Page 165 of Flirty Fall Fling

“You can drive a standard,” he says, impressed.

“Babe, my first vehicle was a Jeep with a stick. I’m more surprised that you can drive.” I peel out of Billionaires’ Row with half a block of smoke.

He howls over the engine, one hand braced on the door, but he’s not worried at all. He’s watching me.

“You have no idea how good you look driving my car,” he says.

“There will be plenty of time to talk. We’re driving across the country.”

Jamie routes me to my hotel because I don’t have a sense of direction in this big city. I run upstairs, quickly pack my things, and then check out early. He’s waiting for me behind the steering wheel with his flashers on. I climb in, and he kisses me, then we’re off.

We drive the tunnel into New Jersey. The skyline shrinks in the side mirror until it fades away. His hand stays on my thigh.

He hunts through radio static until a station comes on. It’s a fuzzy Fleetwood Mac. He turns it up and drives seventy-five with the sun hanging lazily in front of us. We watch it until it sets.

We stop at a gas station and grab Red Bulls and gummy worms, along with two scratch tickets. We win four dollars on the hood of the Mustang as he fills it up. I cash it in and grab a few Snickers.

At some point, when we’re both too tired that we can’t drive any longer, we stop at a roadside diner attached to a motel with a buzzing neon sign. The waitress calls us both hon, refills our coffee without asking, and doesn’t give two shits about who we are. It’s magical.

“Will you tell me what happened?” I finally ask. “With the foundation?”

“They wanted me to sign a contract saying I’d stay away from you. I couldn’t do that.” He smirks. “Fuck them.”

“I’m sor⁠—”

“No,” he says calmly, grabbing my hand. “Don’t apologize. You’re not up for negotiation. Ever.”

The waitress swings back through, and we order a piece of pumpkin pie with whipped cream. We eat it off one plate, and between bites, I tell him what he missed. Before the plate is clean, I borrow his phone since my dumb one is packed away. I read Winter’s number off my hand.

I send her a photo of the two of us squeezed into one side of the booth, with three words.

Blaire

I found him!

The reply instantly comes back.

Winter

KNEW YOU WOULD!

Instead of getting back on the road, we rent a room for the night.

It hasn’t been updated in decades, with shaggy brown carpet and wood-paneled walls.

I sit on the edge of the bed, watching him shrug off his coat.

There is no deadline hanging over us. There are no secrets. Just this moment.

“I love you, Blaire,” he confesses in my ear.

“I love you too,” I say, holding on to him.

He undresses me in the neon light. The velvet and lace fall to the floor, and then he kisses every inch of me. We take our time like two people who have found forever. Maybe we have.

38

JAMIE