Side Trip(2)

Her sister had loved cheeseburgers, and she and Joy had eaten their share at In-N-Out Burger. Joy missed those weekly outings when Judy would buy their meals. They’d eat them outside on the white tables with red chairs under a duo of palm trees, the sun setting over SoCal suburbia.

Joy sucked her Cherry Coke through a red-striped plastic straw and watched the man outside. He straightened, wiped his forearm across his glistening forehead, and looked east down the sprawling stretch of Route 66. She didn’t know how he could stand the desert heat. August in Ludlow was brutal, and tall-drink-of-water guy had been tinkering under the hood of his Pontiac for well over forty minutes. He’d arrived right after Joy had been seated at a window booth.

She liked watching him, which was a first for her. She didn’t ogle guys. She was engaged. But no harm, no foul. She was only looking, and he was certainly more entertaining than what she’d intended to do during her lunch: plan which item she’d cross off that day on Judy’s Route 66 Bucket List. She also liked the way the man’s shoulders rippled under the thin material of his shirt. She liked the color of his hair, a brown so dark it almost looked black, even under the blazing summer sun. But then he ran his hands through the thick mass and she caught some golden highlights. He wore his hair too long to be called short, where the ends curled up off his neck. He had a nice wave that he finger-combed off his forehead. Indie rocker style, Joy thought. He reminded her of a young Chris Cornell, the way his hair flopped back and he gave his head a shake to move it off his face. She wondered what color his eyes were and almost pouted that she’d never get to find out when he slammed the hood closed, sank into the driver’s seat, and started the car. After a couple of chokes and coughs, the engine finally turned over.

He eased the car forward, pulling more fully into the parking spot he’d aimed for when the car had died the first time. He drove two feet and the engine sputtered and died again. Tall-drink-of-water guy sat there for a good five seconds when he suddenly snapped. He smacked the steering wheel three times. He then got out of the car, slammed the door, kicked the door, then kicked the front tire.

Joy struggled to keep a straight face. Giving up, she grinned and shifted her attention to the list on the table in front of her, musing that he was about to “go ape,” as Judy would have said. Apeshit was more like it. Honestly, she felt sorry for the guy. She’d hate to be stuck out here with a broken-down car. For the first time since she’d decided to take this trip, she silently thanked her dad for insisting on the 2010 Volkswagen New Beetle rather than the 1955 Plymouth Belvedere she’d been researching to purchase for her cross-country trip. But her parents bought her the convertible Bug as a college graduation gift. It was reliable and safer, her father had said, upset she’d consider driving an old car in the first place, especially after what had happened to Judy.

A twinge of guilt rode up her back like a tailgater on the highway. It always did.

Joy munched on a cold fry to rid herself of the sour taste in her mouth and returned her attention to the man outside.

Flustered, he shook his fists at the sky; then, to Joy’s amusement, he flipped off the blazing sun.

Who was he so pissed off at—God, the universe, or some other poor soul?

Joy didn’t get the chance to contemplate an answer because the man was now heading toward the diner’s entrance. The door swung open and the bell above jingled his arrival as if announcing “one tall drink of water coming right up.”

She almost snorted at her thought. She also couldn’t take her eyes off him.

She imagined her fiancé scowling across the table. Mark wouldn’t be pleased.

Licking her dry lips, her gaze glued on the stranger, she reached for her soda and brought the straw to her mouth. She sucked hard, forgetting the glass was nearly empty. A loud slurping noise startled her, and she almost dropped her glass. The rude sound drew the attention of the family in the booth next to hers. It also caught his attention. He looked at her. Cheeks burning, Joy looked down at the table, hoping he didn’t notice she’d been staring at him.

Correction: drooling over him, which was so unlike her. She hadn’t felt such an instant attraction toward anyone since, well . . . never. Her body buzzed with interest, and the energy bouncing through her left her off-kilter. A bit disconcerting compared to the steady and cozy reaction she had when Mark walked into a room.

Joy picked up her phone, pretending to read a text. She could hear the two kids in the next booth over laughing as they mimicked her, making loud slurping noises with their sodas as their parents scolded them, threatening no pool time if they didn’t knock it off at once. She could also hear the waitress ask the man, “Table or counter?”

“Do you have a phone I can use?” he asked instead.

His voice. Joy sighed. It rolled over her, worked its way inside her, and settled in her stomach. He sounded as good as he looked. She peeked at him from under her lashes.

“Sorry. Phone is for paying customers only. You don’t have a mobile?”

“Would I have asked to use your phone if I did?” He smiled casually.

“No.” The waitress giggled. She had to be forty years older than him and she giggled. Obviously, Joy wasn’t the only one affected by his good looks. This probably happened to him everywhere he went, which made her feel a tad less guilty about her own attraction. Joy would bet that he knew it, too, and worked it to his advantage.