Kiss and Don't Tell(97)

I leap over a bush, push through the dried-out grass—it’s called watering your lawn, Uncle RJ—and sprint to the car just as Pacey pops the door open for me.

“Thief. Thief,” Uncle RJ shouts, his voice closing in.

“Drink my breastmilk, you old hag,” I yell as I hop into the car and slam the door. Smacking the dashboard, I yell, “Go, go, go. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, GO!”

Pacey slams down on the gas pedal and we fly down the street. I sink into the seat and catch my breath.

After we twist and turn through the neighborhood and reach the center of town, Pacey slows down and pulls off into a parking lot, in the far back, where he parks Minnie and then turns toward me, a huge smile on his face.

“Holy shit, Winnie. You actually did it.”

I unravel the trophy from my clutches and hold it out. “I did it.” A tear comes to my eye as I stare down at the trophy. “I freaking did it.”

Pacey wraps his arm around my shoulder and brings me closer to his chest as he presses a kiss to my head. “This was the weirdest, craziest, probably stupidest thing I’ve ever been a part of, but holy shit, Winnie, you did it. I’m proud of you.”

“Thank you.” Silently, I stare down at the trophy and think, This was for you, Mom.

“Not to push this along, but not knowing your Uncle RJ, I think it would be in our best interest to leave the area, just in case, you know, he calls the cops or something.”

“Probably best.”

“Care if I drive?” he asks.

“Not at all. My adrenaline is far too high for me to think straight and get us out of here at the moment.”

“I prefer to drive, so this works.” Pacey puts the car in drive and then places his hand on my thigh. “You’re a badass, Winnie.”

“I am,” I say with pride. I place my hand on top of his. “Thank you for coming along with me. I know this is insane, but I appreciate you being here. I don’t think I would’ve been able to do it alone.”

“You would have, but I fear what you might have done when you got to the car. By the way, a few questions.”

“Shoot away.” I relax into my seat, letting my heart rate return to a normal rate.

“Your shoes. You realize you don’t have any on.”

“He made me take them off. It was a sacrifice I was willing to make.”

“The sign of a true robber, willing to sacrifice footwear.” I chuckle and he says, “And the whole ‘drink my breastmilk’ thing, care to comment on that?”

I smile to myself and rest my head on his shoulder. “Can’t be sure.”





“How are you doing?” I ask Pacey after he extracts himself from Minnie and stretches against his shut door.

“I’m going to need a massage after this,” he answers. He lifts his arms above his head and moves side to side. I catch his shirt lifting up, showing off the waistband of his boxer briefs and his taut stomach. “And from the lustful look in your eyes, you’re in the running to give me that massage.” He grabs my hand and laces our fingers together.

“I was staring. Sorry, hard not to.”

“I know the feeling,” he says, and places a kiss on the top of my head. “Three more hours and we’re in Vancouver. Think you can make it?”

“I know I can,” I say. “The question is—can you?”

“The only thing getting me through those three hours is knowing there’s a jacuzzi tub in my apartment, calling my name.” He leans in and whispers, “And it’s big enough for two.”

Chills run down my spine as he opens the restaurant door for me. We found a simple pizza joint to stop at for dinner. It looks like a dive bar, so I’m hoping we can get in and get out.

“How do you know it’s big enough for two?” I ask.

There’s a sign at the entrance that directs us to seat ourselves, so we find a table at the back where we’ll be secluded and take a seat.

“Because that’s what the listing said when I bought the place. Haven’t tested it out with two people . . . yet.” He pulls my chair out for me and helps me sit.

When he takes a seat across from me, I ask, “So you take baths on your own?”

“Fuck yeah,” he answers. “When you train like I do, baths are your best friends, and Epsom salts.”

I don’t know why I find that so funny, but I do. A laugh escapes me and he quirks an eyebrow.

“Do you find it funny that I take baths?”

“I do.”

“Why?” He opens the menu and asks, “You good with sharing a pepperoni pizza?”

I nod and then say, “I’m just picturing this six-foot-two—”

“Three,” he corrects. “Six-foot-three.”

“Sorry—six-foot-three, intimidating man stepping into a dainty tub and listening to Enya while soaking away.”

He sets the menu down and says, “I listen to Harry Styles, not Enya, and I’m not intimidating.”

I laugh out loud. “Not with a Harry Styles playlist.”

“Hey, he has good music. I have no shame.”

The waitress stops over, and Pacey orders for us—two Diet Cokes and a medium pepperoni pizza. He goes completely undetected, the waitress barely even lifts up her head to look at us, so this was the perfect place to go. I like having these quiet moments with Pacey. Just me and him. I don’t know what the future has in store for us, or if these moments will be short-lived, but I’m going to soak it up as much as I can.