Side Trip(45)

A shadow fell over him. He opened his eyes and held his hand against the glare. Joy stood over him.

“I’m going in.” She didn’t wait. She waded into the water, dipped her head back to drench her hair, then swam to the center of the swimming hole. Treading water, she watched kids play under the waterfall. He watched her.

She laughed when a boy dunked his younger brother only to get splashed back, and his chest tightened in reaction to her smile. He wanted to be out there with her. He wanted to be next to her where he could hear her laugh rather than recall the musical sound from memory. Rising, he waded to his knees, then cut through the water. He felt immediate relief, from the sun and from fighting his desire.

Dylan surfaced behind Joy, inhaling a large breath as he did. A sheet of water crashed into his face. He sputtered and coughed.

“What the hell?” He laughed, pinching water from his eyes. She was grinning at him when he opened them.

“Don’t be a killjoy and tell me ‘no splashing.’”

He held up his hands. “I won’t. How’d you know I was coming?”

“I saw you dive in.” She threatened to splash him again and he grabbed her wrist. She gasped, laughing, and twisted free.

“You’re in a good mood today,” he said as she treaded out of his reach.

“I love the water. Surfer girl, remember?”

He did. He sang a line from the Beach Boys’ “Surfer Girl.”

“My parents had a pool. Judy and I spent summers swimming with friends,” she said, treading closer so that he could hear her over the roar of the waterfall and kids shouting. She drifted close enough so that he felt the current her movement caused. A leg brushed along his. An arm skirted against his. Water rippled around his chest and his skin beaded. His gaze caught hers; he was curious about her reaction or if she even noticed. Because he wanted to grab that arm or leg and drag her close enough so that it was her mouth brushing against him instead. Her eyes briefly flared before darting away. She pushed wet hair off her forehead. “Let’s check out the waterfall,” she said, then dived underwater.

Dylan tailed her. They swam through the water curtain and perched themselves on a rocky, water-carved ledge. Joy shouted something.

Dylan held a hand to his ear. “What?” The sound of the fall was deafening.

Joy wrapped an arm around his shoulders and Dylan grabbed her hand, keeping her arm in place. He liked it there, and he liked her closeness. She spoke and Dylan leaned down to hear. “This place is cool, but superloud,” she shouted into his ear. “Let’s go back out.” She tugged his arm, but he wouldn’t budge. She laughed. “Come on, follow me.”

“In a sec.”

“See you out there.” She smiled and dived through the curtain of water.

Dylan looked around, not ready just yet to leave the seclusion of the airspace behind the waterfall. The place was cool. So was fun Joy, he thought, feeling himself fully relax for the first time since he’d set out on the road. Tension melted from his shoulders. He’d thought this trip would be a miserable waste of time. It was turning out to be quite the opposite.

He smiled. How did Joy know a day off was exactly what he needed? Between Jack’s death and his and Chase’s plans for Westfield Records, his life had been one project after another without any breaks. He’d also been more focused on putting Jack’s idea of a road trip behind him. He never considered he’d enjoy it, and he had been, thanks to Joy. He wanted to tell her so.

Dylan slid off the ledge and waded through the falls. He spotted Joy clinging to a rock off to the side and swam over to her.

She pointed at his shoulder. “What’s your ta—”

A kid shrieked, cannonballing off a rock. Water splashed.

Dylan did what he’d wanted to do earlier. He wrapped an arm around her waist and drew her against him. She softly gasped. Her breath tickled his chin and her gaze dodged his, but she didn’t push him away. He could feel her heart hammering. Or was it his?

“What did you say?” he asked against her ear, using his entire well of willpower to keep his voice steady. She felt incredible in his arms. He turned his head to hear her answer.

She tapped his shoulder. “What’s your tattoo?”

He grinned. She had been admiring his tats this morning.

“Westfield Records’ logo.” His hand absently rubbed his left deltoid. Chase had come up with the concept, a vinyl record shaped like a compass with a W marking west and musical notes marking the other directions.

“And the sunburst?” She gestured at his chest.

“Always heading west. End of the day marks a new one on the horizon.”

“Wow, that’s meaningful.” She sounded impressed. “Any others?”

He showed her the single note on the inside of his right wrist, directly over his pulse. “Music is my lifeblood.”

“Mine too,” she whispered. She touched the ink with her fingertip. The contact rippled straight up the vein and burst through his chest. He sucked in air through his teeth. Her eyes lifted to his. “I don’t have any tattoos. Maybe I should get one.”

He would not, could not, suggest that he cancel his gig tonight and find a tattoo parlor instead. Talk about do something spontaneous. He easily pictured a musical note above her left ankle, or a matching note on the inside of her right wrist.