“Okay, California boy. I know you’ve traveled more widely than I have, but I seriously doubt you have much practice with snow driving.”
“Yeah, I know, you took driver’s ed in January with snow on the ground.”
Since that requires no response, I don’t say anything as he takes the winding exit to the little rest area perched on a gentle slope overlooking the freeway. Trees stand guard over the picnic tables surrounding the squat brown brick building, the branches whipping in the strong wind.
Reaching into the backseat, I grab my jacket and pull it on before shoving my feet back into my shoes and jogging to the bathroom. The wind is frigid, a big difference from the mild weather we had in California and Nevada.
When I get back out of the bathroom, Brendan stands by one of the picnic tables, facing away from the freeway, looking out at the empty countryside. With his arms crossed and shoulders hunched, his short sleeved T-shirt provides no protection against the frigid wind.
I stop next to him on the sidewalk. “What are you doing?”
He turns to face me, his eyes squinty but his mouth smiling. “I didn’t want to sit down yet if I didn’t have to. But fuck! It’s freezing out here.”
I laugh. “Where’s your jacket?”
His shrug is barely visible because his shoulders are already hunched up so high. A fine tremor runs through his body. “I didn’t bring one. I have a sweatshirt in the bottom of my suitcase, but that’s the warmest thing I had with me, and I didn’t feel like digging it out just to go to the bathroom.”
“Are you kidding? We’re going to New York. It snows there. You know that, right?”
He shivers again. “Come here. I’m freezing.”
Before I realize what he’s doing, he hooks an arm around me and pulls me close. He unzips my jacket while I slap at his hands. “What are you doing? Stop that! It’s freezing out here!”
“I know!” Then his arms slide into my open jacket, and he hugs my body to his. The chill from my open zipper and his bare arms quickly dies, replaced by the warmth of our shared body heat.
Brendan sighs against the side of my head, fluttering my hair. “That’s better.”
I gently wrap my arms around his shoulders and give him a little pat. I could probably convince him to let me go, but it would involve pinching and/or punching, and I like him more than I should and don’t want to do that. Swallowing, I force myself to give a token protest. “We could just get in the car, you know. It has a heater. And blocks the wind better than I do.”
He chuckles, and his breath on my ear sends goosebumps down my spine in a wave. He smells good, even after hours in the car. A spicy combination of subtle cologne, deodorant, laundry detergent, and him. We danced together once at the wedding, but I wasn’t pressed against him like this. It was a Foxtrot, and he had a frame. The only places we touched were our hands and arms, and where his left hand rested on my back, not too low—formal and distant. Nothing like this.
My breasts press against his chest, but with the way he’s bending to get his arms as far into my jacket as possible, our hips are separated. That’s probably good.
I don’t need to rub myself against him like a cat. That’s not the kind of relationship we have.
Of course, two seconds ago, I didn’t realize we had a relationship where he unzips my jacket and wraps his arms around me to keep warm. Especially when there’s a car with a functioning heater fifty feet away.
I still don’t push him away, even though I know I should. It’s been a long time since I got hugged like this. Sure, Gabby and Jonathan hug me. And my roommate Charlie, even Damian, her boyfriend. But Jonathan and Damian are both spoken for, not that I’d be interested in them even if they weren’t.
Not that I’m interested in Brendan, either. Because of the whole no-guy-drama vow. Yes. That. I need to remember that.
But the feel of his firm chest, the way his arms wrap around me … it’s … nice. Comforting. Warm, and not just physically.
I relax into his embrace, letting my eyes fall closed, my breath leaving me on an unintended sigh. My arms drape around his shoulders instead of remaining stiff.
I don’t know if it’s my sigh, the way I’m relaxing against him, or he’s just decided it’s time, but he starts to pull away. Not completely, his arms are still embedded under my jacket, but they loosen around me and he puts space between us to scan my face.
He clears his throat, stepping back an inch, his shoulders and biceps now free of my coat. “We should … we should get back on the road. You want to make good time.”
“Right. Of course.” I agree with him, even though the whole hugging thing was his idea, not mine. I grab the sides of my jacket and pull them closed against the wind that’s cutting through the opening, feeling even colder now without Brendan’s body heat.
I follow him back to the car, biting back an offer to drive. He’s not even looking at me. And when we get in and pull back onto the freeway, we drive in stilted silence.
Brendan confuses me more than any guy I’ve met before. And suddenly the prospect of being trapped in a car with him for two days, not to mention living out my Rockefeller Center ice skating fantasy, seems … unappealing. And this whole trip just seems like a really dumb idea after all.
Chapter Eight
Brendan
It’s officially twilight in the mountains. The sun is down, though the sky still glows a leaden gray-blue behind us, grading to a dark navy on the eastern horizon in front of us.
We’ve driven the last couple of hours without speaking. I made it weird at the rest stop, and I don’t know how to unweird it.
I wasn’t thinking when I did that—unzipping her coat and wrapping my arms around her. It’s the kind of thing I’d do with one of my female friends from school. They wouldn’t think twice about it. They’d laugh and hug me and let me use them to get warm. Or they’d laugh and push me away and tell me that’s what I get for not packing a jacket.
Speaking of, we’ll need to stop somewhere and buy one for me. Preferably sooner than later. Because if I’m getting out to get gas, I need more than a flimsy sweatshirt. The elevation has only climbed as we’ve crossed Utah. We’ll hit Colorado soon, so we’re not coming closer to sea level anytime soon.
Lauren still has her face turned toward the window, refusing to look at me, just like she has since we got back in the car.
I clear my throat as we pass a blue sign showing the food options in the little town we’re approaching. “We need to stop for gas. And I was thinking we might hit the Denny’s for dinner.”
“Sure,” she says to the window.
I clench my jaw, frustrated.
Should I apologize? But she could’ve stopped me. Slapped my face or said no or pushed me away. Instead, she draped her arms over my shoulders and relaxed against me. Sighing in pleasure. Or at least that’s what it felt like.
And holding her slim frame with her soft breasts pressed into my chest, inhaling the scent of her shampoo—something fruity that I can’t quite place—it did things to me. Not just base attraction either, though there’s plenty of that. I wouldn’t have done it at all if I weren’t attracted to her. But something about the way she just melted into me, like she was letting down her guard for the first time in forever, made me want to keep her tucked against me until she was ready to pick up her shields again and carry on.
I felt protective.
And I don’t do protective.
I like girls who know the score, who want a quick hook up, some fun, and we both go on our way. If we both enjoy it, we might hook up again sometime, but there’s no exclusivity, no expectations. Easy come, easy go, both figuratively and literally.
Feeling protective over Lauren seems like an epically bad idea.
For starters, we’re on a random road trip, but after it’s over, we’ll part ways. Probably forever. I mean, it’s possible we’ll see each other again someday if she and Gabby stay friends. But otherwise, I doubt our paths will cross.
On top of that, she’s that girl. The one who reels guys in, makes them think she wants them, and then leaves them broken and bleeding when she moves on to her next victim.
I’ve met girls like her before, and always made it a point to steer clear.
I don’t need to fall under her spell.
That’s all that was, with the sighing and the relaxing. The next step to reeling me in. Or at least that’s what I’m telling myself to make it easier to stick to my resolution not to touch her.
But we can’t have awkward silence for another day and a half on the road. This is supposed to be fun. That’s the whole point.
“You tired?” I try next.
She shakes her head, still talking to the window, though there’s not much to see in the dark. “Not really. Just tired of sitting.”
She’s not giving me an inch, though. Damn. Time to try my last trick.
“You up for taking the next leg?”
That finally gets her to look at me, her wide eyes illuminated by the fading light coming through the back window. “Seriously?”
I nod once. “If we’re going to drive straight through, you’ll have to drive eventually. And you went on and on about how good you are in the mountains and snow. We’ll be in Colorado soon. The whole state is mountains and snow.”
That provokes a tiny smile. “Sure. I’ll drive for a while. You going to try to sleep?”
I shrug. “Maybe. It’s still pretty early.”
We decide to have dinner first, then fill up the gas tank before we get on the freeway again.
It’s weird sitting in the passenger seat, but it seems to have done the trick. Lauren chatted with me during dinner. Not quite the same level of animation as last night at the reception or earlier before the rest stop thing. But better than her pretending I don’t exist while staring out the window.
Even though I don’t like letting people drive my car, she’s a competent driver, adjusting everything to her liking before we leave the gas station, making me show her where the windshield wipers are controlled and all that before she gets on the road. Her driving is smooth, and I relax a little as we get closer to Colorado, eventually deciding to lean my seat back and close my eyes. I’m not particularly tired, but it’s going to be a long night, so I should rest while I can.
Chapter Nine
Lauren
We’re a little past a town called Grand Junction, which seems to be the only sign of civilization for miles. When we hit the Colorado state line, snow started falling. Like we’d crossed some sort of invisible barrier that kept the Utah weather on one side and the Colorado weather on the other. So weird.
Brendan’s reclined in the passenger seat, his long legs stretched out as far as they can go in front of him, his face turned toward the window, and his arms crossed over his chest. Which I don’t notice highlights his biceps. Nope. Not at all. Arms don’t do a thing for me anyway.
A gust of wind blows the snow furiously across the road, creating winding snake-like patterns in the glow of the headlights. It’s pitch black. And all I can see is snow. Everywhere.
I turned off the brights a while ago, since they just illuminate the big fluffy flakes and don’t help me see the road at all. And I’m crawling along at thirty miles an hour.
I wish I would’ve stopped in Grand Junction. But I made such a big deal about being a good driver in the snow that I didn’t want to admit defeat.
Stupid. The first rule of being a good driver in the snow is to know when not to be on the road. Driving when you shouldn’t is what lands you in a ditch, hoping for a kindly trucker to stop and help you out. And not rape and murder you as payment for services rendered.
Why yes, I do have an overactive imagination.
It’s quickly becoming apparent that the smart thing to do is get off the road. But who knows how long this snowstorm is going to last? If I pull off on the shoulder, we’ll be stranded for an unknown length of time. That seems risky.
So does driving in a blizzard in the middle of the night, though.
I squint at the green sign listing the next towns, snow clinging to its edges. Rifle tops the list. At forty-seven miles away. Dammit. At this rate, it’ll take well over an hour to get there. What kind of a name for a town is Rifle, anyway?
Though I shouldn’t judge. Washington has some entertaining place names. My favorites are derived from the local Native American tribes—Sammamish, Issaquah, Snoqualmie. There are some other fun ones like Useless Bay and Desolation Peak, which sounds like it could be part of the mountain range in Lord of the Rings. Go past Desolation Peak and climb to the top of Mount Doom.
As entertained as I usually am by my thoughts of random place names, it’s not quite enough to keep my nerves down. My hands are getting clammy and slippery on the steering wheel, which I’m sure Brendan won’t appreciate. But I can’t fucking see a damn thing. And we still have more than forty miles before we can stop.
“Hey, Brendan?” I pitch my voice kind of low. I don’t know if he’s actually asleep, but I hope not. If I’m going to drive through this shit, I need him keeping me company.
He doesn’t move.
I clear my throat, unwilling to risk taking a hand off the steering wheel right now. Between the wind and the snow and the curves that I can’t see coming, that’s a bad, bad idea. “Brendan!” My voice cracks like a whip in the silence of the car.
He bolts upright, blinking. “What? What’s wrong? What happened?”
Sucking in a stuttering breath, I shake my head. “Sorry. Nothing. Well, I mean, it’s snowing really hard.”
The tires run onto the rumble strip. Shit. The road is curving to the left. I ease the steering wheel in the direction of the curve, but I keep the passenger tires on the rumble strip. If I’m on the rumble strip, then I know I’m on the road.
When I chance a glance at Brendan again, he’s straightened his seat and is watching me. “You doing alright?”
I blow out slowly, trying to keep myself calm. “Yeah. No. I mean, I’m not about to drive us off a cliff or anything.”
He snorts. “That’s encouraging.”
Normally I’d glare at him for that, but I can’t spare the energy right now. “Yeah, well, the weather’s shitty. I’m going to pull off at the next town. We’ll need to wait for this storm to blow over, because this isn’t safe.”
“Sure. That sounds smart.”
Good. I was worried he might push back or give me a rough time. Then again, he barely even let me drive this car. I’m sure he doesn’t want to risk getting in a wreck and damaging it.
He leans forward, squinting out the windshield. “How much farther till the next town?”
“The last sign said forty-seven miles.”
“Okay. How far back was that?”
I glance at the odometer, though I have no idea what it read when we passed that sign. “Uh, not that far. Maybe a mile?”
He lets out a low chuckle. “Great. Do you want to switch? Just stop, and we can figure out how to maneuver into each other’s seats.”
“Ha. Right. That sounds totally possible.” I shake my head. “I’ll be alright. I trust me to drive in this shit more than you, California boy. I just don’t want to do it all night long.”
“Yeah. Me either. I don’t mind stopping anyway. You’re the one that wanted to drive straight through.”
I glance at him sideways, but keep my focus on the road. Not that it makes a difference. I still can’t see a damn thing. “Don’t you need to be back by Christmas too? I mean, I know your mom’s a piece of work, but …”
He bristles at that, the air vibrating with his irritation, and I cringe inwardly. “What do you mean my mom’s a piece of work?”
“Sorry. Nothing. Just, the way she tried to break up Gabby and Jonathan over the summer. Gabby told me about it. You have to admit she didn’t come across in the best light with how everything went down …”
His shoulders shift, and he grunts. “She came around.”
He grunts again, and I’m not sure what that means. This guy. A brick wall gives away more than he does.
After a long moment, he shifts in his seat again. “So you don’t want me to drive. Why’d you wake me up?”
Even though his voice is gruff, a glance at his face doesn’t show irritation. Which, again, tells me nothing. My shoulders hunch even closer to my ears. “It’s dark. And I’m tired. Between finals last week, my bridesmaid duties, and trying to be friendly to everyone, I’m spent. And we left early, it’s getting late”—the glowing clock on the screen on the dashboard shows it’s after ten—“and I have to drive for at least another hour in this storm. The wind is blowing hard, we’re in the mountains, and I can’t see a fucking thing except snow, snow, and more snow. I need you to keep me company and distract me from the fact that I’m kinda freaking out and my eyes are about to bug out of my head from trying to see the damn road. Can you do that?” My voice climbs throughout my diatribe, until I’m almost screaming by the end.
I bite my lip, wishing I could engage my filter. I have one, it’s just offline right now for all the reasons I just listed. But Brendan doesn’t know me. And when I’m stressed I get angry and ranty, and I tend to raise my voice at people. Even the people who are trying to help me. Or who I’m asking to help me.
He doesn’t say anything, just watches me for a beat. “Why don’t you turn on the brights?”
My scoff comes out before I can stop it. “You really haven’t ever driven in a snowstorm at night, have you?”
“I can’t say that I have.”
Overtones (Songs and Sonatas Book 6) Page 4
