Page 12 of Quarter Miles (Runaway 3)

Cash clapped Easton on the shoulder before rounding the hood toward the passenger side. He flung the door open and bent in half, sliding into the seat.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

He answered by shutting his door and buckling his seat belt.

“Cash,” I warned.

“Hand over the quarter.” He held out his hand. “I’ll flip the coin.”

Chapter Three

Cash

I needed a shower and a nap, in that order, but I doubted I’d get either.

“Where are you going?” I asked as Katherine took a right on the highway. “I thought heads was left.”

I had flipped heads, hadn’t I? I was nearly delirious after two sleepless nights in the backseat of my truck.

Camping out had been fun in my teens and twenties, but damn it, I was thirty years old and wanted to sleep in a bed. The next time Gemma confused a mountain lion with a coyote or a grizzly bear with a Black Angus bull, I was making Easton track the animal.

“We’re going home,” Kat said.

“Mind if I hop in the shower before we take off?”

“There’s no we.” She shook her head. “I’m dropping you off.”

“Didn’t we just have this conversation?”

Kat had tried to kick me out of the Cadillac but I hadn’t budged. We’d sat in Easton’s driveway long enough that both he and Gemma had given up observing the argument and had retreated inside. When Kat had finally reversed away from Easton’s place, I’d thought she’d consented. I should have known better.

Once, I’d bought her a coffee mug that read, Though she be but little, she is fierce.

“You’re not coming with me, Cash.”

“You’re not going alone, Kat.”

“Yes, I am.” Her nostrils flared and her face was turning this violent shade of red that meant soon she’d be spewing profanities and calling me every dirty name in her arsenal. But Kat could yell and rant and curse me up one side and down the other.

There was no way I was letting her drive aimlessly around the country alone.

It wasn’t safe. It wasn’t smart. And it sure as fuck wasn’t happening.

“I don’t want you along,” she barked.

“Tough shit, sweetheart. I’m coming.”

“No, you’re not.” Her foot jammed the accelerator, jolting me into the seat. “Jackass.”

The names would get more creative, but unless she developed superhuman strength in the next five minutes, there was no way she’d be able to haul me out of this car.

I’d stolen some clothes from Easton’s closet—thankfully we were the same size—and some toiletries from their guest bathroom. After Gemma had moved in with him, she’d stocked the place with the essentials. I’d taken the liberty of acquiring a toothbrush, toothpaste and bottle of shampoo.

“You’re a dickhead,” Kat muttered.

“I know.” I relaxed deeper into the seat and closed my eyes. The Cadillac was surprisingly comfortable, and though it wasn’t as good as a bed, I’d survive. Twisting and turning, I shifted until my head was propped up between the seat and the door. “Give me a couple hours, then I’ll take the next shift to drive.”

No response.