In a surprising turn of events, Max showed up on my curb at exactly eight a.m.

I had a duffle bag full of clothes, the package that needed to be delivered, and a Thermos full of coffee in my hand. The bad mood that had clung to me the past few weeks was finally lifting.

I might not have been looking forward to spending so much time with Max, of all people, but this was my chance. This random-but-important errand was going to be the thing that got me out of the mediocre middle ground of the corporate ladder.

Not even Max could ruin that excitement. I waved a little in greeting as he slammed to a stop by my house.

“Hey.” I tossed the duffle into the backseat and slid into the front. It was a nice car—I didn’t know much about cars, but this one seemed nice. I couldn’t remember seeing it in the car park.

It was a sleek black Volvo, the inside dark leather. I wouldn’t say it to him, but it was a good thing that we were taking his instead of my old blue Chevy. It would not be half as comfortable, let alone get gas mileage as good as this thing probably would.

“Hey.” Max’s radio was playing some old rock song. He bobbed his head along to it, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. His other hand was curled around a coffee cup.

It was an extra large from a coffee shop kind of near work. I’d gone there once, my first week at the office. It was one of those artisanal, expensive joints.

I buckled my seatbelt, and after giving me an appraising look, he took a gulp of his coffee and threw the car into drive. We shot off of the curb fast enough that I let out a quick, surprised curse. I tightened my grip on the folder of information.

“You drive like a maniac,” I said.

Max rolled his eyes. “Dude. Forty hours.”

I shrugged one shoulder. I’d much rather get there in forty-two hours and survive, but, hey. I flipped through the documents one more time, even though I mostly had them memorized from going over them last night.

“Hey, if we take Route 150 South, then—”

“Nope.” Max barely glanced at me, interrupting my suggestion. “I mapped it on my phone.”

“But the documents—”

“Harris is a hundred years old,” Max said. He reached for his coffee again. It bumped against my thermos. “We’re not taking directions from a literal map! We can just use an app.”

I pursed my lips together. Don’t fight, I reminded myself. There was no real benefit to arguing with Max. We were stuck together in his car, and even though Harris had said that this would be a good opportunity for both of us, everyone knew that Harris had a soft spot for Max.

They got on together easier than I did with any of the higher-ups. While I was sort of sure that Max wouldn’t openly badmouth me to the boss, he probably wouldn’t shy away from telling Harris if I was openly hostile.

“Fine,” I said after a moment. “Do you want to plan the stops now? I’m thinking we can switch every four hours, grab some lunch after the first switch?”

Max waved me off dismissively. “No need; I like driving.”

I frowned. “That’s insane; I can drive at least half.”

“Nope,” Max said. “My car, my rules.”

“We could have taken a rental!” My fingers creased into the papers, and I forced myself to relax, to keep from jumping out of the car right then and there.

“No need; this baby drives smooth.” He winked, then started to rattle off various details about the car.

I interrupted him. “I—look, I really don’t care.”

I winced at the shortness of my voice and glanced over. Max’s lips were twitching as if he were amused, eyes staying on the road almost purposefully. I felt less bad.

I considered arguing more. It was ridiculous—there was no way Max could drive the entire way to and from Los Angeles, especially when another fully capable driver was sitting right here.

I could talk about the ways that driving so much was dangerous. It was bad for the body, but also, he was more likely to crash his car. He seemed to like his car—maybe that would work. Or I could argue that it was my job, my duty—Harris had chosen both of us, and I wasn’t about to let him do more of the legwork so he could one-up me.

I drank my coffee slowly, considering my various options. Regardless of what I did, I was trapped with Max for—I checked my watch—at least 39 hours and forty-four minutes. I needed to play nice.

Max hummed along to the music playing. I didn’t recognize it; I didn’t really listen to rock music. Ambient work tunes, sure, or whatever indie band Macy was into that week.

But I wasn’t really into any particular type of music myself. Nick said that was weird. I told him he was a dick. We agreed there was a difference in opinions preventing us from seeing eye to eye.

I drank the rest of my coffee slowly. Even though I was used to being up this early—hell, I would normally have been in the office for an hour already—it was different. I couldn’t lose myself in work, couldn’t dive into my cubicle and ignore the rest of the world while going over customer complaints and expense reports.

Normally, I did everything I could to avoid spending any amount of time with Max. Now, it was taking everything in me to not stare openly at him.

I didn’t think I’d ever seen Max drive before. Of course, I got to work before him and left after him most days, so it wasn’t like we’d be leaving the car park at the same time. But even before work, in college, I couldn’t remember a time when he’d been behind the wheel.

It seemed impossible now, watching him on the road. He looked more relaxed here than he did anywhere else I’d ever seen him—I briefly wondered if that was safe, if he was actually currently using any brain cells at all.

One hand was curled around the steering wheel, a loose grip that was nothing like the ten and two I drove at. His other sat on the top of his coffee cup, which had to be long empty but still occupied the cup holder. He had a thick ring on his middle finger, a dented silver band. Had he always worn that? It looked like a wedding band.

I snuck a glance at his face. Surely I would know if Max had been married. We’d been in each other’s lives for far too long for that to be a surprise.

He quirked an eyebrow and looked over at me. “Yeah?”

“Just wondering if you’re purposefully trying to kill us,” I sniped automatically. He rolled his eyes and went back to staring at the road. In my defense, he was driving ninety in a seventy-five zone.

I had never really taken the time to study Max—physically, at least. I knew everything about his grade stats, every promotion and side project he’d gotten since we started at

Spectrum. But I had never really looked at the guy. I’d spent all of my time avoiding it, actually.

But here, trapped in a car that smelled like citrus, there was nowhere else to go, to look.

His hair was wild, like he had never taken the time to brush out the crazy, dark-brown curls. It was entirely unprofessional. It had to add at least three inches of height to him. Compared to the near buzz-cut I got once a month, he looked like a frat boy.

Underneath that unkempt mess, he did have a strong face; his cheekbones were sharp, jaw nearly deadly enough to cut glass. He had really bright blue eyes, too; I couldn’t see them right now, with his gaze focused on the highway in front of us, but I knew they would be an intense blue, framed with thick, dark lashes and perpetually quirking eyebrows.

He had a handsome face. I was sure it had paved the way for the carefree, easy life he led.

I pivoted to look out the window. Gripping the thermos tightly in my hands, I tried to shake the thoughts out of my head. I didn’t need to be getting distracted by—what? By Max’s good looks?

I was jealous, that was all. I was jealous that everything came so easily to him, that he had never had to work at anything.

I ignored him as best I could. We only made it another thirty miles down the road before he was singing loudly to the songs on the radio, grinning as he blared Bon Jovi loudly enough to burst my eardrums.

I glared at him, feeling even as I did it how weak it was. “You could not be more annoying,” I said.

Max grinned, winking, and turned the radio up louder. He started to pound on the steering wheel with his hands. I could feel the beat of the music in my bones.

I groaned and ran my hands down my face. Max stopped singing long enough to laugh loudly at me.

At noon, we stopped for gas and burgers. “We could just eat while we drive,” I suggested.

Max looked at me like I had suggested we drive off a cliff. “Fuck that noise.”

“What, are you kidding? We’ll save an hour!”

“We’re not bringing food into my baby.”

“If you aren’t a good enough driver to eat, I’d be happy to take over.” I smiled as nicely as I could.

Max pointed his finger at me, glared, and then jabbed the air again before storming past me into the diner.

I rolled my eyes and followed him. “Hey.” I shoved at his shoulder lightly. He spun around with narrowed eyes. “You can’t just ignore everything I suggest.”

“Oh, wow, good point,” he said, sarcasm dripping off of his every syllable. “But you can’t keep suggesting dumb things.”

“It’s not dumb for me to drive!” I threw my hands up in frustration. A few of the diner patrons turned to look at us. I fought the urge to flip them off.

“It is,” he insisted firmly, before turning around and stalking off to a booth. He slid into one side and grabbed a menu, hunching down so it covered his face.

I grumbled under my breath about hostile working environments and sat across from him. My foot tapped incessantly against the linoleum floor. I could practically see Max’s hackles rise at the sound but, surprisingly, he stayed quiet.

I didn’t bother to open the menu. The waiter came with a wary look on his face.

“Um, welcome to Bobby’s.” He glanced between us as if we were going to scream at him. I felt momentarily guilty for not yelling at Max outside, away from the diner staff. “What can I get you guys?”

Max sat the menu down and quirked an eyebrow at me. I was going to shave them off, I really was. “Water to drink, and then a hamburger with side salad.”

The guy scribbled on his menu. “Dressing?”

“Italian on the side.”

Max was looking at me again, his face scrunched up and cocked slightly to the side, as if I were confusing him. The waiter turned to him.

“Coke,” he said, tearing his eyes away from me to smile politely at the waiter. “And I’ll have the Bobby’s Burger special.”

The waiter nodded. “Do you want that with a fried egg on top? Onion rings on the side or fries?”

“How about yes?” Max grinned. The waiter laughed. I felt nauseous just considering it.

“All right, I’ll get that in for you guys.”

I kept tapping my foot. Max leaned with his head on his fist, scrutinizing me. I tried not to fidget under his gaze.

Something about his steady glare was exactly like Harris’s; it made me just as nervous to sit under Max’s eye as it did my boss’s, and that, alone, ticked me off.

I pulled out my phone and scrolled through the text messages I’d gotten so far. One from Grandma, god bless her, reminding me to check in, signed with her full name. Two from Nick, and one from Macy telling me to ignore Nick because she was mad at him. I typed out responses to them.

“Is your phone actually on this time?”

Heat burned my ears. I glared at my phone, but refused to answer him. He chuckled.

Our food came fairly quickly. The waiter dropped off our drinks and came back with my burger and salad. It took him two trips to bring all of Max’s food.

His burger was steaming, dripping with grease. I had never seen so much cheese on a single item of food before. He had a plate of onion rings and a bowl of fries, and my stomach hurt just looking at it.

“Oh my god,” he groaned, tugging the plate closer to him. “This is heaven.”

“That,” I jabbed my fork at him, “is a heart attack waiting to happen.”

He took a bite, practically unhinging his jaw. I scrunched my nose at him.

With much more enthusiasm than was entirely necessary, Max devoured his lunch. He ate with such big bites his cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk’s.

I contemplated the benefits of him dying on this road trip; I’d get time off, probably, for the trauma, and the promotion would be mine, hands down.

He offered me an onion ring. I finished my salad, ignoring him.

When we got back on the road, I was pretty sure that Max was going to pass out at the wheel. When I commented on that, he glared at me and turned the music up louder.

We stopped for gas once more. I tried my hand at convincing him to let me drive again, but Max threatened to buy me Powerade instead of flavored water, so I gave in and stayed in the passenger seat.

I did manage to convince him to change the radio station to something less head-banging hair bands. Max glared at me for that and muttered something about uncultured swines, but at least there wasn’t any more REO Speedwagon playing.

It was even more difficult now ignoring him than it had been before lunch. His every move seemed to grate against my skin, his every breath loud, pressing against me. I couldn’t stop myself from staring at him, from noticing the way his jaw twitched when he was passing someone on the road, his spine straightened when he recognized the song. How my own spine tingled in response to him singing out loud.

Even the car’s scent—citrus, bright, clean—seemed to pale in comparison to him. His shampoo, or something, smelled like oak trees and honey maple, a heavy scent that clung to me every time the car turned a little.

I wanted to fling the car door open and let the road take me. I was here for work, and yet all I could think about was how aggravating Max was. If there was ever a time to keep my guard up around Max, it was on this trip.

I forced myself to lean against the door, closing my eyes, and tried hard to ignore Max.

At some point, I must have dozed off. I woke up with a sharp jolt. Max yawned loudly. I jumped at the sound, head hitting the window I was leaning against.

He laughed, and I glared at him. “Jerk.”

“Not my fault you’re sleeping on the job.”

“The job?” I huffed. “You won’t let me do anything.”

“It’s my car!” Max slapped his hand on the wheels. He sounded angry, but his lips were twitching.

“Do you ever take anything seriously?”

He gave me an arched look. “As seriously as you?”

“Yes.” I crossed my arms.

He smiled. “Nope.”

I groaned. I wanted to punch him. He winked at me, and looked for all the world delighted by my frustration.

“You’re so annoying,” I said.

He shrugged one shoulder. I sighed. My head was starting to pulse. “Can we please pull over for the night? You’re going to fall asleep at the wheel.”

“It’s only 8 o’clock.”

“Yes.” I gritted my teeth. “And if we had been switching off like I said, then you wouldn’t be so exhausted.”

“I’m not exhausted—”

“Max. I’m going to kill you.”

Max pursed his lips together. His eyes were bright, laughing at me with just his appeasing look. Then his expression smoothed out and he nodded. “Sure, man. We’re like halfway there anyway.”

I let out a sigh of relief. If I could just get away from him for a little bit, everything would be fine. We pulled into a motel lot, and I practically leapt out of the car.

“I’ve got the company card,” Max said pointlessly. I knew that. He’d been paying for all the gas. “I’ll go check us in. Then we can grab some food?”

I nodded. “That sounds good.”

Max smiled at me, offering me a quick salute before walking off toward the motel lobby. I leaned against the car and sighed heavily.

Come on, Wilson, I thought to myself. Pull yourself together.

This trip was going to be the end of me.