Side Trip(30)

Dylan cut the engine in the Hotel Albuquerque parking lot and angled his body toward Joy. She slept beside him. It was after three in the morning and he didn’t want to wake her. She’d been so amped on adrenaline; they’d both been. The jump had been unbelievable, and they’d talked nonstop about it and a whole lot of other meaningless shit as he pushed the speed limit toward Albuquerque. He’d promised yesterday to get them here by today. She wanted to shop in Old Town and he had a gig in eight hours. He was working on two nights without sleep and hoped to get in a few hours of shut-eye. He almost envied her for the zzzs she got these last few hours.

They’d found an all-night diner around midnight and gorged on steak and eggs and shakes. Giddy, Joy had opened her list, and with dramatic flourish crossed out do something dangerous. She then ordered a sundae to celebrate and insisted they share.

Dylan loved witnessing another new-to-him side of Joy. Carefree, bubbly, and into him. She’d been fascinated when he talked about the music he wrote and to whom he’d sold his songs. She’d promised to buy every track. He might not be singing the words or playing the chords, but he dug knowing she’d be listening to his lyrics and hearing his notes. She’d remember him after their trip.

He’d matter to her.

Not that he should care.

He didn’t care, he corrected.

Once they were back in the car, Joy had leaned over and hugged him. “Thank you,” she’d whispered against his ear. She’d kissed his cheek, buckled up, then crashed hard. She’d slept the rest of the way, and during those dark hours Dylan had strung together another verse to the song Joy inspired. His songwriting inspiration came from others. It was how he wrote, observing, interacting. Personal experience made its way into his lyrics every so often. But for the most part other people enticed him more, and right now that person was Joy. He loved the way she moved with a quirky gracefulness and how she talked as much with her hands as her voice. And he was especially transfixed by what she was hiding, whatever that was. He wanted to unfold the mystery of her.

He watched the rise and fall of her chest. He watched her eyes twitch. And he watched her. He wanted to thank her for being his muse. He wanted to return her kiss, a lingering of lips on her neck, just under her ear. He wanted to do so many other things to her, too.

He lightly grazed the backs of his fingers down her cheek. So soft. The engagement ring on her finger glittered under the parking lights and he froze.

What the hell was he doing?

She was committed.

He pulled back his hand and stared hard at the ring, a large square-cut diamond bordered by two emerald-cut diamonds. Diamonds dazzled around the entire circumference. It was too much, not at all the style suitable for this woman he was coming to know. She should have something less complicated and more tastefully designed. Joy wasn’t the type of woman who needed to be flashy to get noticed, and it pissed him off that what’s-his-face didn’t get that about her.

As if Dylan knew her. He didn’t know her at all. What she did with her life and how she lived it and with whom after their trip wasn’t his concern.

Though he secretly did wish he could learn more about her. She never talked about—What was his name?—ah, Mark. Dylan didn’t know how they’d met or how long they’d been together. He didn’t know how long she’d been engaged and when she planned to marry. Had a date been set?

They’d been driving together for hours. Strange how she hadn’t mentioned Mark much. He’d think a woman engaged wouldn’t be able to shut up about her fiancé.

He gently nudged Joy. She stirred and slowly opened her eyes, looking around. “Where are we?” She yawned.

“Hotel Albuquerque.” He got out of the car, grabbed his stuff from the back seat and Joy’s bag from the trunk, and met her at her door. She stumbled from the car and took her bag from him. “I’m so tired.”

“Good, you’ll fall right back to sleep.”

Joy looked up at the hotel as they approached the door and gawked at the southwestern décor in the lobby. “This hotel’s too nice. I can’t afford to stay here.”

Dylan knew she had a limited budget reserved for roadside motels, so he pretended not to hear her and approached the registration desk. Unlike Joy, he had a reservation. But the hotel didn’t have an extra room. It was fully booked for a conference. Dylan checked in and requested two key cards. He gave one to Joy.

She frowned. “What’s this?”

“The key to your room.”

“Dylan . . . You bought lunch and gas. You can’t keep paying for me.” She tried to give him back the key.

“It’s my room. I had a reservation.”

“We’re sharing?” she asked in a tiny voice.

He’d love to, but no. He shook his head. “Get some sleep. It’s a warm night. I’ll find a spot on the patio and crash there.”

“Dylan . . . I can’t take your room.” Concern laced her tired voice.

“It’s fine. I’ll come up at nine to use the shower. Go.” He nudged her toward the elevators, grateful she didn’t argue. He was exhausted and his resistance was fading with the starlight. He might pull the guilt card and convince her to share the room.

He waited until she got into the elevator and the doors closed. He then turned toward the patio doors with a long, loud sigh. He didn’t want to sleep out there, and the breakfast crowd would wake him before he’d want to be woken. Instead, he found a seating area in the convention wing and stretched out on a long leather couch. He unpacked his Dodgers baseball cap, dropped it on his face to block out the lights, and instantly fell asleep, dreading what he’d have to do in eight hours.