“That’s right — she started it,” Mac said, but his tone made it clear that he didn’t think he needed any justification.
Tristan navigated to her and Alyssa’s texting thread. Thumbs poised to type, she asked Mac, “What should say? Let’s make it good.”
Chapter Five
“Tell her how hot you think I am,” Mac said offhandedly.
Coming from any other guy — any other hot guy, at least — that would have sounded incredibly arrogant, but Mac just sounded mischievous. His eyes crinkled with laughter, as if the very idea of calling him hot were ridiculous.
At that made him even more attractive.
Did Mac have the slightest clue about how many girls dreamed of meeting a guy with his classic swimmer’s build? From everything she’d seen — and everything she had not seen, such as preening in front of windows, smelling of Axe body spray, or using so much product that his would crackle when touched — Mac appeared completely oblivious to the fact that becoming a Ralph Lauren model could have been a viable career path for him.
Tristan tore her eyes away from admiring his profile and began composing a text to Alyssa. “It needs to have lots of emojis.”
“Definitely,” Mac said. “And just enough detail. But it can’t be long, or she’ll suspect something.”
“Trust me,” Tristan said, “I know just what to say.” She couldn’t help but worry one lip with her teeth, the only way to keep herself from blushing like crazy. And she would have done almost anything to avoid showing Mac her obvious attraction. Choosing between those two options, she’d take a bleeding lip if that’s what biting on it got her.
She typed a simple sentence: Well done, my friend. She followed that with a bunch of smiley faces with hearts for eyes.
“What does it say?” Mac asked. After she told him, he furrowed his brow. “Isn’t that a bit vague?”
“It’s perfect. Trust me, I know Alyssa — and... it’s sent.” Tristan settled the phone on her knee. A reply arrived quickly. “She says, ‘You think so?’”
“What does she mean by that?” Mac asked, sounding confused.
“She wants to know if I really think you’re hot.”
“But you didn’t say anything about me.”
“Yes, I did. In BFF-speak.”
“So ‘Well done, my friend’ means… ‘He’s hot’?” Mac asked, trying to understand.
“In this context, yes.” She was starting to enjoy herself now that she knew that she could text Alyssa all day and tell Mac exactly what she was typing, and he wouldn’t know which texts were teasing and which were the truth unless she told him.
They reached a road sign saying they’d entered another county. She hadn’t seen a sign showing the miles left to Vegas, but one had to be coming up soon.
“What are you going to say back?” Mac asked.
“I’ll read you everything, promise,” Tristan said, typing again. She narrated the rest of the exchange as it happened.
He’s Loki! And you knew he was, didn’t you? Tristan texted.
Duh. Of course. How many guys named Mac have the perfect Loki costume?
You never told me about the Bandit’s washboard abs.
Mac burst into laughter at that one. “As if you’ve seen my abs. Good one!”
How could he not know that his T-shirt left little to the imagination? Suddenly, Tristan really, really wanted to see his abs directly. The thought made her cheeks hot. She took a drink from her water bottle and hoped he didn’t notice her blushing.
Alyssa replied. I guess I was too busy being freaking annoyed at him to notice things like his abs. Before either Tristan or Mac could come up with a good reply, another text arrived.
Is he driving you completely crazy with trivia about Scandinavian mythology yet? She had added a smiley with a halo above it.
Tristan read the text then added her own interpretation. “She hopes that I’m annoyed with you.”
“Are you sure she’s not worried?” Mac asked. “She might be having regrets. Three months into the Bandit thing, she kind of hated the sight of me.”
“I’m sure she still does. That’s why she arranged this. She doesn’t particularly like you, so she thinks it’s hilarious that I’m stuck in a car with Loki.”
“About that,” he interjected. “How did she know that we met at the speed dating thing?”
Another wave of heat crept up her face. At this rate, my face is going to catch fire.
She cleared her throat casually and picked at some nonexistent fluff on her slacks. “I saw her for lunch right after speed dating, and I told her all about it.”
“Oh, right.”
Phew. He bought that without batting an eye. She couldn’t remember if she’d mentioned anyone besides Loki. Had she told Alyssa about Worf/Mark? Tristan doubted it. Ever since meeting Mac, he’d sort of taken up all of her brainpower.
Mac slapped the steering wheel with the palm of one hand. “I’ve got it. Tell her that you’d love to be stuck with me for a much longer road trip.”
“Good one,” she said. It was the truth, too — she did want a longer trip, even though they’d hardly begun this one. “I’ll add that we’re thinking about driving through Vegas and on to Disneyland.”
“Will she buy that, knowing about your convention thing tomorrow?”
“Hmm. She would if the park were having a singles event. I’ll check on that later.” Tristan deleted the part about Disneyland. “Okay, I know.” As before, she typed the text before reading it to him. “How’s this: We’ve really hit it off. At this rate, I wouldn’t mind if this were a week-long trip.”
“Excellent.”
Tristan tapped the emoji menu. “Adding a purple heart to emphasize the point.”
“Ooh,” Mac said with an approving nod. “You’re good at this.”
“Helps to know your best friend really well.”
As she was about to send the text, an Air Supply song came on the radio, “Here I Am,” in all its 1981 power-ballad glory. Mac began swaying in his seat, wearing a melodramatic expression. With the first word, he sang along as if he meant every word and was passionately in love with her.
She quickly hit the send icon, slipped her phone into her purse, and joined in for the swelling chorus. They belted out the rest of the song at the top of their lungs. The music gradually faded, and the two of them laughed together. The next song, a-ha’s “Take on Me” began, and Mac cranked up the volume.
Tristan turned toward him and nodded in the direction of the radio. “I don’t come across a lot of guys who listen to 80s pop music — and even fewer who know the lyrics well enough to sing along.”
“I could say the same about women I’ve gone out with — assuming we’re talking about our generation.”
“Oh, really? Interesting,” Tristan said with mock seriousness. “I thought you might be into cougars.”
“Just their music,” Mac said with a grin. He looked over at her for the first time in several miles — and winked — before focusing on the road again.
Tristan’s heart rate seemed to dance along to the quick beat of the music.
“That’s not all I listen to,” Mac continued. “But there’s something special about the 80s.”
“There really is,” Tristan agreed.
For the next few songs, they sat in a silence filled with energy, until the first piano chords of Chicago’s “Glory of Love” came on. Mac held up a hand as if getting ready to cue a choir — but then came in eight counts too soon.
Tristan busted up, then gasped, getting her laughter under control enough to come in with Peter Cetera’s high tenor at the right moment. Mac’s cheeks had blushed the slightest bit, which sent an excited, wobbly feeling through her chest and into her stomach. She kept singing, and he finally joined in. They danced as well as they could while belted in. When the part came about fighting for the woman’s honor, Mac took Tristan’s hand dramatically and pretended to be singing to her.
The song fa
ded out, and the DJ came on, introducing, “Hello,” by Lionel Richie. Dang, this station played good stuff. Mac didn’t let go. Instead, he lowered their clasped hands and rested them on the console between their seats. Neither of them sang, although Tristan had every confidence that Mac knew these lyrics as well as he did the other songs. She didn’t sing, either, because that would have broken the spell and ruined the moment.
Their silence continued, and she happily kept her hand nestled in his, in spite of about ten songs coming on in a row that were perfect for singing to. About the time cities disappeared behind them and they entered sagebrush-covered wilderness, Tristan’s eyes grew heavy. The sound of Phil Collins singing “In too Deep” lulled her, making every inch of her aware of how tired she felt.
As she drifted off, she thought she felt Mac’s thumb gently stroking the back of her hand. She hoped it wasn’t a dream, that it was really the intoxicating sensation of his touch that was carrying her into dreamland.
Chapter Six
The next thing Tristan was aware of, the car door shut, and Mac settled into his seat. He touched her shoulder. “Hey, wake up. We’re stopping for dinner.”
She blinked several times and looked around, feeling a distinct crick in her neck as she tried to regain her bearings. They were beside a gas pump, which meant that Mac had filled the car. Focusing out the driver side window, she made out the freeway snaking along in the distance.
“Where are we?” she asked.
“Beaver.”
“I’m not awake enough to tell if you made that name up.”
“It’s a real city.” He smiled, squeezed her shoulder, and stepped back.
She felt the lack immediately but hid it by rubbing her eyes and reaching for her purse. “I owe you for gas.”
“You can pay for the next fill-up.”
“But—”
“Let’s eat.” He nodded toward a nearby building and started up the engine. “If you’re hungry enough, their food is excellent.”
“What a glowing recommendation,” Tristan said, growing more alert. “Although I am starving.”
“Then you’ll think you’ve arrived in heaven,” Mac said, maneuvering the car to the restaurant lot. “But I doubt the salad bar would be tempting even if you walked in after being stranded on a deserted island for six months.”
“That bad?”
He slid into a parking space and turned off the car. “Bad enough that I’d pay you to get the salad bar just to see you get grossed out by the wilted lettuce.”
“I think I’ll get fries instead.” Tristan got out, slinging her purse over one shoulder.
Mac got out as well and locked the car. “Excellent. I’ll give them credit for making really good fry sauce, though.”
“You mean like the barbecue-flavored stuff at Red Robin?”
Mac held the door open for her. “Not even close.” He followed her in, and they were soon seated in a booth near wallpaper that looked like the aftermath of a tole painting supply store explosion. The server handed them menus and took their drink orders.
After she disappeared into the kitchen, Mac leaned forward against the table. “Utah fry sauce is totally different. It’s an acquired taste, but after living in Utah for a few years, I came to love it.”
Now that the fog of sleep had left her, Tristan remembered that her phone was still on Do Not Disturb mode. She turned it off and checked for any missed calls or texts. “Oh, wow. Alyssa has been texting and calling me a ton. I have six missed calls and” — she checked the red number by the app” — fifteen texts.”
“Excellent,” Mac said.
“Care to listen to her voice message?”
He leaned forward as she put it on speaker. As it played, they laughed at Alyssa’s clear annoyance over Tristan not replying.
“You’re kind of killing me here.” Alyssa’s voice sounded frustrated. Mac and Tristan both chuckled quietly. “Call or text me back already!”
Her texts were variations of the same theme, with the occasional mention of Tristan’s promise to check in so that there would be no worry over her getting abandoned in a ditch.
“She’s not really worried,” Tristan explained. “It’s a joke — and an attempt to get a reply.”
“She’s genuinely annoyed, though.”
“Yeah,” Tristan admitted, intending to sound penitent but utterly failing. “I have an idea.” She scooted out of her bench and motioned for Mac to scoot in on his side of the booth. She joined him on the other bench. “Selfie,” she explained as she held up her phone.
“Genius.” Mac put an arm around her shoulders. Tristan happily leaned into the space he’d created for her, and then, with their heads tilted together, she snapped a couple of pictures. She could feel his cheek on her forehead with the slightest hint of a five-o’clock shadow. She’d always liked a little scruff on a man and suddenly wanted to touch his cheek. He shifted positions, so she did too, taking pictures at different angles to make sure they looked convincingly lovey-dovey.
Mac pulled out his phone. “I’ll send her a few too.” They posed for more pictures, this time with his phone. At one point, Tristan gave in to the urge and leaned in, pretending to kiss his cheek. A split second before she made contact, he turned his head, and their lips met. She nearly gasped and pulled back, her eyes open wide from shock. But he leaned in a little more, still snapping pictures, so she closed her eyes again… To make the pictures believable, of course.
That was a mistake. Cutting off her vision only made her a hundred times more aware of every other sense — the smoothness of his lips, the gentle scruff on his chin, his heady cologne. His phone lowered, and instead of taking pictures, he used that arm to draw her closer. Tristan braced herself, pressing her hands against his chest as she sank into his kisses.
The kitchen door banged, and the two of them practically flew apart and pretended to be studying the menu. Tristan touched her lips. Had that just happened? She’d never kissed a guy so soon after meeting him, even as a joke.
But after the first second or two, that kiss sure hadn’t felt like a joke. Or maybe she was the only one with a racing pulse. Electricity still coursed through her body. Did he feel the same way?
The waitress smiled knowingly as she approached. She’d obviously seen them kissing — or at least, the end of it. With both of them on the same bench, and Mac’s arm around Tristan’s shoulders, there was no reason for anyone to think they weren’t a real couple.
Why not keep pretending? Tristan pecked Mac’s cheek and turned to the waitress, whose name tag read Judith. “Could we get some fry sauce? My boyfriend here loves it.” She patted his chest with one hand, feeling the muscles under the fabric, and snuggled closer to him, resting a hand on his thigh. She didn’t dare look at him; her acting job would crumble if she did.
“Sure thing,” Judith said. “I’ll be right back with that.” Judith looked over the spread she’d laid before them. “Anything else I can get you?”
This time Mac answered. “I think we’re good, thanks.”
“Holler if you need anything,” Judith said then left to get the fry sauce.
Mac didn’t speak or move until she was out of earshot, and then he only whispered, “What was that all about?”
“Thought we might as well keep it up. Easier than explaining. And I thought it might be fun.” And it had been. No, kissing Mac had been more than fun. It had been fireworks-on-the-Fourth-of-July explosive.
“I can keep up the act,” Mac said. He flirtatiously nuzzled her ear and kissed along her hairline, making her insides spin like a vortex. He straightened as Judith dropped off the fry sauce, then played with Tristan’s hair as he ate fries left-handed.
As for Tristan, it took her twenty minutes to even remember how to eat.
Chapter Seven
They left the restaurant hand in hand. He opened her car door before getting in himself. No one could see them in the now-dark parking lot if they were standing in the brightly lit re
staurant, so he didn’t need to for the sake of pretense. Not that Tristan was complaining.
Before starting the car, Mac flipped through his pictures and sent one of them kissing to Alyssa — something Tristan had completely forgotten to do herself. His kiss had temporarily turned her brain into mashed potatoes. After reaching cruising speed on the freeway, he reached over and took her hand again. Pleasantly surprised, she threaded her fingers with his and smiled, unsure whether he could make out her face in the darkness.
They quickly picked up where they’d left off, singing along to the radio, with Mac sometimes offering harmonies. They talked easily, telling stories about their families and work — Tristan had some pretty big doozies because of the nature of the Internet. Driving in the dark, his hand in hers, talking easily — it all felt natural, as if she’d known Mac forever and they were catching up.
All too soon, they reached the Strip, and there was the Italy-inspired architecture and bright lights that spelled out Palazzo. Dread at having to say good-bye to Mac made Tristan’s heart sink to her toes.
“How about I help carry your bags and get you checked in? No need to pay a bellboy when you’ve got a young, strapping man like me around.” His toothy grin looked remarkably like the silly emoji Alyssa had sent earlier.
“Sounds like a great idea,” Tristan said, though she’d packed light and could manage alone.
He parked in the Palazzo’s garage, and soon they were heading up an escalator to the lobby. Blocking the check-in desk was an enormous decoration covered in gigantic fake fruit — golden pears and apples four feet tall, several cornucopias, bizarre plastic leaves, and, to top it off, strings of crystals draped like Christmas garlands. The gaudy thing had be thirty feet across and at least that tall.
“Oh, wow,” Mac said as he looked at it. “That’s either a terrific practical joke, or someone is about to be fired.”
Tristan had just taken a drink of water, and she laughed so hard that it nearly shot out of her nose.
Love Far from Home Box Set Page 14