Page 5 of Side Trip

“No, thanks. Just my check, please.” She should get back on the road if she wanted to make it to Flagstaff by dinner. She’d promised Mark that she wouldn’t drive at night. He didn’t want her to be too tired or else she might fall asleep at the wheel. She’d also call him in the morning before she got on the road and again in the evening after she’d checked into her motel. It was part of their deal. She felt safer and he’d worry less.

Dylan bit into his burger and wiped ketchup off his chin. “So, I’m thinking ... ,” he began, taking another bite. “We’re both heading east. I have to be in Flagstaff by nightfall. I have a gig. Can I hitch a ride?”

Joy had started shaking her head before Dylan finished his sentence. No. Absolutely not.

“I don’t know you.” Mark would freak if she picked up a stranger on the road. She wasn’t sure she was comfortable driving this guy. He might be crazy good looking, and she might be a smidge too attracted to him, but she’d be alone with him. What if he was a rapist or serial killer? She also didn’t want to put up with his intrusive and obnoxious attitude for the four-plus hours it would take to get there.

Besides, she didn’t drive with passengers unless she absolutely didn’t have a choice.

Dylan ate half his burger, watching her. Daring her, Joy surmised, given his open expression. His gaze dipped to the bucket list. She folded the paper and tucked the list into her purse, out of his sight.

“What if you could check something off that list?”

“From driving you? Like what? ‘Do something spontaneous’?” She scrunched her face. She didn’t want Dylan to be her spontaneous item.

He shook his head. “No, the other one.”

She frowned. Which one? She went to retrieve the list when Dylan polished off his burger, wiped his hands together, and said, “‘Make a new friend.’”

“With you?” she asked, appalled. “How do you expect me to become friends with you when you’ve been nothing but rude?”

He shrugged, holding up his hands. “Only one way to find out.”

A valid point. She had been wondering how she’d accomplish that item. Hard to make friends on the road while constantly on the move, which meant she had to make the time, or look for opportunities to make friends.

Dylan might be such an opportunity.

The waitress returned with Joy’s bill. She took away Dylan’s empty plate.

Joy patted her hair, then wiped her clammy hands along her skirt. Four and a half hours wasn’t that long, not even a quarter of a day. The road was straight and flat, so the risk of anything going wrong accident-wise, she mused with a nervous twitch of her lips, was minimal. More important, she needed to fulfill Judy’s bucket list. It was the only reason she was making this trip on this particular route. Decision made.Make a new friendwould be the line item she checked off that day.

“All right,” Joy said, slapping her credit card on top of her bill, the gesture drawing his attention. “I’ll drive you to Flagstaff.”

Dylan dragged his gaze up from the bill and her card on the table and grinned at her. “Outstanding.” He extended his hand. “I’m Dylan.”

She grasped his hand, hoping he didn’t notice how dry and cool his palm was compared to her damp and sticky one. “Hi, Dylan. I’m Joy.”

CHAPTER 3

BEFORE

Dylan

Ludlow, California, to Flagstaff, Arizona

Dylan quickly cleaned his car of fast-food trash and left a note on the windshield for the tow service company to call his dad’s attorney, Rick Keegan. Let him deal with this heap of rusting metal. Rick was the one who had forced him to take Jack’s car. The beast hadn’t been driven in over a decade. Frankly, Dylan was surprised he’d gotten this far, a whopping three hours out of LA. A miracle indeed.

If Dylan had had his way, he’d instead be driving the classic 911 Porsche he’d purchased off Patrick Monahan. But let’s be real, if he’d had any say about his current situation, he wouldn’t be on this road trip at all. He’d be home in LA writing music. He’d then fly out of LAX next week, not JFK, on the nonstop to Heathrow to meet up with his cousin Chase, a trip they’d had in the works for over a year. What he wouldn’t be doing was slogging from one gig to another as he made his way across the country.

Dylan grabbed his duffel and Gibson guitar from the trunk, grateful not for the first time that he’d learned from years of living on tour buses how to pack light. He then gave the car a once-over, locked up, and didn’t look back. Joy had told him her trunk was full so he put his stuff in the cramped back seat and settled into the passenger seat.

“Thanks for the ride,” he said, closing his door. “I would have been stranded here all day.”

She clipped her seat belt and gave the strap across her lap two solid tugs, then exhaled through pursed lips.

“You okay?”

“Yes,” she said firmly.

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