Chase Me If You Can(24)
I force a tight smile. “Oh yeah.” I barely keep the sarcasm out of my voice. “Holidays are definitely interesting.”
Interesting is one way to describe the scene that usually unfolds after my mom drinks too much and descends into a crying jag that can last for days, but there’s a better chance that I’ll get hit by lightning than tell Wes that.
“You’re sure you don’t want me to go with you?”
“Yep.” I pointedly shove my keys back into the ignition and restart the engine. Mom is sure to be insufferable enough knowing I brought a guy to Eric’s garage, thanks to my snitch of a brother. I don’t want to find out what kind of stunt she might pull if she actually meets Wes. “I’ll text you when I’m on my way back.”
Wes takes the hint and gets out of the car, though he doesn’t immediately go into the house. Instead he stands in the driveway with his hands jammed in his pockets and watches me leave.
Ignoring an inexplicable trickle of guilt at the sight of him alone in my driveway, I head for my mom’s and brace myself for whatever emergency could possibly apply to a lamp.
Chapter Six
It isn’t just a lamp. It’s never just a lamp.
After completing a laundry list of tasks that were far from urgent, I pull back into my driveway and blow out a long, aggravated breath. At least Wes didn’t witness my mom’s theatrics.
Needing a few more minutes to calm down before facing him, I rush through the living room. “Just need to change,” I say quickly over my shoulder without making eye contact.
When I emerge from my bedroom in my normal chasing uniform of leggings and a tank top, dress firmly back in the closet, there’s a brief moment when disappointment flashes across Wes’s face. Refusing to think about what that might mean, I grab my bag and head out to the driveway.
He tosses his duffel haphazardly into the trunk, only to stare at me like I’ve lost my mind when I yank it right back out. “Unless you want to chase with a naked guy, I’m going to need that,” he drawls, propping his hip against the side of my car and folding his arms across his chest. I absolutely don’t notice the way the muscles in his forearms flex.
I definitely don’t think about Wes naked.
“No one is taking their clothes off in my car,” I say with a pointed look. “We’re also not just chucking stuff in here. I’ve got a system.”
“Of course you do.”
My eyes snap to his. “You don’t have to come with me. Just take your credit card to whatever dealership you want and buy yourself a new car. No one says you have to do this.”
A muscle flexes in his jaw, but Wes doesn’t say another word as I carefully stack our bags so that the camera gear is both accessible and not about to fall on the ground the first time we open the back hatch. If he wants to trash fifteen grand worth of gear, that’s on him, but it’s not so easy for me to replace.
After a quick stop to fuel our raging caffeine addictions, I merge onto I-25 and do my best to settle in for the long drive south. “I’m thinking we stay in Hobbs tonight. Any objections?”
“I’m good with that.” Wes gives me a long look and then asks more quietly, “You sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine.”
He leans back into his seat and folds his tanned arms across his chest. “Fine usually means anything but.”
I tighten my grip on the steering wheel and focus on the long stretch of road ahead. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Fair enough.” Wes yawns and tips the brim of his baseball hat down over his face. “Mind if I grab a nap?”
“Nope. The music going to bother you?”
“Nah. I can sleep through just about anything.”
Wes doesn’t say another word for the next two hours. Maybe he’s asleep. Maybe he’s just pretending to be because he has even less to say to me than I have to say to him. If I just ignore the bulk of him in the passenger seat, it’s almost like I’m alone.
Almost.
His eyes crack open when I stop for gas just over the New Mexico border, the deep green of spring in the mountains giving way to a long expanse of dry desert scrub. We’re too far west to run into other chasers yet, the parking lot full of truckers and a group of bikers having lunch in the afternoon sun.
“Gas is on me,” Wes says, his voice rough with sleep. “Least I can do.”
“We can just split it,” I insist, the low rasp of his just-woke-up voice making me question if spending days in close quarters together is a good idea. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I know.” The nap seems to have improved his mood. Wes grins before he grabs the door handle when I pull up to the pump. “But I’m going to do it, so let’s not waste time arguing about it. As long as we’re chasing together, I’ll cover the gas. We both know you’re doing me a huge favor.”
One part irritated at the high-handedness and one part grateful that my budget will stretch further than I planned, I fumble out a “Thank you” just before the passenger door falls shut. I can’t remember the last time someone pumped gas for me, never mind paid for it.
Banging my head back into the headrest, I stare out across the parking lot at the clouds. Off to the east, barely visible at the very edge of the horizon, the telltale profile of a building storm grabs my attention.