Page 29 of Quarter Miles (Runaway 3)

She shook her head. “That junkyard was my only option.”

“And your parents—”

“Should we flip again?” She was already taking out the quarter, balancing the wheel with her knee as she tossed the coin.

At the next exit, Kat got off the interstate and turned on the radio. The music blared, and with the wind whipping over us, it would be impossible to talk.

Conversation over.

She drove with her gaze fixed on the road, never wavering. Never offering another opening to a new topic, certainly not about life before the Greer Ranch and Mountain Resort.

I should have thanked her because instead of thinking about the bare skin of Kat’s legs or the slender line of her neck or the graceful drape of her wrist over the steering wheel, I spent the next few hours wondering why my best friend was so hell-bent on keeping secrets.

Maybe she kept hers for the same reason I kept mine.

Because the truth would drive us apart.

Chapter Six

Katherine

“Want to flip or . . .” Please say no. Please say no.

“When are you supposed to meet Aria?” Cash asked.

“There’s no schedule. She doesn’t even know I’m coming, but I think sooner rather than later.”

“Then let’s get into Oregon today.”

Thank God. I dropped the quarter onto the leather seat, not caring if it got wedged in a crack and disappeared into the Cadillac for life. Then I put the car in drive and pulled away from the motel where we’d stayed last night.

This trip was the worst idea I’d had in years. Actually, it had been Gemma’s idea, so I was placing the blame at her feet.

I wanted to get to Heron Beach, give this car to Aria and hop on the nearest plane to Montana. Assuming she’d take the car. Oh God, what if she didn’t take the car? What if I had to endure a return trip with Cash?

I sent up a silent prayer that Aria would buy into this whole Cadillac handoff thing because there was no way I’d go to California and I didn’t know if I could survive another awkward and tense day with Cash.

So much for a last hurrah.

How had it come to this? How had two people who could finish each other’s sentences have so little to say? Never in a million years would I have expected this road trip to be so miserable. I mean, I’d expected it to be hard because I secretly loved him. But no harder than any regular day.

It was my fault. He knew. That first night, Cash must have realized my feelings for him weren’t entirely platonic.

Me and my sniffing and lingering hugs. I’d stared too much over dinner at the supper club. I’d been too happy that he’d dumped Dany.

He knew.

Yesterday, he’d barely made eye contact, and when he had, there had been restraint in his gaze, like he was consciously weighing every move. He’d put his hand on my shoulder, realized he’d touched me, probably feared I’d take that gesture to heart, and snatched his hand away so fast he could have dislocated a shoulder.

I’d wanted to crawl under the front tire and let him run me over.

And he wasn’t the only one measuring his words. I was terrified to speak in case he’d see just how deep this crush of mine ran.

This had to end. If we drove straight through today, we could get to the coast. We’d be one step closer to calling this trip a bust and going home.

The radio was on low and it crackled with static so I scanned for a new channel. The Cadillac had satellite radio and Bluetooth for my phone, but having to change stations every hundred miles was at least something to do. A twenty-second pardon from the stifling silence.

Cash recognized the song. Damn. I braced, waiting and . . .