Side Trip(64)

“The plan is”—he unfolded his paper map and scanned the grids—“six and a half hours of driving fun. I have a gig in Saint Louis at eight thirty. We have time for a short side trip,” he added, glancing at his watch. A shower somewhere would be ideal. “Anything you want to do or see?”

“Something spontaneous. I’ve been wondering what I should do for that one.”

Dylan gave her a look. “You can’t plan something spontaneous. That defeats the purpose of being spontaneous.”

“True.” She pouted, playful, then her mouth turned down. “Do you mind if we drive straight to Saint Louis? I didn’t sleep well last night, and I could really use a shower.”

He frowned, taking a good look at her. She wore the same outfit from yesterday, Rolling Stone tee and cutoff shorts. She had a few bug bites on her upper arm and neck, and he grimaced. He should have been more thorough when he applied the spray. Heavy bags hung below her eyes and her mouth was drawn. They’d been cramming too much—activities and miles—in too short a time. The lack of snooze hours was catching up with them. Then there was this new development with her fiancé.

He reached across the table and grasped her hand. “Sorry about Mark.”

She lifted her gaze and smiled faintly. “Me too.”

He refolded the map and slid it into his back pocket. “Give me the keys. I’ll drive. You can sleep in the car.”

“Thanks.” She pushed the keys across the table, dropped a twenty alongside, and stood. “I need to freshen up. Meet you at the car?” He nodded and she started to walk away only to turn back. “Want to hang out at the pool this afternoon? Assuming our hotel’s got one.”

Uh . . . yeah. He’d make sure they found one that did.

“Sure.”

She smiled brightly. “Great.”

He watched Joy walk to the restroom, picturing her in her bikini, and groaned. He was going to fantasize about those triangular scraps and how she’d removed them underwater the entire drive to Saint Louis. Thank you not for the visual, Joy, he thought with a grimace of frustration. He adjusted his jeans and pocketed the twenty. He’d return the Andrew Jackson to her later, slip it into her wallet or something when she wasn’t looking. Her pride wouldn’t let her take it back outright. But she was tight on cash and he had plenty. It wasn’t part of their pact, but why let her spend money when he could easily cover her entire trip cross-country and then some?

Standing, Dylan approached the cashier and paid for their breakfast. He’d also fill up her car before they hit the road. That, of course, was part of their deal. As for sticking to the other points in their agreement, that was becoming more of a challenge.





CHAPTER 23





BEFORE


Joy

Stroud, Oklahoma, to Saint Louis, Missouri, to somewhere south of Litchfield, Illinois

Joy walked to her car dazed. She’d broken off her engagement. Okay, technically she hadn’t terminated it. But she’d told Mark that she wasn’t entirely sure when he asked if she still wanted to marry him.

It was the first time she’d been truly honest with him since she set out on this road trip. She’d marry one day. She’d start a family some year. But not yet. One thing at a time. Let her get settled, she’d explained to Mark. Let her gain some traction in her new career. Let her explore these new feelings for Dylan.

She stopped midstep. She’d kept that last thought to herself. She also wouldn’t kid around that anything could come of their friendship beyond the four days they had left. Dylan had plans that would take him overseas, then back to the Golden State. As for Joy’s plans? She was questioning those, too. With every mile traveled, a career as a cosmetic chemist and a life in New York seemed less appealing than it had on the day she’d been offered the job. But she’d been mired in guilt for so many years, and in turn married to the idea that she would wed after college and immediately start a family, that it was hard to see past that and believe she was entitled to go after her own dreams. To pursue a life she wanted as opposed to the life she believed she owed Judy.

Joy felt like a scared bird deliberating its first flight. Does she take off or stick to the safety and familiarity of the nest?

“Hey!” Dylan stood beside her car, hand on the driver’s side door. He waved. “You ready?”

She took a deep, cleansing breath. “Coming.” She crossed the parking lot and settled into the car beside Dylan. He started the engine and pointed at the radio.

“What do you want to listen to?”

Anything but Elvis and Buddy Holly. “You pick,” she said.

Dylan tuned into ’50s on 5 and Joy’s lip involuntarily curled. He laughed. “Something else then.” He landed on soft jazz. “This will help you sleep.”

“Love jazz. Thank you.” She eased her chair back slightly.

He affectionately squeezed her hand, then reversed out of the parking slot. She watched him drive. His solid musician hands with a dusting of dark hair moved over the controls. Dylan was not a ten and two driver. One of his hands always rested on the gearshift or was draped behind the passenger headrest if he wasn’t beating a tune on the dash or tapping a rhythm on the steering wheel. Right now, his right hand rested on his thigh. She still felt the imprint of his calloused fingers from a moment ago and yearned to hold his hand while she drifted to sleep, like she’d done last night.