Side Trip(38)

“Why do you dress like that?” He’d asked before but never got a straight answer.

Joy looked up from the menu, startled. “Like what?”

“June Cleaver, Joanie Cunningham . . . Judy?”

Joy blinked. Her mouth parted as if she was about to tell him off, because he knew he was rude, but the waitress stopped at their table to take their order.

“Cheeseburger, fries, and a Cherry Coke,” Joy requested, her voice small. He was quashing her chipperness but he couldn’t stop.

“Is that really what you want, or what Judy would have ordered?”

Joy warily glanced at him, handing her menu to the waitress. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“And you, sir?” the waitress asked Dylan. Her name tag read Bonnie. Bubbly-bouncing-Bonnie who didn’t show an ounce of bubbly personality. She glared at him. Well, hell. He didn’t give a shit what Bonnie thought about him. He’d never see her again after today.

“Coffee. Black.”

He flipped up the menu, handing it off to Bonnie, his hard gaze locked on Joy, daring her to make eye contact. She wouldn’t. She traced her pink nail along the table edge. She toyed with the silver bracelet and flat-out ignored him.

He didn’t like being ignored.

“It’s obvious you hate your clothes. Why do you wear them?” He’d seen her pull at the blouse and tug at her shorts. Both were cut from stiff, starchy fabric nobody in their right mind would wear in August while driving through the desert. Why did she? Was it some sort of punishment?

Joy’s fingers fluttered to the scalloped collar. “I like my clothes.”

“Are they yours, or Judy’s?”

She sat up straighter. “I don’t care what you think. I barely know you, and it’s none of your business. This is how I’m dressing on this trip, so get over it.”

Bonnie returned with their drinks. She slammed down Dylan’s mug. Coffee spilled and she didn’t wipe it up. She gently set Joy’s plastic cup of soda on a cocktail napkin. “There you go, dear,” she said before shooting a Breaking Bad death glare Dylan’s way.

Ouch. She’d pulled a Walter White on him.

Dylan chugged half the mug of coffee before Joy had unwrapped her straw and taken her first sip.

She took out her phone so that she wouldn’t have to talk with him. But the phone only made him think of Mark.

“How come you never talk about him?”

“Who?”

“Your fiancé.”

“What about him?”

“I wouldn’t know. You’ve hardly told me anything.”

She huffed and flipped her phone facedown on the table. “What would you like to know?”

Nothing. Everything. Did Mark treat her right? Did he respect her? Did she love him? Not that he had a right to ask. Dylan wasn’t treating her right. He certainly hadn’t been respectful since the moment he’d been jolted awake. But for the life of him he couldn’t restrain himself. He needed to nudge and press and push.

He needed to shut up right now. He’d be hitching a ride to Amarillo.

“Forget I asked.” He glared at the highway outside the window. What was his problem?

“Mark’s a nice guy,” she tentatively offered. “He’s from New York. We met at UCLA.”

Old news. He knew that.

“It was love at first sight,” she said, sounding pleased with herself.

That got his attention. He looked at her. Her fingernail was back to picking at the table, flicking a section of the Formica that had come loose. She was lying. Why?

Screw the no poking, prodding, and pushing.

“I call bullshit. Love at first sight doesn’t exist. And if there is such a thing as ‘true’ love”—he air quoted with his fingers—“it wears off fast.” He knew that firsthand. Sonia had gotten over him in a heartbeat. She wouldn’t listen to his apology or give him a second chance. And five short months later, she was married to some guy she’d met at a dance club.

“I beg to differ,” she argued.

“It isn’t love. It’s hormones, babe.”

She stared at him long and hard. Her nostrils flared. “Screw you.”

Dylan’s brows jumped. If he weren’t in such a foul mood he would have hooted. Damn. Prim and proper Joy had a mouth on her.

And if he wasn’t so tired, he might goad her into shedding her June Cleaver persona. Could he? Would be interesting to find out what was underneath. Who was the real Joy? Did she love Mark the way a woman should love a man she was about to spend the rest of her life with? He had a feeling he couldn’t shake that she didn’t. Maybe it was wishful thinking. Maybe it was because he was jaded. Maybe it was because Sonia had gotten over him so quickly. Maybe it was because his parents didn’t love each other enough. His parents and Uncle Cal were rotten examples. Or maybe he questioned the integrity of her and Mark’s relationship because, engagement ring be damned, she’d still agreed to drive Dylan, a total stranger, across country.

“I bet—” He stopped himself, pressed his mouth flat. Nope, not going there.

“You bet what?”

He shook his head, finished off his coffee. Bubbly-bitchy-Bonnie returned with Joy’s meal. Reluctantly, she refilled his coffee. Smart woman. He guzzled it.