Side Trip(3)

“Are you sure I can’t pour you a cup of coffee?” the waitress offered him with a sweet smile that made Joy feel a little queasy. For real? She was old enough to be his grandmother.

The man shook his head and looked around the small diner. His gaze landed on Joy and she blinked.

“No thanks,” he told the hostess and made his way over to Joy.

Omigod. Omigod. Omigod.

Joy’s heart beat frantically. Her hands felt damp and sticky. Why was he coming over here? What did he want with her?

But it wasn’t Joy he was looking at. His gaze was pegged on the iPhone 4 Mark had gifted her when she’d graduated from UCLA two months ago. Joy tucked her phone in her lap and ducked her chin, ashamed of her reaction to this stranger with her fiancé so close to mind. She was also afraid her interest was evident on her face. A big billboard of an expression that shouted one of Judy’s favorite phrases: “Hey, handsome, you razz my berries.”

The man stopped at her table, and heart in her throat, she slowly looked up his torso to his face.

Oh. My. God.

His eyes.

They were the most gorgeous hazel she’d ever seen. Gray-green irises with a kaleidoscope of light brown and golden-yellow flecks under an awning of long, dark lashes.

He’s so dreamy, Judy would have said, nudging her.

The thought Judy would be reacting the same way toward him almost made her sigh with relief. Steady boyfriend or not, Judy would have been swooning just like her.

He smiled. “Hi.”

Joy blinked, mute.

His smile widened, the left corner of his mouth pulling up higher. He knew exactly the effect he had on her.

“May I borrow your phone? I’m not going to run off with it,” he added when Joy remained speechless. He nodded at the window. “You probably noticed my car’s dead.”

She felt a blush creep up her neck. He knew she’d been watching him. Could she sink under the table and die?

“One call.” He raised a finger. “Promise.”

“Sure,” she said in a voice rendered meek from embarrassment. She set the phone at the end of the table.

“Thanks.” He slid into the booth and a light gasp escaped her lungs. He slung her a grateful grin and keyed in a phone number. “Rick, it’s Dylan . . . Some gal let me borrow hers.” He glanced at Joy. “Look, Jack’s car died . . . I told you it would . . . No idea. Spark plugs? It’s not the battery . . . The car’s a piece of crap. It won’t make it cross-country . . . You deal with it. I don’t have time to pick my nose and wait around. I’m gigging in Flagstaff tonight and need to be in New York in nine days . . . I’ll rent a car . . . I don’t give a shit. Jack’s car kicking the bucket doesn’t fall within the guidelines either. You figure it out, you’re the attorney. I’ll call you when I get to Flagstaff.”

Dylan ended the call, wiped the phone clean of car grease with a paper napkin, then slid the device across the table with a muttered thanks. Looking out the window, he pushed out a long stream of air and shoveled a handful of hair off his forehead. Joy noticed the dark hair that dusted his forearms. Thirteen leather bands circled his left wrist. He swung his head back around and fixed his gaze on her. He smiled and snagged a cold fry from her plate.

“Do you mind?” She pulled the plate to her side of the table, repulsed yet impressed at his boldness. She’d once been bold. She used to not give a squat what others thought.

“I’m starving.” He flagged down the waitress and pointed at Joy’s plate. “What did you have?” he asked Joy.

“Cheeseburger and fries.”

“I’ll have that,” Dylan said to the waitress.

“And to drink?”

“Water’s fine. I’m dying of thirst.” He blotted his forehead and neck with a paper napkin.

“Can I get you a refill?” she asked Joy.

“Yes. Cherry Coke, please.”

The waitress took her empty glass and Dylan smirked.

“Figures.”

Her back went rigid. “What?”

“You’ve got the whole fifties vibe going.” He gestured in her direction.

Joy touched her hair, trying not to take offense. She’d pulled it back into a high ponytail and tied it with a silk scarf that morning in San Bernardino before she’d left home for the last time. She thought her hairstyle looked nice. It sharpened her cheekbones and highlighted the caramel lowlights in her hair.

“Back in a sec. I’m going to wash up.” He showed her his grease-stained hands, then slid from the booth. The waitress returned with her refill and Dylan’s water and took away her plate.

What a rude, presumptuous clod, Joy thought as she admired Dylan’s backside until he slipped through the swinging door to the restrooms. She debated asking for her check. She should get on the road. But when he walked back to the booth, she decided to hang out a bit longer. She liked the sound of his voice. And now that she’d seen the color of his eyes, she wanted to find out more. Who was he? He’d mentioned a gig in Flagstaff. If his vocals sounded anything like his speaking voice, he could melt his audience. What instruments did he play? What type of music? Suddenly she wanted to know everything about him, which she reasoned was perfectly okay. Tall-drink-of-water guy was a musician and Joy was obsessed with music. Better that than drugs, Joy argued whenever her parents complained that she never unplugged.