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“I’m hungry and this is the only restaurant I’ve seen for the last twenty miles. Good ole Dairy Queen—Texas stop sign. I’ll just run in and get something. What do you want?”
“Nothing. I’m good, thanks.” The thought of eating literally turned her stomach, but at least the music had stopped. It was kind of like musical chairs—they could only move when the music was on.
He looked like he wanted to argue, but in the end, he just shrugged and climbed out of the car. She kept working, determined that when he turned the car back on, “Cherry Cherry” would play no more.
He was back ten minutes later, carrying a huge bag and two Butterfinger Blizzards. “That pot really got to you, huh?” She sat up as he unloaded his bounty.
“It’s not all for me.” He handed her a grilled-chicken sandwich. “I got a separate container of mayonnaise for your fries. And a couple packets of mustard so you can have mayo on one end of the fry and mustard on the other. I know.” He nodded to her. “Condiments should never mix.”
She froze. “You remember how I like my fries?”
“I remember everything about you.” His matter-of-fact tone went straight to her heart. He was charming and didn’t even know it … bastard. “It doesn’t annoy you?” Rob the Knob had refused to let her eat fries in his presence.
“Not at all.”
She shifted uncomfortably as she realized that somehow, the conversation had become about a lot more than fries. Despite her best efforts, the barriers she’d worked so hard to erect between them started to crumble a little.
She tried to look away, but Heath wouldn’t let her off the hook that easily. His eyes caught hers and held. In their depths, she could see the boy he used to be. The easygoing charmer who’d always made her feel important no matter how clumsy she was. Something Rob the Knob, or any other man she’d cared about through the years, had never been able to do.
The tears she wouldn’t let herself cry for her father welled up in her eyes, and she blinked a few times, determined to make them go away.
The intense look on Heath’s face turned to alarm. “Shit, did you want onion rings?” He rummaged around in the bag for a second. “Here, you can have mine.”
She laughed despite herself, then grabbed a ring and popped it in her mouth. How could she have forgotten how easily he made her smile? Too busy hating him for not loving her, she supposed.
The thought was a punch in the gut, the same old longing rising up inside of her. She tried to shove it down, but it didn’t work. At least not until Heath turned the
ignition on, and “Cherry Cherry” once again blasted through the speakers.
For once, she didn’t mind. It looked like Neil Diamond got the way to groove her, after all.
* * *
Chapter 8
* * *
As he made the turn off the highway, Heath glanced at Lyric. “We’ll be in San Angelo in a few minutes.” His worry for her had compounded in the last two hours since they’d stopped at Dairy Queen.
She didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure if that was because she hadn’t heard him from her spot under the dash or if she was ignoring him—something she’d been doing pretty much from the second he’d offered her his onion rings outside of that Dairy Queen a hundred miles back—or if she’d retreated too far into herself. She’d even given up spouting off useless facts.
“Lyric?” He tried again.
Still no answer.
He glanced over at her, trying his damnedest not to look up her boxer shorts—just like he had for the last hour, ever since she’d shifted so that her torso was under the dash and her long, long, long legs rested against the back of the seat.
“Lyric!” This time he put his hand on her bare thigh—purely in an attempt to get her attention. But her skin was warm and silky, and he had to fight the urge to run his fingers up under the loose hem of the boxers he’d bought her. Only the knowledge that this was the wrong place and definitely the wrong time made him behave.
Still, he couldn’t resist lightly rubbing his thumb back and forth across her inner thigh. His touch obviously got her attention, because a muffled thud came from under the dash, followed by a groan. He grinned. She wasn’t as immune to him as she wanted him to think.
“What are you doing?” She poked her head out from under the dash. Her hand was rubbing her forehead, and he felt a little bad—he hadn’t meant to make her hurt herself.
“We’ll be in San Angelo in a few minutes. I thought you might want to sit up now.” There was bound to be more traffic, and while he enjoyed her upside-down position, he really didn’t want anyone else to enjoy it.
“Why? I still haven’t fixed the radio.” She had no idea.
“Yeah, but we’re coming into a populated area. And—” He nodded toward her bare legs. “—you’re something of a traffic hazard.”
