Side Trip(65)

She yawned, waiting for him to merge onto the highway and reach cruising speed, then she took his hand in hers. He immediately looked down at their interlaced fingers, then over at her as if surprised she’d been so bold.

“This okay?” Her heart skittered. She’d never made the first move, not with Kevin or when she’d met Mark, and there hadn’t been anyone else in between. There also was a general understanding between them. He was just a friend, albeit temporary. Nothing more than a means to JFK.

She looked at their hands again, struck by the intimacy of her gesture. Small space. Two people. Man and woman. One a dedicated bachelor. The other waffling between fiancée and single woman, but very attracted to said dedicated bachelor. Suddenly awkward, she started to unlace her fingers.

He tightened his grip on her hand. Startled, her gaze snapped up to his. He slowly smiled. “It’s okay.”

She smiled back and took a deep breath, filled with relief. Her hammering heart slowed to a comfortable beat and her heavy-lidded eyes shuttered. She was asleep before they’d left Stroud’s limits.

Joy slept most of their drive, waking up rested and famished when Dylan announced he’d found a roadside motel with a pool. “And a slide!” Joy squealed with delight. The place looked like a scene straight out of a WISH YOU WERE HERE postcard. Judy would have been gaga over it.

“You’re the best,” Joy told him with an exuberant hug after they’d checked into their rooms, and she meant it. He always seemed to know what she liked, wanted, or needed before she did. He’d especially been considerate when it came to the bucket list, going out of his way and sacrificing his time so that she could finish it.

Joy showered off the bug spray and caked-on sweat. She balled up her dirty clothes and changed into her bikini. Dylan met her at the pool with a bag of burgers and fries from the fast-food drive-in across the road. He looked sinful in his swim shorts and shirtless, and Joy bit into her lower lip to hold in a moan of pleasure.

“Do my back,” she said when he settled on the lounger beside hers. The late afternoon sun was blistering. She tossed him her sunblock, rolled onto her stomach, and buried her face in her towel, but not before she saw Dylan’s reaction when he snatched the tube one-handed midarc. He looked like he’d both lost his Gibson and signed Coldplay to his label. Scared shitless and elated at once.

It took a good half minute before Joy heard the plastic lid snap open and an equal amount of time before she heard him squirt lotion on his palm. She held her breath as he vigorously rubbed his hands together, then she gasped when he rubbed them on her. He was achingly thorough. Joy bit the towel, stifling a groan. She smelled coconut and pineapple, her favorite summer scents, and she’d now associate those with Dylan. He worked the lotion in and her up.

What was he doing? His hands, oh my God. They moved all over—her ankles, the small dip in her back, the curve of her shoulders, the slope of her upper arms—and then they were gone.

A loud splash sounded behind her. Water sprayed the concrete near her chair and the backs of her legs. Joy rolled onto her side and lifted to her elbow just as Dylan surfaced in the shallow end. He shook the water from his hair.

“Stay there,” he said testily when she started to rise. “I need a minute.” He grimaced and Joy frowned. It was just sunscreen. Taryn applied it to her back all the time. So did Mark, almost clinically because he didn’t like it when she burned. She’d complain, then blame him.

Dylan shot her a disgruntled look and Joy’s mouth parted. It took her a moment, but she threw her head back and laughed. Her experience with men was minimal. She might be naive, but she was a fast learner. Dylan was a little worked up himself.

“You okay?”

He dragged a hand down his mouth and over his chin. “Joy, you’re amazing, but his ring is still on your finger.”

Joy’s face fell. Her heart plummeted into her belly. He was right, and she was being unfair with him. But she couldn’t very well take off the ring now and risk someone lifting it from her bag while they swam. And she wasn’t going to let a two-carat rock ruin some fun in the sun. She eased off the lounge chair before she realized she was doing so, and walked to the pool edge, hands on hips. “If it wasn’t on, what would you do, Dylan Westfield?”

His mouth fell open and he stared at her. “Who the hell are you and what did you do with Joy?”

She’d left her in Stroud, in a dusty café parking lot crowded with minivans crammed with kids and Silverados towing camping trailers. Joy wasn’t sure exactly what she was doing other than having a good time for the first time in a long time. She also knew what she didn’t want to think about: how tranquil she’d felt after she woke from her nap, or of the ring that looked more dazzling than ever in the sunlight, or of Mark. She and Dylan had a pool to themselves and Dylan needed to lighten up. She cannonballed into the water and surfaced in front of him.

“You!” he sputtered, then smiled wickedly. It was the only warning Joy got. He grasped her waist and tossed her high. Joy shrieked, crashing into the deep end. She surfaced laughing and cussing, and ready for more.



It was several hours later when Joy slipped into a floaty, stylishly current sundress that reached midthigh, forgoing her vintage attire. Dylan had invited her along to his gig. She danced and sang through his performance, and she laughed, a lot. She didn’t think about Judy, and surprisingly, she didn’t dwell on where she’d left things off with Mark. In between sets, Dylan joined her at the bar for a beer. He draped an arm over her shoulders, and she lingered a little longer than necessary by his side. But then Dylan didn’t seem to be in a rush to remove his arm either.