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His answering grin sends a completely different sort of rush through my veins. Dragging an empty pub table against the wall, he glances over his shoulders before extending a hand to help me climb up. “You’re turning into a regular Lois Lane.”

“Don’t make me laugh while I’m standing on a table.” Rising onto my toes, I lengthen my limbs and reach as far as I can until my bones cry out in agony. Wrapping my fingers around the plastic frame, I pull it from the wall and pass it to Dash. “Take this.”

He frees the photo from its frame and tucks it under his shirt, then offers his free hand to help me down. “Come on, Lois. Let’s get out of here before someone catches us.”

16

Young Americans

“Oh my God!” With a high-pitched squeal, I tip my face skyward, stretch my arms wide, and spin under the streetlight until my head swims. “I can’t believe I did that!”

Dash grabs my hand and darts his gaze over his shoulder as he tows me toward the car. “We need to get out of here. Someone might’ve seen us take that photo.”

“Noooo! I wanna celebrate.” Riding my endorphin high, I lock my muscles and bring us both to a stop in the middle of the road. “I don’t ever want this feeling to end!”

Dash tugs my hand, but I tug back, pulling hard enough to knock him off balance. He crashes into me, and I mold my palms to his chest.

His lips part, and he gazes down at me, dazed and out of breath. “What feeling?”

Up close, I can see the flecks of gold in his brown iris. I lick my lips, and his pupils dilate.

“This one.” I brush a strand of hair from his forehead.

His next breath catches in his throat, and he steps closer, his nose brushing mine. “What does it feel like?”

“Dash . . .” My pulse skitters.

Coming to Blacksburg was supposed to be about my mom, but standing under the glow of the streetlight with Dash’s eyes focused on my lips, all I want is for him to kiss me.

He dips his head, bringing his mouth close enough I can almost taste his lips. My mind blanks as every rational thought evaporates like morning dew in the midday sun. Instinct takes over, and I close my eyes and part my lips. My internal voice goes deathly silent while I wait for his mouth to collide with mine.

With less than half a millimeter separating us, he groans and steps back. “We need to go.”

My eyes snap open, my emotions shuffling through confusion, grief, and anger in the time it takes to catch my breath. “Did . . . did I?”

“I’m sorry.” He shakes his head as he walks off. “I can’t.”

With a frustrated whimper, I set off after him. “Dash, wait!”

“We need to get back on the road.” He picks up his pace. “The Holiday Inn in Lexington has a supercharger. We can top off the battery while we sleep. I don’t know about you, but I’m so exhausted I can’t think straight.”

“Did I do something wrong?” I catch up to him on the sidewalk.

“Of course not.” Refusing to look at me, he frowns and wipes a bead of sweat from his forehead. “It’s getting late, that’s all. If we’re gonna make it to New York in time for the fireworks tomorrow, we need to get going. You might be able to stay awake all night, but I need sleep every now and then.”

“I could . . .” I release a breath, and the words tumble out. “I could drive. To Lexington. So you can sleep for a little while.”

“I don’t think so.” Dash laughs darkly, his mask of cool disinterest firmly in place. “I’ve seen you drive.”

“Hey!” I reach for him.

He darts away, and I stomp my foot on the cracked concrete like a toddler.

“Don’t judge me based on what happened with that shitty Chevy! I’m usually a really good driver.”

He pivots, flashing a cold grin as he walks backward down the sidewalk. “Tell that to the armadillo.”

His barb stops me in my tracks, and I scramble for a witty comeback. “You . . . you can’t blame me for the armadillo suicide rate in Tennessee!”