He threw his backpack over his shoulder, took one step and stretched his arms overhead—which only added to her bad mood. Because he seemed calm, collected, rested, as if he had all the time in the world.
And looked just as sexy with clothes on as he did naked. Goddammit!
He walked down the rest of the way, his white t-shirt showing off how remarkably tan his skin was, and flung his backpack to the back seat with her pillow. The roughened up leather bag landing directly onto of the soft white cotton pillowcase, where the vast contrast in materials made her shiver. It was a much needed reminder of how different they were. About how right she was to walk away all those years ago. He was rough and ready Tristan Montgomery. She was Samantha Smiles, the girl who needed to pull her shit together and stop day dreaming!
Next she knew, the driver’s side door flung open, and he climbed into the car beside her. He took a large gulp of coffee and fastened his seat belt before glancing over at her. “Ready to go?”
Samantha licked her lips, knowing right well that coffee was frigid. Yet he hadn’t even winced at the temperature. He didn’t complain at all, which she wasn’t used to at all. Steven always complained about things like that. Always. Steven always wanted things perfect.
“We need gas,” she stated all at once, turning in her seat to fasten her own seat belt. “I think there’s a station just across the street.”
He put the car in reverse, glancing in the rearview mirror before backing up. He grabbed his bagel from the dashboard, and ripped off a healthy chunk with his teeth before answering. “We don’t need gas,” he replied with a mouth full of bagel. He threw the car into gear, then pulled out to the open road. “I filled up yesterday.”
She glanced over at him, as calmly as she could, faced with such arrogance, and tapped on the glass of the odometer with her fingernail. “See that red line there? Right next to the E? This says otherwise.”
He laughed under his breath and took another bite. “It’s broken.”
She leaned way back in her seat, far enough to get a good look at him and squeezed the ball of clay in her palm. “You’re lying.”
His mouth only lifted slightly, but his eyes remained fixed on the road ahead. “I don’t lie.” But he said the words as fact, as though he was talking about so much more than gas. He leaned over in his seat, practically in her lap, so close she could smell the soap on his skin. He pulled out a small brown bag from the glove box and handed it over. “See for yourself.”
She grabbed hold of the sack, slightly out of breath from the brief touch, but somehow pulled out the contents and laid them on her lap. There was a small, crumpled up white receipt, and a pack of winter-mint gum. That was it. But her eyes instantly closed as a rush of memory washed over her body…because she was suddenly reminded of their kiss. About his breath on her face, and the delicate scent of winter-mint gum that would forever give her chills.
“I filled up last night,” he said. “While you were sleeping.”
She looked down at the receipt, finding the faded black writing revealing his truth.
12.3 gallons, supreme unleaded, $32.87
She shoved the receipt back in the bag and set it down between them. “This does nothing to comfort me.”
He only shrugged, but didn’t explain further.
“You’re telling me we’re driving three thousand miles in a car that has a broken gas gauge?”
His shoulders lifted once, but he continued to focus straight ahead. “I’ve gotten us this far, haven’t I?”
She turned in her seat, shoving the clay back in her bag, and taking out her iPod to load her next audio book. “That is such an asshole thing to say.”
He almost choked on his coffee, which for some reason caused her lips to involuntary curve in a smile.
“You’re right, I am an asshole.”
His response was so unexpected, her grin instantly widened, but she tried to force it away. She wasn’t sure what she found so amusing. Maybe it was the fact she’d called him an asshole and all he did was agree, or maybe it was because it felt good to do something crazy—like drive cross country in a car with no gas meter. She glanced over at him one last time, eyes narrowed, but really looking at him, and seeing to her dismay the boy she’d met all those years ago by the lake. “Well I’m glad we can finally agree on something.”
He choked back a laugh, covered his mouth as if trying to hold it in, but he couldn’t. A deep boisterous sound exploded out of him surprising them both. But he didn’t seem to be laughing at her, or even so much the gas meter. She wasn’t sure exactly what he was laughing at, but the sound was so genuine she found herself biting her lip to hold in a giggle of her own. He looked like a little kid. A giddy little boy who had had way too much sugar, and the sound was so contagious, soon she couldn’t help but laugh too. Their laughter grew, one feeding off the other until they were both struggling to breathe. It was the gut gripping kind of laugher that made her stomach hurt, one she hadn’t experienced in as long as she could remember. Laughing with Tristan made her feel free, like a twenty-three year old woman should feel… and that wasn’t a bad feeling at all.
It was hours later, after the “Welcome to Colorado” sign had come and gone, that Tristan glanced over at her. Her feet were curled under her bottom, her head resting on the pillow she’d wedged between her door and body, trying to find comfort. She froze. It wasn’t the first time he’d done it either. Actually, he’d been doing it ever since they left the motel. Just looking, without saying a word, and it was driving her crazy. She’d already started her book three times because she couldn’t concentrate. What was he looking at? Why was he paying her any attention at all? The questions kept coming, and finally she gave up.
Only yesterday, this arrangement had worked perfectly. She was able to listen to her audiobooks, and he the radio, as though they were in completely different worlds. But something had changed. Somewhere between her going to bed last night, and getting up this morning. She couldn’t stop her mind from flicking back the motel, to her cheek pressed against his skin, and his completely nude body millimeters from her own.
“Soo…” he said, making her spine tingle all the way to her toes. “What have you been up to these past few years?”
She lowered her blanket, trying to pretend the fact that he was trying to engage her in conversation didn’t surprise the hell out of her. She removed the ear buds from her ears and paused her book. “School. Work. That kind of thing.” She pushed her hair back behind her ears and sat up.
“Where to?”
She took a deep breath and shoved her iPod back in her bag, reluctantly thankful for something else to do. “I graduated from Laverne University last summer.”
His brows rose. “And work?”
“I work at a bar.” She cleared her throat, almost embarrassed by the answer. “And you?”
He took a good minute, and Samantha turned back around to see if he’d heard the question. “How about you?” she repeated, but her eyes drifted down to his shoulder, where she knew the scar lay just under his clothes.
“I run my own business,” he finally stated.
“Doing?”
“Cleaning pools.”
She pressed her lips together and looked up to see if he was joking. “You’re a pool boy?”
He glanced over again, clearly not finding the humor in the question. “Yes.”
“Oh,” she whispered, but she was mentally kicking herself for being an ass. She couldn’t help it! Not really. All she kept thinking about was that movie with David Duchovny as a pizza boy. Where the word “anchovies” indicated an order for sex.
She turned to study his profile, noticing he hadn’t shaved since yesterday. “So you’re a pool boy. What happened to football?” A lump formed in her stomach, but she had to ask the question. It had been bothering her all day. Killing her that she didn’t already know the answer.
The Mustang lurched forward, and she gripped the bottom of her seat.
“I got hurt,” he answered. It was curt and to the point, and so much different from the open demeanor he used when talking about anything else.