Page 8 of Side Trip

Her nose crinkled. “You can?”

“Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Freckles across the bridge of your nose. You probably tan after one day in the sun.”

“You totally stereotyped me,” she grated. “Why do I feel insulted?”

“Don’t. You’re a California girl. Nothing wrong with that.” Unable to resist, he crooned the chorus from the Beach Boys’ song. Joy laughed; she even rocked her shoulders and did the Christina Aguilera with her finger to the beat. That was the reaction he wanted. If she loosened up, maybe she would open up. He also loved listening to her laugh. She’d looked sad and lonely at the diner and melancholy again when he’d pegged her with questions about her sister. When she smiled, she beamed. A fun energy radiated off her. Too bad he wouldn’t see her again after today.

“Where are you playing tonight?” she asked.

“Some dive bar.” He didn’t remember the name and didn’t really care. He’d look up the name and address he’d written in his notebook when they got closer to town. Settling deeper in the seat, he angled his body so that he didn’t have to crane his neck to look at her.

“Do you have gigs lined up all the way to New York?” she asked.

“For the most part, but only to Chicago. I’m doing this trip for my dad. He died a few months back. Sudden heart attack.”

“Oh, geez. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He brushed aside her sympathy. He didn’t want it and Jack didn’t deserve it. But maybe if he shared a bit about himself, she’d reciprocate. “Jack made this trip thirty years ago when he moved out to LA. I’m playing in all the same joints he did, the ones that are still around.”

“That’s cool. Were you close?”

“Me and the old man? Nah. My uncle Calvin was more like a father to me. Jack’s death was sudden, which is why I’m doing this now. Figured this trip is a good way to say goodbye.” Not quite true. But he couldn’t legally share more.

“That’s a nice thing to do.” Joy glanced at him, then looked back at the road. Her lips moved, forming his dad’s and uncle’s names. Dylan cringed at his slip, turning his face to watch the passing scenery. He wondered if she’d figure it out. He hadn’t been thinking when he’d strung Jack’s and Cal’s names together. He held his breath, his fingers tapping his knees.

“Your dad wouldn’t happen to be ... Nah, never mind. No, I gotta ask. Was he Jack Westfield?”

Dylan crossed his arms. His gaze flicked upward. He didn’t respond, but she must have seen the answer in his expression. Her mouth fell open.

“Jack Westfield of the Westfield Brothers?” She sounded amazed and dubious at once.

Damn, she was quick. He’d have to be careful around her. “The one and only.” He scratched at the stubble on his jaw.

“No. Way. They were amazing. I’ve heard them play. I went to one of their concerts. I have their greatest hits album.” She pointed at her iPod. Her voice pitched up an octave, going fangirly. “They have like, what, eight Grammys?”

“Nine.” And Jack’s drive to have Dylan share his limelight was what drove them apart.

“Holy bleep. You’re Dylan Westfield.”

“Did you just say ‘holy bleep’?” He laughed.

“I read about you inRolling Stone. You’retheDylan Westfield. You’ve written songs for River District and Sal Harrison. Your lyrics are the awesome of awesomeness. I love them. And ... and ...” She snapped her fingers, then pointed in his direction. “Your parents named you after Bob Dylan.”

“We share a birthday. That man’s a legend.” Dylan, however, was not, nor did he intend to be, one. But Joy’s excitement was making him sound bigger than he really was, even to his own ears. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Just his luck to get a lift from one of his dad’s fans.

“Wow. I can’t believe I’m driving Dylan Westfield to Flagstaff. I can’t wait to tell—” She abruptly stopped talking.

“You can’t wait to tell what?” he asked, not at all liking where this was heading. He couldn’t risk anything leaking to the tabloids. If any media outlet, trash or legit, caught wind of the real reason he was making this trip, he’d lose everything. Rick had told him so. Zero publicity, those were the rules. Not that Dylan was seeking any.

Joy sighed, disappointed. “As much as I would love to brag about you, my fiancé would kill me if he knew I’d picked up a stranger.”

“But I’m not a stranger. I’m your new friend. And friends play road trip games.”

Time to drive this conversation in another direction.

He picked up the iPod and scrolled through the menu. He’d been wanting to get his hands on the device since the moment he got in the car and found himself impressed at the eclectic mix of tunes. He was also mildly relieved the iPod wasn’t loaded solely with selections he’d only find on a diner jukebox. Her tastes ranged from classic rockers he could listen to all day to Avril Lavigne and OPM. He showed her OPM’s album cover and shot her a look. “I stand corrected. You’re a skater girl.”

She cringed, her lower lip spreading wide, exposing a perfect row of bottom teeth. “In another life, maybe. What game have you got in mind?”

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