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Punk clears his throat. “Anyway, how long are you going to torture my best friend with this dating bullshit?”
I shake my head, looking out the windshield at Chase and Butch riding their hogs in front of us. As if he can sense we’re talking about him, Chase looks over his shoulder at me. His aviator sunglasses cover his brown eyes, but I can feel his penetrating gaze pierce me with a pleasant current of warmth in my chest. He faces back around, breaking the lustful spell.
“There’s nothing wrong with taking things slow.”
“Unless it’s a waste of time when you could be happy together,” Punk counters bluntly.
“I’m not against a happily ever after. I’m against rushing.”
Punk gives me a side-eye. “Your hesitation wouldn’t have anything to do with seeing your ex again, would it?”
“Absolutely not. Unlike you, my feelings for Trent died the day I caught him with another woman.” I’m such a bitch for throwing Punk’s ex in his face, but accusing me of holding out for Trent is as caustic as drinking battery acid.
“Must be nice,” Punk mutters low under his breath. He grips the wheel a little tighter, probably imagining it’s my neck—I know I would if the roles were reversed.
My guilt wins out—fucking Catholic upbringing. “I’m sorry.”
Punk glances at me, a small smirk on his angular face. “No, you’re not.”
I rotate my hand at him. “It’s half-and-half. If you cross me, I might take my apology back.”
He returns his eyes to the road ahead, chuckling to himself.
Talks about exes are doing nothing to combat my nerves over facing Trent again. I lean my head against the headrest, gazing out the passenger window. “Since we’re sharing, can I tell you something?”
“Sure.”
I close my eyes. “I’m sick to my stomach about seeing Trent. Nothing to do with reserved feelings for the troll, but a lot to do with proving myself.”
“Ah.By confronting your ex and his mistress with your head held high, you’re showing them you’re better off without him.”
“Something like that. And I want to show Chase that Trent isn’t competition, and never will be. I worry he may feel like the rebound, or he may have felt like that, back when we…” I hesitate, trying to formulate the most eloquent way of explaining a hook-up.
“What? First banged?”
My eye bulge. “First got together!Gah.You’re so rudimentary.”
Punk shrugs off my slighting. “You have nothing to prove to Chase. Be yourself, be honest.”
Skeptical, I peek at Punk. “Really? It’s that simple?”
“There’s nothing complex about Chase—he’s as laid back as they come. Your truthfulness is all he wants from you.” Punk looks at me deadpan. “Talk to him. Let him know where your head is at. Communication is crucial in a relationship. I sometimes wonder had I not been overseas, where my time for talking was limited, maybe Nat wouldn’t have turned to my ass-wipe brother.”
I don’t agree with his assessment of his ex, but I agree with his suggestion. Talking to Chase before we begin the assignment will help us get on the right page and prepare us for whatever situation we’ll walk into tomorrow.
“For a moron, you’re actually insightful.”
“I’m full of useful knowledge, but it always surprises everyone when it comes out of my mouth.”
The SUV veers to the right as Punk takes the exit. Our hotel destination is next to the highway in West Wendover, Nevada, roughly halfway in our road trip. By the time we pull into the parking lot, Chase is already walking out of the hotel with key cards. He hands one to Butch, then comes toward the SUV.
Punk rolls down the window. “Let me guess. I’m bunking with Butch?”
“You’d be right.”
Scowling, I hold up a hand. “Chase—”
“Don’t start, Numbers. We always room with another team member. Don’t think you get special privileges because you’re female.”
