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And I refuse to breach that phase of my life until I have a reality show and five false social media sites dedicated to making up things about me with old pictures. Not a moment before.
What can I say? Everyone’s got to have a goal, right?
Chase
By the time I come back to the motor home after calming myself down with an Old Fashioned at a small bar about a block away, Brooke is asleep, and the bedroom door is shut. Only the living room light above the couch guides my movements.
I close the door as gently as I can manage while still having to semi-slam it and then listen closely to see if I’ve woken her.
Other than Benji’s soft snores, I can’t hear anything. I guess it’s safe.
With a deep sign, I take a seat on the couch and rest my face in my hands. From the moment I decided to come on this trip in this capacity, in the back of my mind, I knew I was in at least a little bit of trouble.
Let’s face it, no matter how important the book is, you don’t volunteer to drive an author’s RV if you’re a senior editor at a publishing house like Longstrand. You just don’t.
I knew that, and I did it anyway. More than that, I even went into the lion’s den that is my boss’s office and stood by the decision under his scrutiny and upped the ante on just how much my job is on the line with this book.
I would laugh at myself if it weren’t so sickening.
Regardless, I’m here now, and I’m going on case seven hundred of blue balls—at least, that’s how it feels.
And tonight, I have to drive us to our Chicago campsite, so we actually have some time to get work done on the book tomorrow. You know, the supposed reason I came.
I roll my eyes at myself so hard I feel them in my hair.
With a sigh and a groan, I get up off the couch and head to the front of the bus to take the sunshades out of the windows and fire it up. Luckily the fuel tank is full since I stopped just before Brooke woke up this morning, so I should be able to cruise the five-hour drive without worrying about stopping.
Without worrying you’re going to do something incredibly stupid like climb into Brooke’s bed and pull her in for a snuggle.
With the engine warmed up and a fresh cup of coffee poured, I hop into the driver’s seat and take off.
Destination: the next random campsite outside of Chicago.
Focus: only the road, and not at all on what Brooke’s face looks like when she comes.
Damn, you really suck at lying. Even to yourself.
Friday, May 19th
Chase
I’m still tired this morning from driving last night, but if I don’t get up now, I won’t get up for a long time. My body craves the kind of sleep that shuts you out from the world for a day and half; I can feel it, but I don’t have the time.
Instead, I have my coffee, notebook, and Accidental Attachment manuscript set up at the table, and I’m pouring a fresh mug for Brooke when she comes walking out of the bedroom. She’s got her hair pulled back and some light makeup on, along with a tight-fitting pair of straight-legged jeans with a white T-shirt and brown boots. She also has a purse slung across her chest, and it’s that aspect of the outfit that sends my radar pinging.
I can feel my eyebrows draw together, but I try to keep the wrinkle from getting too extreme.
“Uh, planning on going somewhere, I see, huh?”
Brilliant, Chase. Not a weird way to word that at all. I smile, hoping that’ll help.
“Yeah!” Her voice is enthusiastic, and she’s nearly bouncing on the heels of her boots as she speaks. “I thought we’d go see the city. Do a river tour! That kind of thing.”
“Oh. I…well, I thought maybe we could work on the book…”
She glances to the table then, seeing the coffee and work setup for the first time. Her face melts in disappointment and, if I’m not completely mistaken, terror.
“Oh.”
“I don’t want to be a stick-in-the-mud,” I’m quick to add. “I just know we have a lot of work to do and not a ton of time to do it in.”
She nods then, grabbing her purse to pull it off like she’s going to give in and sit down, and I…break. I don’t know what it is because it’s surely not my pragmatism—that part of me knows well enough what’s at stake here—but the sight of her looking dejected is too much to bear.
I backtrack faster than a husband who just told his wife her butt does look kind of big in her new pair of jeans.
