer. “Moved here when I was three.”
    “Hmmm,” she says seductively. “I’ve never been there. Is it pretty?”
    “Beautiful,” I say, admiring her.
    “Is your family here?”
    “My parents died in a car accident three years ago,” I answer. “Head-on collision with a drunk driver. My sister lives with me.”
    She gives me a sorrowful, doe-eyed look. It makes it hard to swallow. “That’s awful.” She doesn’t say “sorry” like everyone else. I like that.
    “It feels like a lifetime ago.” I always end up making people feel uncomfortable when I tell them about my parents. They’re the ones that end up needing comforting afterward most of the time. “Where’s your family live?”
    “Odem,” she says.
    Odem is a small farming community north of Corpus. Quite the jump from the Bluff to Odem. “It’s nice they’re close by.”
    She doesn’t answer and stares out the window. She’s not a big talker. Most women can’t shut up once I start a conversation. This one will hardly speak. She’s a mystery. But her eyes reveal a lot. I’ve always been called an old soul, but this girl’s ancient. It’s not just the sadness I sense in her; there’s something more. Something deeper that makes me want to talk to her all night. We approach the pier parking lot. There’s an old Camaro nearby and a Ford truck farther away.
    “Where’s your car?”
    “The Camaro.” She points.
    I’m amused by her choice of vehicle. I’ve never known a beautiful woman who drives a muscle car. “That’s a ’76 . . . looks a little rough around the edges.” The maroon paint is chipped and faded. She deserves a Corvette or Ferrari.
    “Yeah,” she laughs. “But I love her. She’s fast.”
    We stare at each other, and I know I’d better think of something quick if I’m going to get her to stay. “I have ice-cold Coronas in the back. Want one?”
    She looks out the windshield and back at me. “Sure.”
    I park next to her car, drop the windows down halfway, and turn off the engine. I jump out, grab two Coronas from the cooler in the bed, and slide into the driver’s seat again. I reach for the opener I keep in my visor and pop the top. I hand her the bottle.
    “Thanks,” she says and sinks back in the seat with a sigh. She takes a long drink.
    I turn the radio on and search for the right music. “Wrecking Ball” by Miley Cyrus blares from my speakers. We both look at the radio at the same time and laugh.
    “What?” I ask, taking a swig.
    “The irony,” she says.
    I wait for her to elaborate.
    “That guy was a wrecking ball, a drug dealer—I’m sure of it.”
    “Yeah,” I agree. “Who wears a thousand-dollar suit to the beach?” We laugh again. “Where did you meet him?” It’s time for a few answers.
    “I didn’t.”
    “What is that supposed to mean?” I eye her critically. I hope she’s not a liar.
    “I’m a regular at the pier after hours, that’s all.” She gestures with her hand. “The manager lets me stay if I tip him.