Leaving Amarillo(47)

He shrugs. “Skipped dinner. Trying to save money since I don’t know how much her bail will be. Chances are I’ll have to pay a bondsman ten percent to get her out and I didn’t want to risk being short.”

His words pull me out of the car and back in time. He was always hungry, always going without.

“Gavin . . .”

“Relax, Bluebird. I’ll survive.”

Before I get caught up in my painful memories of our childhood, I remember that I came prepared. Pulling the chips and granola bar from my bag like rabbits from a magician’s hat, I present them to him.

“Sweet or salty?”

He side-eyes me and sighs. “Salty I guess.”

I open the bag of chips and hand them over. He places the bag between his legs and I force myself not to check out the bulge in his jeans.

Classy, Dixie. Real classy.

“Um, shoot. I didn’t think about something to drink.” I look down to see that there’s a cup holder in the middle console but it’s empty.

“That part I do have covered. There’s a cooler in the back floorboard. Just Mountain Dew and a few bottles of water, feel free to help yourself.”

“You want a soda? Caffeine might be good for the drive.”

“Sure.”

Without thinking, I turn around and lean over the seat, stretching as far as my arm will allow to flip open the white lid of the cooler. My fingers encircle the damp plastic wrapper of his drink and then I reach for a bottle of water for myself.

“Jesus Christ. Sit the hell down! Forget the f*cking soda. I’ll get it when we stop.”

The urgency in Gavin’s voice jump-starts my heart and I immediately picture us slamming into an eighteen-wheeler. Whipping my body around and back into my seat, I gape at him wide-eyed when I see that there is no threat of an immediately impending accident.

“What the hell? You scared me to death.”

“Yeah, well. You almost got us killed.” He’s gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles are turning white.

“Um, okay. Did I bump the wheel or something?”

He lets out a loud breath and shakes his head. “No. You flashed me your ass in the rearview and I nearly took us off the damn road.”

I fold my lips inward to keep from bursting out laughing. He is clearly upset.

“My ass distracted you?”

“Not half as much as the black lace thong did.”

Oh dear God. I want to curl up and hide. He’s not kidding. I am wearing a black lace thong.

“No need to be embarrassed now. I’ve already seen it. You got some sweatpants or something you could put on?”

“I didn’t know sweatpants would be required road trip attire. I have jeans I can put on if you’re serious.”

“I am dead f*cking serious.”

“Ugh. Fine. Here.” I hand over the green bottle containing his beverage and climb over into the backseat, careful not to flash him this time. Much.

“Thank you,” he says through gritted teeth. I don’t know if he means for the drink or for putting pants on, but I can’t resist.

“I’m changing. Don’t peek.” I meet his hazel stare in the rearview and wink. “Or do.”

He shakes his head but even from behind him I can see the telltale dimple showing in his profile. “When did my sweet little Dixie Lark turn into . . .”

“Into what?” I ask, mildly offended that he called me little. Taking my time slipping out of my dress in the backseat, I wait for him to answer.

“Into my worst nightmare.”

A hurt noise pops out of my throat as soon as I get my dress over my head. “Ouch, Gav. That’s kind of harsh.”

“Truth hurts,” he answers quietly before meeting my eyes again. There’s no trace of teasing in them, just blatant honesty. I want to hide my face and turn invisible like the game we played as kids.

The pain swells in my chest until it’s consuming me completely. My bag with my clothes in it is still in the front of the car and I’m afraid my voice will break if I ask him to hand it to me.

I focus on folding my dress into a small neat square, wishing I could do the same with my stupid heart.

“Because of who you are,” he adds gently. “You’re the one person that’s supposed to be off-limits. I made a promise. One I intended to keep.”

A breath escapes my lips, taking a tiny bit of tension with it. “Some promises are made to be broken. I don’t think anyone has the right to decide that for us. Not even—”

“I know.” His stare leaves mine and returns to the road. “It’s just complicated. There are things you don’t know. Things that happened while you were in Houston.”

This much I do know. But Dallas never would share the details. Just that it was bad.

“So then tell me.”

I watch the back of his head shake back and forth.

“Trust me, it’s better if I don’t. You’re better off not knowing.”

I’m not, though. That’s the part he doesn’t get. I want to know everything. I want to know what his life was like before we met as kids, I want to know if anyone ever read him fairy tales, or made him pancakes, or cuddled him in a blanket fort. I want to know if he was upset last year because of the band or because of his mom or because of me. I want to know what he did to try to fill the void. And mostly I want to know if there is any chance at all that our one night could be more.