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“Just trying to pack my gigs like your suitcase on the way to L.A.”
“I can’t wait to get to L.A.” I let out a yawn and slink back in my seat.
“Tired?” he asks.
“Yeah, this caffeine isn’t doing anything for me. Think I might catch a nap so if you want me to drive the second leg—”
“Uh-uh. We went over this.” Nick shakes his head. “You’re not driving my Jeep. A capeesh is a capeesh.”
This is the second time he’s said this but now he knows that I know my way around a Jeep better than he does. “I can change a tire on your Jeep but I can’t drive it?”
“You didn’t change the tire. I did.”
“Because I showed you how.”
He smirks. “It’s not personal. I’m just not ready to let someone else drive it.”
Why is he so protective over his Jeep? It’s just a Jeep. Even my dad let me drive his eventually. Maybe by Georgia, Nick’ll warm up to the idea. Then, a familiar ’80s synth beat rolls through the speakers. I know this song! I like this song. Bobbing my head to the beat, I crank up the volume. It’s got the perfect message for my possessive driver. “You know what I think, Nick? You gotta... RELAX! Don’t dooo iit!” I sing along with Frankie Goes to Hollywood.
“Are you serious right now?” Nick spits out a slight chuckle.
“No, you’re the serious one,” I say. “Sing with me.”
“I guess that coffee’s kicked in,” he says, and joins me. After all, it’s his music.
“When you wanna come ...” The sound of our voices singing those lyrics in unison feels like we’re having vocal sex and sends a tingle down my spine. So I lower the volume.
“I forgot how dirty this song is,” I say.
“I know, I like it.” Nick and I share a look. It lingers long enough for me to wonder if Nick’s any good in bed. I have a sneaking suspicion he is.
No, Olivia. Don’t go down that road.
I swat the idea away like a damn horsefly in the house and turn my attention to the traffic ahead as it finally begins to clear.
“So what’s your story?” he asks.
“My life story?” Isn’t it a little too early in the tour for this one? Maybe we should wait another five hundred miles.
“No, like do you have a boyfriend back in New York?” Was he just thinking what I was thinking? Is that why he’s asking me now?
“You first,” I say.
“No, I don’t have a boyfriend. I’m single and ready to mingle. Now you?”
“Me neither,” I say, feeling my body tense beneath the seatbelt.
“Girlfriend?”
“I don’t have one of those either. My life isn’t exactly conducive to dating at the moment.”
“And why’s that?” He sounds genuinely interested. But my answer shouldn’t surprise him. It shouldn’t surprise anyone who’s tried to make their way in New York City.
“I work like thirteen-hour days most of the time and I do shows on the weekend too. I barely have time to eat, let alone be in a relationship.”
“Yeah, it’s tough building a career and a life. Especially when our job requires us to be out most nights.” And just when I think he’s gonna leave it at that, he says, “But you do make time for sex, right?”
My cheeks flush at the word sex like I’m twelve years old. When it comes to Nick, I guess sexual tension’s okay, but a candid conversation about the deed? Not so much. “Why are you asking me that?”
