The problem with an impromptu road trip is that . . . who am I kidding? There are a million problems with doing most things on the fly. In this case, it means my wardrobe consists of very little and what I do have with me screams “girls night out.” Standing next to the bed with my clothes strewn everywhere, I scrunch my face in thought. How am I going to make this work? I could wear my yoga pants every day. Turn my panties inside out to get extra wear out of them.
“Or you could just ask Lucas to stop at the store and buy a few essentials. Here,” Jessi says tossing a pair of leggings and a tunic my way. “Go get dressed. We’ll sort you out here, and I’ll text you what you need to grab at the store. It’s going to be fine. It’s a road trip for goodness sake. Leggings and T-shirts are all you need. Except clean panties. That’s a must.
Without further hesitation, I grab the offered clothes and scoot to the bathroom. I have enough time for a shower but not to wash my hair. Thankfully, it’s only day two hair piled on my head and dry shampoo is a thing. Flipping the handle on the shower, I shed my clothes as the room fills with steam. I know there isn’t time to dawdle, but I refuse to not allow myself a minute below the scalding water. The heat and thumping of the massage shower head feel amazing on my tense shoulders. After the single minute—okay, two—I quickly finish up my shower. Sliding the shower curtain, I look up to catch my reflection in the steamed mirror.
What am I doing? I’m an engaged woman only a week from her wedding. I have no business doing this. What sane person jumps in the car with a man she hasn’t seen since he was a boy and drive thousands of miles with him on a whim? There isn’t one. It’s clearly a sign of insanity.
Or lack of impulse control.
Either way, it’s not me. I’m not one to do anything on a whim. I don’t whim. My idea of taking a risk is drinking my creamer a day past the expiration date. Maybe eating leftover Chinese after two days in the refrigerator. Not climbing in a car with a man I barely know and two puppies.
Besides, who strips for a living because of how much medical school costs? I mean, sure, it’s expensive, and he certainly has the talent for the job. I can see it now, by the time he’s two years into his career as Doctor Hottie, he’s going to own social media. There will be gifs and memes with his washboard abs and only a stethoscope as a shirt filling my timeline. Those thighs and that tight ass will be . . . FOCUS!!! There is no sane reason for doing this. None.
It’s not too late to say no. I just need to get dressed, walk down to the lobby, and tell Lucas I lost my mind for a few minutes and to travel safe. That’s all. He and I exchanged numbers and can meet for coffee or something when he gets back. We can easily be friends again. I’ll figure out my life, and he can deliver his puppies and go back to straddling women on stage . . . heat flushes my skin as I think of the way it felt to have him in front of me. Trenton would rather die than do something so primal and exhilarating.
With one hand, I wipe a spot on the foggy mirror while the other hand tugs my long hair from the messy bun on my head. I note my tangled locks and wonder if there’s any chance I can brush them without making a frizzy mess of my hair. Unlikely. Instead, I run my fingers through my tresses and retie the bun. I hurry to finish my time in the bathroom and exit to find the girls dressed and their bags packed.
“You look ready to road trip for sure. We had enough clean stuff to get you a few days’ worth of clothes. Thank goodness we’re all close to the same size. Of course, Courtney’s shirts will be an excellent dress option for your short ass.”
I shake my head at Jessi’s assessment. I am the most petite of our foursome but she’s only a few inches taller. Courtney stands from the chair in the corner and stretches, which emphasizes how tall she is when her hands almost touch the ceiling. Okay, maybe not touch but it’s closer than I’ll ever be.
“Thank you for this weekend. I don’t know what I’d do without you all. This should have been the worst three days of my life, but you’ve made them great. I’ve made my decision, and I’m not going. It was ridiculous to even consider. I have too much to do. Besides, what will Trenton think?”
“For starters, he’ll probably think he shouldn’t have let some slut suck his dick. If he has any sense, he’ll realize he fucked up and just lost the best thing to ever happen to him.”
“Can we not with the sucking? I don’t need to relive that moment.” Rolling her eyes, Jessi motions for me to continue. “It’s immature and irrational of me to think this is a good idea. I’ll walk down with you guys and tell Lucas I’m not going. Then, we can head home. Or, at least to your home. I don’t think I can handle my own house today.” Before any of the girls can offer a retort, I unplug my phone charger and slide it into my tote along with my phone before pulling my sunglasses from their case and putting them on.
The girls follow me down the hall to the lobby, but when I come to a complete stop at the scene in front of me, they almost knock me over. Each mumbling something about eating shit, it’s like a movie as they each gasp and hit one another to claim each other’s attention.
Standing in the lobby, dressed in a pair of low-slung tan shorts, tight navy T-shirt, with a pair of sunglasses resting atop his head as he taps on his phone is Lucas. All tan and toned six feet of him. Holy pinging ovaries. “Sweet Jesus.” My comment is only a breath but loud enough for the girls to hear.
As if I’ll see him clearer, I push my sunglasses to the top of my head. Yep. It’s better without the tint of my sunglasses. The scruff he was sporting last night is gone and replaced is smooth skin that any woman would give her left pinky to touch.
“I swear if you do not go with that man and let him help you figure out this Trenton thing, I will fucking kill you.” I turn to Jessi who is literally wiping drool from the side of her mouth.
“Are you drooling?”
“Fuck yeah I am. Do you see that man? He isn’t a scrawny fifteen-year-old science nerd anymore. He’s what my mama told me to avoid and my sister told me to ride like a fucking bronco,” Jessi declares as she walks away from our group and toward the bronco himself.
Jen nudges me forward and after shooting her a scowl I start following Jessi. Suddenly shy and overwhelmed, I stand back while each of the girls talk to Lucas. There’s barely a lull in the conversation for me to say hello, which I’m grateful for. But when Lucas raises his gaze from the girls to me, I suck in a breath.
Zing.
Zang.
Electricity.
It.
Then he smiles.
I smile back.
“Like a bronco,” she whispers for only me. “We’re out of here. You kids have fun. Don’t worry about anything, Whit. Call us tomorrow.”
It all happens so fast and before I know it, the girls are gone, and Lucas is reaching for my suitcase. I let him guide me out of the hotel without speaking a word. No hello and no effort to tell him this isn’t happening. Instead, I walk to his truck and watch as he tosses my suitcase in the back of the bed. When he turns toward me I open my mouth to speak, but he puts a finger to my lips.
“Just go with it. It doesn’t mean anything other than I get to hang out with one of my oldest friends and drive a couple of puppies to their new home. Stop overthinking.”
Nodding, I wait as he opens the passenger door before tossing in my tote and climbing in. Thankfully he isn’t one of those guys who has his truck raised ten feet in the air. I dated a guy like that once in college. After two weeks together, I realized I’d never wear a skirt or dress while dating him. Or, I’d need a step ladder. Neither the sacrifice nor the need to rely on a piece of equipment to get ice cream seemed worth the effort. That spoke volumes about that relationship.
When Lucas settles behind the wheel, my nerves kick in again. A million thoughts run through my head, and I open my mouth to speak when to my surprise, my favorite eighties hair band song fills the cab. I spin in my seat to face Lucas. His left arm rests on the wheel while his right is tapping what I assume is the volume control because the song gets louder and louder.
“I love this song.”
“I remembered. I made you a playlist. I’m sure we’ll have to add to it, but I figured it couldn’t hurt as a starting point. Ready to do this?” He made me a playlist. As the lyrics of White Snake’s “Here I Go Again” vibrates through the speakers I return the smile he’s giving me and nod my head.
“Good. Before we go, I have to know something.”
“Shoot.”
“Why eighties music?”
“My parents. Music was a constant in our house when I was growing up. It still is, they even go to concerts for some of their favorite eighties groups and bands. Don’t tell anyone but I think my mom went on a cruise for a boy band she was obsessed with last year. She only called it a “girls trip” with her best friend but it was no coincidence she returned with random concert memorabilia.”
Laughing, we sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes as he maneuvers the morning traffic. “And the hair bands?” he asks.
“My dad. We’ve had “Hair Band Friday” in our house since I was seven years old.”
“Well, I’m happy to support the music of your youth. Now, sit back and enjoy your playlist while I deal with this shitty traffic.”