Page 69 of Here We Go Again
“You did not.”
“I knew it was only a matter of time,” he clarifies smugly.
“I’m not sure it…meantanything. It was kind of a weird, angry-horny kiss.”
“Did you want it to mean something?” Joe is still holding her hand, and she honestly can’t remember the last time someone did that.
“No,” she snaps. “Maybe. How should I know?”
“Here’s an idea: Why don’t you trytalkingto Rosemary about the kiss?”
“Ew. No way.”
He sighs heavily, like Logan is the cause of the calcium deposits on his lungs. “You’re not teenagers anymore. It’s time for the two of you to have a big-girl conversation about your relationship.”
Their number is called loudly into a microphone, and Logan hops up from the table, grateful for the excuse to walk away. Three giant bags of food are the perfect emotional shield.
“This salad is all iceberg lettuce,” Rosemary complains when she sees her meal.
“I tried to warn you.”
Rosemary pouts down at the Styrofoam clamshell container in her lap. “And is that…ranchdressing?”
“Here.” Logan opens her crate of steak and puts it on the centerconsole of the van between them. “We can share my meal. It is large enough to feed all of Texas.”
Rosemary scoots in close and hesitantly reaches for the plastic fork. She scoops up a bite of mac and cheese, and Logan watches as the fork tines linger against her pink lips.
And yeah. They need to have a big-girl conversation.
Chapter Twenty-One
ROSEMARY
Logan was right about the salad, but she’s wrong about Dallas. She insists they can breeze through Dallas and keep pushing onward toward Louisiana before they stop for the night. Never mind that Joe is exhausted and sleeps off and on for hours while digesting his absurd portion of fried chicken. Never mind that Odie is losing his little doggy mind from being trapped in the car all day and keeps trying to climb onto their laps while they drive.
Never mind that it’s getting late, and she keeps accidentally staring at Logan’s mouth while she sings Kylie Minogue and Miley Cyrus.
“We should stop when we reach Dallas,” Rosemary says for the tenth time.
Logan is bouncing behind the wheel. “We can keep going. I feel good! I think we can get as far as Shreveport tonight!”
“And I don’t think it’s safe to drive in the dark when we’re all tired,” she points out. Logan just bops up and down to the music while she drives eighty miles per hour down the straight, never-ending freeway. But then she looks over at Rosemary, and her frantic demeanor changes.
“You want to stop in Dallas?” Logan asks, like she’s really hearing her for the first time.
“Yes. Please.”
Logan reaches over and places a hand on Rosemary’s shoulder, just for a second. The briefest flutter of fingertips on bare skin. “Okay. Then we’ll stop in Dallas.”
They don’t make it there until after nine o’clock. Their hotel for the night clearly caters to business travelers with its bluish mood lighting and sleek, chrome finishings. The hallways smell like cheap cologne andman, and if she didn’t have a headache before, she certainly does now thanks to the Courtyard by Marriott.
And, of course, when they reach their adjoining rooms, they find two king beds, one in each. Twelve hours ago, spontaneously driving to Mississippi seemed like such a romantic idea, but now the exhaustion of the day has caught up with her, and all she can think about is the uncertainty of where they’re going and what’s going to happen next. Rosemary cries a little in secret as they struggle to get Joe situated in bed, and then she cries a little more openly once the door is closed between their adjoining rooms.
“Shit sticks,” Logan says when she sees Rosemary crying on the edge of the king bed. “Are you okay?”
Logan reaches for a box of hotel tissues on the desk and awkwardly outstretches them toward her. “No. I’m tired and maybe hormonal and generally overwhelmed byeverythingthat’s happened in the past twenty-four hours! Thinking Joe was going to die, and the emergency room, and the kiss, and learning about Remy and driving to Mississippi…”
Logan hovers awkwardly with her tissues. “The kiss?”
