Risking It

by Angela Quarles

  Then it hits me what he’s doing, and I launch out of the car. “I’ve got this!”

  He glances at me over the top of the car. “Nope.” He swipes his card. “You’re driving. I’m paying.”

  I narrow my eyes. Too late now, but, gah, I don’t like that he’s paying for my gas.

  He completely ignores my narrow-eyes. “So what’s our first stop?” Behind him, the gas filling the tank clicks along, marking time.

  I sigh. “Solomon’s Castle.”

  Now he does the narrow-eyes thing, though his has a hint of tease, like he’s throwing it back at me. “You don’t seem too excited.”

  Shit. Can’t have him pry into who was behind this. Or why. I paste on a smile. “I am! Just tired.” I cross my arms over the roof and plant my chin on my forearm. I stifle a yawn to lend authenticity.

  “Need me to drive?”

  “Oh! Uh, no. I’m not that tired.” God, I sound like the biggest idiot.

  He stares a moment longer, like he’s totally seeing through my BS. The clunk of the gas shutting off startles us both. He taps the nozzle and replaces it.

  “I’m gonna get a Coke Zero,” I say. “Want anything?”

  He shakes his head. “I’m good. I might, er, nap, if that’s cool with you?”

  I nod like a friggin’ maniac, because yeah, that’d be awesome. No pressure. No worrying about conversation topics. No awkwardness about That Night.

  I make a pit stop while I’m inside, because it’s always good to empty the tank, and on the way out I nab my Coke Zero. A small bag of Funyuns beckons from an end-cap display. I grin like some Disney villain hatching a plot—nothing says I have no plans to hook up with you more than Funyun breath. I throw those suckers on the counter too.

  Back at the car, Aiden’s pushing the seat as far back and as low as it can go.

  He looks up as I get in the car, and I give him a nod and a smile like I’m totally cool, totally the type of girl who goes on road trips with hot guys all the time. No biggie. Mm-hmm. I stash my drink and snack in the center and pull out of the station, heading east. He takes no notice of my snack statement. Jerk.

  In fact, he just closes his eyes and crosses his arms across his very broad chest. Jeez, they take up the whole width of the seat. This car’s too small for the both of us.

  As we tool out Fruitville road, his breaths even out. The little faker. He’s totally not asleep.

  What—he can’t just hang with me? He has to fake sleeping to escape me?

  Holy shit. I’m annoyed. How annoying! Which makes me snort.

  But soon he’s conked out for real. How do I know? Because I glance over at a soft snore, and his face is relaxed and peaceful, his mouth slightly open. His lips are full in a unique way that makes me want to nibble on them—the bottom one slightly puffy below the actual lip, like a shelf to support his lip. Or like it’s swollen from a fight. Or kissing. Sounds weird, but it works on him. Part of the hot, chiseled look he’s got going on.

  Relaxed like this, the half circles on each side of his mouth are gone too.

  My stomach does this weird little flip, because he’s so gorgeous but also so vulnerable, and I don’t know what to do with that.

  And then I shake myself.

  Nothing.

  I do nothing with that.

  I do nothing with him.

  Chapter 4

  Aiden

  I jolt awake, not sure why. Then I realize it’s the silence and the stillness. I blink my memory back into place. Oh yeah. Car trip. To Atlanta. I sit up and—ouch—bang my knee on the dashboard.

  I rub it. Brain catching up.

  …A car trip with Jane. Who’s not in the driver’s seat.

  It’s nearing dusk, and we’re parked on the side of the road. An isolated, tree-lined road. She must have pulled off of the interstate for some reason. I look at my cell. While it feels like longer, it’s only been twenty minutes since we left the station.

  Where the fuck is she?

  I scan out the windshield, my heart beating a bit faster as my brain crowds with all these wild-ass, horror-movie scenarios.

  “Looking for me?” an amused voice says right behind me, which, I hate to admit, makes me give out an unmanly, shall we say, squeak?

  She’s in the back, a journal open in her lap. Colored pens are lying in the indentations of the seat, and she’s taping a Polaroid pic onto a blank page.

  I look out the back window. The pic is of the sun setting behind us, but from about ten minutes prior.

  I know this’ll sound weird, but seeing her journaling—something so serious and earnest—is a welcome bucket of cold water over me. Before I fell asleep for real, I thought I’d fucked myself over. Smelling her sweet scent, hearing the little noises she made, like humming the first lines of each song and stopping as it cycled through her playlist, was making me more aware of her.

  This trip is supposed to cure me.

  But seeing this? Yeah, she’s a serious woman, a reader, an intellectual. She’d want to be with a serious guy who could get into this kind of stuff with her, share philosophical insights on life and all that crap.

  We’re not right for each other, chemistry notwithstanding. Even if I was looking for a relationship. Which I’m not.

  Luke said, “Stop being a man-whore,” but that’s my comfort zone. I’m not cut out for relationships.

  Fucking Luke.

  Fucking lot of gossipers. Who told him about Brittany anyway?

  I face forward and drop my head back against the seat, closing my eyes.

  It’s pathetic, right? I stood there, with my best man beside me, my family and all my friends in that stupid church and waited. At first, I made excuses. She had a wardrobe malfunction and would be out any minute.

  She was trying to get her hair just right.

  The photographer was holding her up with all the pre-ceremony pics.

  One of her bridesmaids came down with the stomach flu.

  The kicker? I was convinced it was one thing or another holding her up.

  I was that certain Brittany would be walking down the aisle to start her life with me. We’d talked about this moment since nearly the beginning of college.

  I was such a clueless idiot.

  Of course, it eventually penetrated my thick skull.

  I’d been left at the altar.

  All I got was a text—the next day, mind you—that simply said: I’m sorry.

  Like that fucking helped.

  I’m sorry I can’t go through with this?

  I’m sorry you weren’t what I wanted?

  I’m sorry I met some other dude?

  I never did find out why. At first I wanted closure, and then I didn’t care. I vowed never again to be a damn doormat in a relationship. The Mr. Nice Guy.

  Too much work and not worth the effort.

  So yeah, seeing Jane like this? It clicks into place that odd feeling of relief I’d felt when she blew me off. Deep down I knew, despite how well we hit it off and how attracted we were to each other, this would never work out.

  I did make the right call to beg a ride. I’m on the road to recovery.

  Now I need to find out why she ditched me. It’s an unresolved thread.

  Aiden

  A car door thunks closed, and I jerk awake. The car’s stopped. It’s dark, though a sickly glow of light makes me squint. I blink and sit up. Jane’s disappearing through an automatic door into what I’m guessing is a hotel, judging by the architecture, the lobby, and the curved driveway in front.

  I stretch and roll my neck. Sleep’s fogginess edges away by degrees. Fuck, I must’ve been conked out. I said I wanted to nap, but I didn’t think I would. Twice. Not when the reason for my sleeplessness was in the damn car.

  Jesus, I’m slacking. I push open the door. The hotel’s one of those moderately priced chains with the rooms inside, so I grab her suitcase and my bag and follow.

  No one else is in line, so I sidle up next to her just as the clerk s
lides across one key card.

  Oh, hell no.

  “Er, I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Cuz, yeah, that sleep not only cleared my brain fog, it also showed how stupid my thought processes were earlier today, thinking this trip would be a cure, journaling notwithstanding. Being near Jane? Bad idea. Even now, in the sterile lobby, I’m feeling a pull. Especially because my body’s thinking hotel room, score!

  She glances up, one eyebrow raised. Of course she can do the one-eyebrow thing. I’ve tried. Hello, Star Trek fan here. But both of mine just go up, and I look ridiculous.

  “What isn’t a good idea?” she asks.

  I nod at the key card now in her hand. “Sharing a room.”

  She edges back a step. “Who said we’re sharing?”

  I’m relieved. I absolutely am. I look down at the key card and back.

  She rolls her eyes. “I’m getting my own room. I figure you know how to book—and pay—for your own.” She grips the handle of her rolling suitcase, nods to the night clerk, and strolls for the elevator, a gotcha-sashay to her walk if I’ve ever seen one.

  “Hey, at least wait up.” I don’t expect her to, but she stops, turns, and crosses her arms.

  Well, okay then. I hand over my credit card and ID to the clerk, who’s standing there with a bemused expression. “Can you put us on the same floor?”

  “Sure, bud.” Not much younger than me, he clicks away with brisk efficiency.

  All done, I join her, and we walk in silence to the elevator alcove, the only sound her suitcase wheels rolling across the lobby’s laminate flooring.

  I thumb the up button and give her a smirk. “Were you going to leave me in the car?”

  Her eyes go wide. “The car.” She sighs. “Jeez, I’m tired. No, I planned to wake you, move the car, and grab the luggage. With my luggage in hand, I kinda forgot that part.” Her cheeks redden.

  Now I feel bad—if I hadn’t been so exhausted myself, I could have kept her awake and entertained. “I’ll move it after we put our luggage in the rooms.” The elevator door dings open. “Which floor?”

  “Third.” She steps inside, and I follow.

  “Ah, me too.”

  She rolls her eyes again and leans against the far wall. “I heard you ask him, slick.”

  “Blessed with freakish hearing too. My kind of woman.”

  She just looks upward and taps her foot until we reach our floor. We exit, glance at our key cards and the directional sign, and turn right down the hall. Sweet. Same wing. Big tip for that clerk.

  But then we pause at adjacent doors, and I want to punch him. Dude—near enough to kinda-sorta be protective but not so close that she’s on the other side of a fucking wall.

  Christ.

  I glance sideways—she’s avoiding looking at me. Though it takes her three times to work the key card. She curses softly, and I hold the door open so she can maneuver her suitcase inside unimpeded.

  She shoves her luggage against the wall and finally looks at me. “You have your own room.”

  I smile. “I know.” I hold out my hand, and she stares at it as if I’m handing her her doom. I bounce my hand. “Keys?”

  “Oh, right.” Red splotches mark her cheeks. So fucking cute. She fishes around in her purse and drops them into my hand.

  I give a nod. “I’ll be right back.”

  I drop my bag off in my room, cursing. What the fuck had I been thinking? What dumb ass gets in a car with a girl he’s got the hots for and thinks that it’ll make him not attracted to her? And I’m damn sure she said we’d take several days too. Fuck.

  Calling myself all kinds of stupid as I hoof it downstairs, I park her car in one of the hotel’s designated spots.

  Soon enough, I’m back at her door. I give a soft rap. She answers but only opens the door a crack, as if it’s a shield she’s hiding behind, and I hate that she feels that way.

  I have no idea what made her blow me off. And, yeah, I’m not used to that. But that’s not the point. The point is, I want to know why, and it’s killing me that I don’t.

  Her defensive posture, though—Jesus, it’s like a punch in the gut. Quickly, I sort through our first night together. A night where for once I didn’t push to see how far our mutual attraction could take us. We just…watched Monty Python and The Holy Grail, and then other fun, campy movies. Laughed. Snuggled. And that’s it. If anything, watching movies late into the night under a shared blanket until we fell asleep and not making a move should show her I can be trusted.

  I don’t get it.

  So I hold up her keys, which have a die-cast bronze miniature stack of books for a keychain. “You’re all set. What time’re we starting out?”

  “Meet downstairs at eight?” She snags the keys.

  “No.”

  Her eyes widen.

  “I’ll meet you in this hallway at eight.”

  She gives a shaky nod and starts to close the door. I put a hand to it, and she looks up with a start.

  “Night, Jane.”

  Honest to God, more Zs get added to the sizzle in the air between us. What is it about her? And is it one-sided? I need to stay away, but I want to know the answer to this question more.

  She rubs the back of her neck, her gaze holding mine for a full three seconds. And…I think she just flicked her gaze to my lips. I could have missed it, it was so quick. Except I didn’t. Cuz I’m watching her closely. So the reason she ghosted me was not that she’s not attracted to me. I store that tidbit away and step over to my door.

  I slip my key card into my door lock, and from the darkness of her door’s opening, her whisper emerges. “Night, Aiden.” Her door snicks shut as mine clicks open.

  What the fuck is going on?

  My brain must still be fried from lack of sleep. Sure, I was out like a light for a good hour or so, but…

  I toss my duffel bag onto the spare double bed and yank open the bag’s zipper. Inside, I grab my dopp kit and pad to the bathroom. A good night’s sleep—that’s what I need.

  Teeth brushed, I head out of the bathroom, pulling off clothes. I’ve got my pants and boxers shoved to my thighs when I stop.

  Fuuuuck me. There’s an adjoining door. We’re not only sharing a wall, but there’s a door?

  As if my clothes are at fault, I yank the rest off, tripping on a pants leg as I stumble to the bed. Once I’m as naked as a damn jaybird, I wrench back the top sheet and comforter, fall onto the mattress, and grab the remote. Again, as if inanimate objects are to blame, I vengefully jerk the sheet back over me and punch the TV on.

  Mindless TV. That should help. I thumb the channel button over and over, looking for anything to take my mind off Jane and the situation I put myself in, but her door. It’s right there, at the edge of my vision. Taunting.

  Why did I think this was a good idea? Goddamn sleep-deprived, squishy mush of organic matter in my fucking brainpan.

  She’s right on the other side of the door.

  Which I’m staring at instead of the TV.

  Probably undressed by now. Does she wear pajamas or shorts and a T-shirt, or…nothing? And if they’re pajamas, are they serious ones or goofy ones? Or, Jesus. Sexy ones?

  Aaaaand now I’m popping up a tent with the sheet.

  Yeah, this is by far the most idiotic idea I’ve ever had. And that’s saying something.

  I need a new Plan B.

  I launch across the space between the beds and snag my duffel. I fish out my charger, plug in my cell, and pull up megabus.com. Okay, there’s a stop in Tampa. If we haven’t passed Tampa, I can ask her to drop me off.

  I freeze—where are we? Based on the time, we drove for a little over an hour. So straight-up I-75 should put me near Tampa.

  I pull up Google Maps. The location dot blinks in…the middle of nowhere? I pan out. What the—? We’re not north of Sarasota, but almost directly east. In Arcadia.

  Arcadia?

  What the hell is in Arcadia? Everyone’s familiar with the developed, beachy
coastline, but most don’t know that sandwiched between those two coastlines? Fucking cow country. Weird, right? That’s Florida.

  Jane told me the first stop. What was it? Jesus, my mushy brain can’t remember.

  At some point, we’ll need to head north, though, because, hello, Atlanta is north. And I know in my sleep-deprived mind I didn’t mess up on our ultimate destination.

  I don’t think.

  Fuck me.

  Not knowing when I’ll be near enough to Tampa to catch the MegaBus, I can’t purchase tickets, but I check the times. I’ll have to book two separate tickets, but there are several a day.

  I fall back onto the bed, relieved. Okay. That’s an option. A doable, sane option.

  I slide back under the sheets, resolved to get off this circuit-jamming road trip ASAP.

  Chapter 5

  Jane

  At one minute until eight in the morning, I slip out of my room and glance at Aiden’s door. Through every fault of my own, I’m stuck with him in my car for the next couple of days. Doesn’t mean we have to walk down the hall and share an elevator ride and then breakfast.

  So I’m giving Aiden until one minute after and then heading down. My phone screen shows the time morph to 8:00 a.m. I tug on my shirt hem and keep my focus trained on the phone, as if by keeping my attention there—and not on the man’s door—it’ll magically tick to one minute after without him appearing. And then I’m freeeeeee. Well, free to head downstairs without his hunkiness crowding my space.

  Aaand…queue the inevitable fluttery weird feeling whenever even a portion of me is thinking about him.

  My phone changes to 8:01. I pump my fist, turn, and stumble. Somehow without me hearing, Aiden’s slipped open his door, and his sleep-fuzzy face gives me a tired smile. He steps to my side.

  Gah.

  So much for getting away with being a chickenshit. “Morning.”

  “Morning,” he responds, and we turn and stroll down the deserted hallway.

  The quiet is all kinds of awkward, and my stomach knots up even more. Performance anxiety.

  I mentally slap myself. I’m going about this all wrong. He’s not interested. Then so what? Why bother weighing what I say and do in order to “entice” him or some such nonsense. Or worry that I’m as much of a turn-off as he already thinks I am. We’re stuck with each other for several days, and it’ll become more awkward if we let it.