by J. Saman
Originally we had wanted to drive north up towards Chicago, and then west through the badlands and Wyoming. But we both want to do Vegas, the Grand Canyon and SoCal, so that first plan didn’t really make a lot of sense given our time constraints. If we had endless time, then sure, it would be game on.
So we did what we said we would not do.
We created an itinerary.
Our plan is to hit up Austin then Dallas, drive through northern Texas and New Mexico until we get to the Grand Canyon. After that it is Vegas, LA, somewhere along the coast, San Francisco and up the Pacific Coast Highway through the Red Wood forest all the way to Seattle.
All of that is to be done in the next fourteen to seventeen days max.
It’s ambitious since we both agreed that we want the majority of our time to be spent in California.
We set off for Austin bright and damn early, since it is a long ass drive and will take us all day. But as soon as we start out we change our plans and decide to head straight for Dallas, which makes more sense than stopping in Austin.
We realized pretty quickly that we wouldn’t get to enjoy the city at all, since we’d get in late and would have to set out again early. This drive is actually better anyway, as it takes us through actual towns in Louisiana, like Baton Rouge and Shreveport.
Today is October first and we have already been on the road nine days.
It’s hard to believe, but it’s true.
Ryan is scheduled to do a bunch of shit in Seattle on the nineteenth and wants to be there for at least a full day before so he’s not so rushed. Knowing there is a very real and looming expiration date on our little adventure sucks. I never thought I’d want to travel with anyone like this, especially a man I didn’t know, but now the thought of continuing on without him doesn’t feel possible.
So I have a new goal for this trip.
Find a place I want to live before we get to Seattle.
I promised to take him all the way there and I intend to keep my word, but I don’t want to drift aimlessly after that is done. I want to know where I’m going. I want a direction and a mission, because leaving him is going to be rough.
I meant what I said to him the other night in New Orleans.
I feel like Ryan is a part of me.
I’ve heard that old cliché about people being thrust into your life at the right moment, and I never really believed it—until now.
Yes, I have fun with him. Yes, he’s sweet and thoughtful and ridiculously hot and perfect. Yes, I have a crush on him. I admit it, but that’s all it is.
A crush.
Those are natural and normal when spending this much time with a member of the opposite sex, right? Right. It’s not like I’m cheating or my thoughts about Ryan mean that I don’t love Eric as much as I still do.
This is different.
And though Ryan and I flirt and occasionally get a little touchy feely, we’re just friends.
I’m sure that it is the same way for him. I don’t pretend to think that he has feelings for me beyond what we have right now. That and I’m pretty sure he hooked up with someone when we were in New Orleans. I smelled some strong god-awful perfume on his shirt when I was helping to pack up his clothes, and there was an empty condom wrapper in the pocket of his pants. That’s usually a pretty good indication of sex.
I didn’t really expect him to be celibate just because I am.
I understand that he is a very attractive single guy and has needs and all that. I’m grateful he didn’t tell me about her, but I hate the twinge in my stomach I get when I think about it. I feel guilty and wrong for even remotely entertaining the idea that I’m jealous.
I have no right.
He doesn’t want me and I’m forever in love with Eric, and that is all there is to it.
“Tell me you’re up for some killer barbeque tonight,” he says as we hit the Texas border.
“I never say no to barbeque. I could rock the hell out of some ribs,” I tell him, leaning back in my seat and stretching my legs up onto the dash. I drove the first four hours and now he’s finishing off this leg of the journey. I flex and relax my toes repeatedly, improving the circulation in my lower extremities, because DVTs are real and I don’t want one.
He laughs. “As long as we don’t have to line dance or say y’all.”
“Or chew tobacco,” I add, scrunching my nose up in distaste. “Something tells me we can find fantabulous barbeque and delicious drinks.” He looks over at me and I bounce my eyebrows at him. “I bet you can even find some really nice fake tits here. I’ve heard Dallas is known for them.”
He laughs again, reaching over to poke my ribs, making me squeal. I’m so freaking ticklish and he knows it. “I think I’m all set with that.”
I shrug. “Never say never.”
He looks at me for a moment as if trying to read my expression, and I’m doing my best to remain casual under his scrutiny. And as much as I want—and don’t want—to ask about the mystery sex in New Orleans, I keep quiet.
“Not that I have any problems with fake breasts, but I have a thing for natural beauty.” His eyes roam all over my face, down my body, and they definitely stop on my breasts for a leisurely look.
God, his eyes are practically devouring me. Okay, point proven. I need to change the subject stat. “What’s your favorite place we’ve visited thus far?”
“Hmmm,” he tilts his head a little the way he always does when he’s giving something some real thought. “I’d have to say either Miami or Charleston.”
“Really?” I’m a little surprised by this given the sex—yuck. “Not New Orleans?”
He shakes his head. “Nope. Charleston is where I feel like we really got to know each other, became closer. And Miami…” he trails off.
I wait a few seconds, but when he doesn’t finish his thought, I prompt him. “What about Miami?”
“I had fun dancing with you in the club and lounging by the pool,” he says this so simply that I have to love that answer. “What about you?”
“I agree with you about Miami, but I really loved my day at the spa in New Orleans.”
He looks over at me quickly with his crooked smile before turning his eyes back to the road. “I wish we had more time,” he starts, gripping the wheel a little tighter. “I wish we could have gone north and done all of those places that we talked about seeing.”
“Yeah,” I draw out the word on a sigh, shifting so I’m on my side facing him, my legs still up on the dash. “But I’m really looking forward to the Grand Canyon and California, especially the Red Wood forest, though I’m bummed about missing Yosemite.” He looks over at me, raising a questioning brow. “I’m a total national park slut.”
He laughs out loud. “Really? And to think I could have taken advantage of that this whole time,” he shakes his head like he’s put out. He’s not. “When did this begin?”
“When I was a kid with my dad. He was big into history, so he took me all around New England, and into Pennsylvania and New York to see landmarks and old battle grounds. That sort of thing.”
“That’s pretty cool.”
I nod my head against the seat. He looks over at me quickly, debating whether or not he wants to ask his next question. “How old were you when he died?”
“Sixteen. It was a fatal MI.”
“MI?”
“Heart attack.”
He nods. “That had to have been rough.” His hand reaches over, covering mine, and that small gesture of comfort is incredible. How he knew to do that, that I needed it, I don’t know.
“It was. We were close.”
“What about you and your mom?” His hand continues to rest on top of mine and I let it, though I feel like I shouldn’t.
“She’s tough. A bit emotionally detached. She loves me and I love her, but I wouldn’t say we have any real bond.”
“I get that. My mom and I are sort of the same way.”
; I hesitate, biting my lip because I’ve wanted to ask him about his dad since we set out on this trip, but I wasn’t sure how he’d react.
Fuck it.
“Can I ask about your dad?”
He looks over at me quickly, and then back to the road.
“He started drinking when Kyle was diagnosed with leukemia.” Clearly he knew what I was getting at without my needing to elaborate. “You saw my mother with a drink in her hand, and yeah she has a problem, but she limits herself to no more than three a day and she’s functional. Crazy, but functional.” He looks over at me with a wry grin, but there’s sadness in his eyes too, and I know it must be hard to have not only one parent with a drinking problem, but two. “But my dad never really learned his limit and refused to seek treatment for it. He likes drinking.”
“I’m sorry.” I don’t really know what else to say. I can see it is hard for him. I can see it hurts him, so I move my hand out from under his and intertwine our fingers instead, squeezing him a little.
His eyes look down at our laced hands and a small shudder rises up him. That one small reaction to my touch means so much.
“He’s more catatonic now than anything. He was never violent or mean. Just isolated, which is how I think he wanted to be.”
“Have you ever tried talking to them about it?” I ask softly, not wanting to come off as judgmental or accusatory, because I’m absolutely not meaning to be.
“Yes. My dad said he had no interest in stopping, and my mother said she didn’t have a problem. I can’t help them if they’re not willing to help themselves.”
I nod my head agreeing with him. “True.” My thumb runs across his hand. “Still, it must be hard.” I squeeze again and we fall into silence after that, but our hands never pull away.
We reach downtown Dallas and find a hotel that has a dope rooftop pool. When I initially thought out this trip, I did not intend to go first class the entire way. I was more thinking middle of the road places, but that hasn’t exactly happened.
I’m not so concerned about the money, and Ryan has insisted on paying for a lot of dinners, but still. At some point I’m going to need to check on how much I’ve actually spent and maybe pull Ryan back a little. I get the feeling he has a lot of money. He doesn’t discuss it much, but he’s hinted at it and spends it like he must.
I have plenty of money; I just don’t like to spend it.
My father left me a large chunk when he died, and then when Eric died I inherited his trust fund as well as his life insurance. The thought of spending either of those makes me a little sick.
Whatever, for now I’m going to enjoy this and worry about the rest later.
Chapter 11
Kate
I wake up early, as usual, and head for the hotel gym. Ryan and I did find our barbeque, which was stellar, but decided after two full nights out in New Orleans, our livers’ needed a rest. We both went to bed like good little kids around eleven.
When I enter the gym it is empty save for one other guy on a treadmill hauling ass.
We do the typical gym stranger nod to each other when I hop on a treadmill a few away from him. I pop in my earbuds, set my pace and zone out the way I normally do.
Running is not new for me, but the way I run is.
Before Eric and Maggie died, I did it when I could and for much shorter distances. Now I run harder and longer and with a lot more regularity. Exercise seems to help. I don’t know if it is the endorphins or the way my brain seems to shut off or what, but it’s all good.
I’m about twenty minutes and almost three miles in when I feel like I’m being watched. Turning my head to the left, I catch the eye of the guy on the other treadmill who is smiling at me like he wants to say something. Great, I hate gym talkers. I pull out my earbud on the side facing him and raise my eyebrows expectantly.
“You’ve got great form,” he calls out with an appreciative look and I want to roll my eyes at that line.
“Thanks,” I say instead and offer a tight smile.
“Are you in Dallas long?”
Really guy? I mean, I’m fucking running here and you want to make chitchat? Does this look like the time or the place to try and pick me up? No, it doesn’t.
“Leaving today.”
“That’s too bad. I would love to show you around the city a little.” Jesus, this guy. Suddenly I’m a little uncomfortable that we are the only two in here.
“I’m all set,” I grin again and start to look away when the guy keeps going.
“What time are you leaving? I could give you a private tour this morning. Maybe take you out for breakfast.” His tone does not suggest that he wants to take me out for breakfast, unless it is after he has screwed me. I swear the blonde hair makes men think I’m stupid and easy.
I hate stereotypes, especially that one, but men seem to be all over it.
My head snaps in his direction and I’m about to go off on the guy when someone beats me to it.
“That won’t be necessary.” I turn the other way—nearly falling off my damn treadmill—and see Ryan walking toward us. “The only person who’ll be giving my girl here a private tour or buying her breakfast, is me.”
I smile so goddamn big. I just can’t help it.
I would have happily laid into the guy and set down the law—something I have no problem doing, but it’s nice that I don’t have to. Men respond better to men in these types of situations for some stupid caveman like reason.
“Isn’t that up to the lady?”
Really dude? Take the damn hint.
“Then I have to agree with my boyfriend here. He’s the only one I’m interested in,” I smile at the overly zealous guy, blow Ryan a kiss, pop my earbud back in and pick up the pace since it had slowed during this little interaction. The guy takes the not-too subtle hint and leaves the gym.
I look over to Ryan who has occupied the treadmill next to mine.
“Thank you,” I say to him. “That guy just didn’t know when to quit.”
He shakes his head at me. “I can’t leave you alone for two seconds without someone hitting on you, can I?”
I snort, rolling my eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. A guy like that would have hit on anything with a pulse and a vagina.”
Ryan gives me a look that says I’m full of shit, but I let it go and so does he.
We start to run and begin to play the one up game. Every time I increase my pace, so does he. Every time I add a little incline, he does too. And vice versa. After a few minutes of this bullshit, we’re both practically sprinting up hill.
“Ryan, you’re killing me,” I pant out, barely able to keep this up. He is smiling smugly and I want to smack it off his way too good-looking face. “To hell with this.” I wheeze and begin to slow my pace and lower my incline. My thighs, calves and ass are burning like crazy, not to mention my lungs.
He slows down too and after that little race, I’m done. I ran about three and a half miles and though I normally do a little over four, I cannot manage anymore.
“Quitting on me already?”
I glare at him. “I was here twenty minutes before your lazy ass.”
“Whatever you say, sweetheart,” he winks and I roll my eyes at him.
“I’m going to shower. Come find me when you’re ready.”
“Yes ma’am,” he salutes me.
By the time I’m showered, changed and packed up, I get a knock on my door. Ryan comes strolling in, freshly showered and smelling like his deodorant, shampoo and his own unique scent. He’s wearing a worn, dark green tee that matches his eyes, black shorts and Chucks. His hair looks like he ran his fingers through it after the shower and didn’t bother doing anything else.
“What’s our plan today, doll?” He flops down onto my bed and for the briefest flicker of a second, I get the urge to flop on him. What the hell? I push it back quickly, because that is not going happen.
“I say we grab some food, mayb
e walk around a bit and then hit the road to Amarillo, though I’m not in a huge rush to get there. I figure that is more of a sleeping stop.”
“Agreed, now come here.” He reaches out in a flash, snagging my hand and pulling me down onto the bed next to him. I squeal, squirming and laughing like crazy when he starts tickling me. “I thought you might be ticklish.” He’s lying. He knew I was ticklish. “I had to test my theory.” He’s smiling and laughing too.
“Ah. Ryan. Stop.” I’m trying to push him off of me, but he is freaking relentless, and huge and strong, and I’m overpowered. “Please. Stop. I hate being tickled,” I gasp through my laughter that has tears streaming down my face.
“No. You love it.” He’s enjoying this way too much. “Tell me you love it.”
“Asshole.”
He laughs harder.
Giving up on trying to pry his hands away from my ribs, I reach up and twist the hell out of his nipple. “Ouch. What the fuck?” He lets me go of me in favor of his smarting nipple. “That hurt like hell.” He’s still smiling, so I know he’s not really pissed at me.
I try sitting up, but he is half on top of me so I can’t really move. His body heat and weight feel nice against me.
“Sorry.” I’m not sorry at all. “I had to defend myself from your attack.”
“Oh, sweetheart.”
He places his hands on either side of my body, his face hovering over mine and my heart rate begins to spike. His green eyes are sparkling, his face so close to mine—only inches separating us really.
“It’s so on now.” His eyes bounce down to my lips and my tongue juts out reflexively to moisten them. His pupils dilate instantly and that one small reaction sets my blood on fire.
I have to stop this. “If you tickle me again, I’ll go for your nuts,” I rush out so he doesn’t start tickling me again. Or kiss me. I don’t want him to kiss me. I don’t. I swear.
He freezes, evidently threating his nuts is the key. “You wouldn’t,” he tilts his head, narrowing his eyes at me like I just crossed the line.
“I totally would, so don’t try me, sweetheart,” I push him back and this time he gets off of me without protest.
