Page 47 of Wish Lists and Road Trips

I sipped my coffee, happy at least to be back in the Range Rover where there was a whole console between us with no chance of him touching me and then acting like he hated himself for it.

Last night, I’d wanted him to stay so badly it hurt.

The whole thing hurt. Like the fact that he chose to sleep on that hard couch rather than share a bed with me. We were two adults, mostly clothed, on a king-sized bed, and I knew from experience how easily you could avoid touching someone in that scenario if that was what he wanted.

I should have learned this lesson by now—that some people can only handle me in small doses. Sean told me as much, even as he asked me to move in with him, then proposed. And I’d stayed despite that, hoping I might grow on him. There were a lot of similarities between that and this crush I’d let myself develop on Nick. Things I didn’t want to see. I’d made Nick go to that bar. I’d made him lay in bed with me. Hell, I’d made him take me on this trip. And I’d confused those moments with a connection because sometimes, when his eyes wandered over my body and then shifted away, I caught a longing there. Something hidden that I could feel bursting through his seams. But once again, Nick’s cooler head prevailed, and this timeIwas the thing he was talking himself out of. Me and him, touching like that.

“How’s your lip?” I asked begrudgingly when I noticed a slight wince from him as he sipped his energy drink. Damn it. Hating him was hard when I remembered he’d literally bled for me last night.

“It’s okay. How’s your hand?”

I opened and closed my fist. “Also fine.”

He nodded his approval. “Do you know where you want to stop for lunch?”

“Nope.” He was trying to make conversation, but I’d learned some things from all of the humiliation Sean put me through over the years. I knew how to build myself a wall, somewhere safe to hide. I pushed the button to recline my seat and put my bare feet on the dash because I knew it would piss him off. It was a passive-aggressive wall.

“It’ll save us time if we have a plan,” he pushed.

I wasn’t really into Nick’s plans at the moment. Nick’s plans could go screw themselves. “I’ll figure it out. You put me in charge of stops. Don’t forget it.”

He grumbled something, then switched on the radio. I swatted his hand away. He’d put me in charge of that too and I was scrambling for purchase in the control department.

I was scrolling through the satellite stations when Nick’s phone rang from where he had it stuck to the dashboard. The name “Mom” scrolled over the screen.

It rang again and I turned to see his knuckles white on the steering wheel. He tossed a sideways glance at me but continued to ignore it.

“Nicholas, your mother is calling you.”

“I can see that.”

“Are you going to answer it?”

His soft cheeks sucked in as he chewed the inside of his lip. Why did he not want to answer it in front of me? Fine, he didn’t want to touch me, but was I really such a stranger?Still?

I reached over and hit the answer button and he snarled, swiping the phone from its cradle and switching it off of the Bluetooth.

“Hi, Mom.” A beat passed and he lowered his voice. “Where are you right now? Is Dad home?”

Silence.

“Can you go back inside, please?”

Okay, clearly I wasn’t meant to hear this. I picked up Nick’s energy drink and pretended to read the nutrition label.

Nick pulled the phone from his ear and rubbed at his eye with the back of his hand. I heard a woman’s voice, a whimper, and my throat thickened.

“Please don’t cry, Mom.” Now he was nearly whispering. “Yes, I know, but it was late by the time I got to the hotel and I didn’t want to wake you.” He shifted in his seat, leaning further into the door as if he could keep me from hearing. “Okay . . . Yes . . . Everything is going to be okay, Mom. I’m sorry. I promise I’ll see you soon.”

He ended the call and tossed his phone in the center console, running a hand over his mouth. My heart tripped. The air in the car grew tense and I knew I’d just been privy to a private conversation. One that hadn’t gone well, based on his expression.

He stared out the windshield for the next few miles, silent.

“Nick?” I said quietly. He rubbed at the back of his neck like he was trying to massage a stone. “Are you okay?”

He flipped on his blinker and switched lanes. “I’m fine.”

He wasn’t though, and I felt like I witnessed something I shouldn’t have. But maybe something I needed to.

---