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“It’d be too confusing for you to drive a car that doesn’t give off smoke.” He turned up the satellite radio, a combination of oldies rock and newer tunes.
For the next twenty miles, she listened to music and tried to appreciate the scenery, but she was too worried. She needed a distraction, and she considered ruffling his feathers by asking him what he found most attractive in a man, but it was to her advantage to maintain the fiction that he was gay, and she didn’t want to push him too far. Still, she couldn’t resist inquiring if he wouldn’t rather find a station that played Streisand.
“I don’t mean to be rude,” he replied with starchy dignity, “but those of us in the gay community get a little tired of the old stereotypes.”
She did her best to sound contrite. “I apologize.”
“Apology accepted.”
U2 came on the radio, then Nirvana. Blue forced herself to do a little head banging to keep him from suspecting how desperate she felt. He accompanied Nickelback with a mellow and fairly impressive baritone, then joined Coldplay in “Speed of Sound.” But when Jack Patriot launched into “Why Not Smile?” Dean switched the station.
“Put that back,” she said. “‘Why Not Smile?’ got me through my senior year of high school. I love Jack Patriot.”
“I don’t.”
“That’s like not liking…God.”
“Each to his own.” The easy charm had vanished. He looked aloof and formidable, no longer the happy-go-lucky pro football star pretending to be a gay model with dreams of movie stardom. She suspected she’d gotten her first glimpse of the real man behind the glittering facade, and she didn’t like it. She preferred thinking of him as dumb and vain, but only the last one was true.
“I’m getting hungry.” He turned a mental switch that let him revert to the person he wanted her to see. “I hope you don’t mind going through a drive-in window. Otherwise, I have to find somebody to watch my car.”
“You have to find people to watch your car?”
“The ignition key’s computer coded, so nobody can steal it, but it attracts a fair amount of attention, which makes it a big vandalism target.”
“Don’t you think life’s complicated enough without having to hire a babysitter for your car?”
“Living an elegant lifestyle’s hard work.” He hit a button on the dash and got directions to a picnic spot from someone named Missy.
“What did she call you?” Blue asked after the conversation ended.
“Boo. Short for Malibu. I grew up in Southern California and spent a lot of time at the beach. Some friends picked up on it.”
“Boo” was one of those football nicknames. That explained why People magazine had photographed him walking on the beach. She poked her thumb toward the car’s speaker. “All those smitten women…Don’t you ever feel guilty about leading them on?”
“I try to make up for it by being a good friend.”
He wasn’t giving away a thing. She turned her head and pretended to study the view. He hadn’t said anything yet about kicking her out of the car, but he would. Unless she made it worth his while to keep her around.
He paid for the fast food with a pair of twenty-dollar bills and told the kid at the window to keep the change. She could barely restrain herself from leaping across the car and snatching the money back. Having worked in the food service industry more than a few times herself, she believed in tipping well, but not that well.
They found the roadside picnic area a couple of miles down the highway, a few tables set under some cottonwood trees. The air had grown cooler, and she dug into her duffel for a sweatshirt while Dean took care of the food. She hadn’t eaten since last night, and the smell of the french fries made her mouth water.
“Chow’s on,” he said as she approached.
She’d ordered the cheapest items she could find, and she set two dollars and thirty-five cents’ worth of change in front of him. “This should cover my share.”
He gazed with open distaste at the pile of coins. “My treat.”
“I always pay my own way,” she said stubbornly.
“Not this time.” He slid the pile back at her. “You can do a sketch for me instead.”
“My sketches are worth a lot more than two dollars and thirty-five cents.”
“Don’t forget the gas.”
Maybe she could make this work after all. As the cars flew by on the highway, she savored every greasy fry and bite of hamburger. He set aside his half-eaten burger and retrieved a BlackBerry. He frowned at the small screen as he checked his e-mail.
