Page 30 of Wish Lists and Road Trips

“He can handle it, Nick. I know it’s bad timing, but you just have to tell him you can’t do it all.”

“Yeah, because he listens to me.”

“A lot of shit would be different if he did,” Tom said. “We both know that.”

I dug the toe of my sneaker into the dirt, tension building in my shoulders at his implication. The day my dad put Alex in charge, Tom and I went out to drink too many beers and lick our wounds. He told me it should have been me and then we never spoke of it again. It was there, though, in comments like that. “I’ll give him a call,” I said, ready to change the subject. “I need to check in on my mom anyway. Any news for me there?”

“She’s the same. Listen, Nick, you got a forced vacation here, one we both know you won’t get again for a long while. Make up an excuse with your dad. Hell, slash your own tire if you need to, but take your time. Drew and I will cover for you. Like always,” he added, jokingly, since I spent my teenage years covering for those assholes.

I laughed at the jab, but I wasn’t going to take his advice. Even if they could swing it without me at work, I needed to be back for my mom.

Sometimes it felt like there wasn’t a single person who didn’t need something from me.

“I’ll be back in two days,” I told Tom, my chest squeezing even tighter.

Nick was right. I was too small for this car.

He finally let me drive after a big back and forth about whether or not I could see over the steering wheel. He insisted that I demonstrate that I could back out of the parking spot at the waterfall while he stood in the lot, arms crossed over his chest like a driver’s ed instructor.

Because he was outside, he couldn’t see how I’d had to come to a full stand to reach the brake and see over my shoulder. I wouldn’t have been able to do it without the backup camera. But so what? That was its whole purpose!

The whole thing was kind of hot, if I’m honest. The way he watched me from behind his sunglasses, smiling that half-smile when I managed it. I’d never tell him the truth.

Ever since he’d told me he liked my face—a weird, and yet entirelyhimcompliment—my mind had been a torturous place to be. I wondered what it would be like to have Nick as a friend. I wondered what he did with his free time, who he hung out with. I couldn’t imagine that many people passed the guard he had up. But he was also weirdly charming when he wanted to be. Like a secret weapon he let gleam from his hip.

What I wouldn’t give to take my chances on a full dose of that charm. Now he was sitting in the passenger seat, elbow propped on the window in a way that made his bicep pop while he frowned at his phone. The man was entirely too pretty to be in small spaces with.

Andthatwas why I was staring out the windshield, hands ten and two, my eyes laser-focused on the road to keep from looking at him. Was that his plan?

It had been two hours since we left the state park, and my stomach started to grumble. We’d crossed most of Louisiana, but Nick had it in his head that we would drive to the route I-10 split before stopping for dinner. That way he could check the current traffic conditions while we ate, and choose one of two routes to Savannah. It was all very organized, but that was—I pinched the nav screen and zoomed out—three hours away.

“Can we stop?” I asked. “I’m getting hungry.”

He jerked like he’d been in one of those highway trances, then he made a face. “It’s only four o’clock.”

“Yeah, but we didn’t really get lunch.” At leastIdidn’t count the snack selection from Target with a side of drive-thru coffee as a real meal. And I’d only had a double chocolate muffin for breakfast at the airport.

Nick had a protein bar and juice, which might be why he had those abs.

He gave me a long-suffering look and glanced at the dash. “It’s almost like you forget the way you got left in Costa Rica because of your poor time management skills.”

“I got left behind because of my poor listening skills. You knew exactly when to be there and you still missed it.”

He mumbled something about donkeys and bananas, then poked at his phone. “I’ll search what’s at the next exit.”

“Okay, maybe something with outdoor seating. It’s so nice out. No tapas or anything, though. I’m so hungry I could eat a horse right now. Oh! Try and find a taco place since we missed out on the food truck.”

“Horse tacos. Got it.”

The whole googling thing was a lie, though, because when a red and green pizzeria sign greeted us first thing off the exit, Nick insisted we just eat there.

The parking lot was jammed, cars circling brake lights like vultures. Nick tapped his foot and huffed the entire time I searched for a spot big enough for this behemoth vehicle. Finally, I found an empty space around the side of the building. I made a big show of maneuvering it—thank you, luxury vehicle equipped with park assist—and backed it into the spot.

He grabbed his backpack and pushed out the door before he could congratulate me, but I’m sure it was on the tip of his tongue.

Nick ordered a mushroom and pepper pizza the size of the table and we sat across from each other in a squeaky wood and pleather booth. I watched him devour a folded slice in two bites.

“You were hungry,” I said.

---