Page 47 of Anywhere with You
“I can’t decide,” she said.
I opened my mouth, then realized I was about to say that I didn’t care what we did, as long as I was with her, then stopped. It was the sort of thing that I would’ve said to Bridget, months ago, trying to be accommodating. Maybe I hadn’t yet gotten out of the habit.
I shook myself loose of the thoughts. “Let’s go on tonight, then if we decide to hike on the way back, we’ll have time to schedule a tour guide or whatever.”
“Afraid you’re going to get lost in the Grand Canyon?” she teased.
“I got lost drivingnext tothe Grand Canyon. With our luck, we’d get in there, and no one but the javelinas and creepy old park rangers would find us.”
Cara laughed and bumped me with her arm.
We stood still, barely touching, until the sun was completely gone.
* * *
I woke in the morning to the feel of someone between my legs. I ran my hands over her soft skin, lightly then harder, wanting her pressed up against every inch of my skin. I’d imagined her kiss on my neck, but this was better, lips and tongue and teeth, my nerves strummed like guitar strings, leaving me vibrating.
My breathing was hard and fast, and my muscles tightened with anticipation. I felt my thighs clench, drawing that feeling, that someone, closer, tighter.
God, I’d been wanting…
Everything in me was spring-wound and ready to let go. I pressed my fingers into her soft curls. Palms—mine?—moved over my breasts, passing feather-like over my nipples.
For one indescribable moment, I felt her incredible lips against mine, and I arched, needing her, hungry for her. Touching her in all the ways she deserved to be touched, bringing her with me to the edge.
Finally.
In the next moment, I was fully awake, leaping out of bed in another strange hotel room, except there was a pillow between my legs, so I tripped and ended up on the floor, panting and bruised.
“Are you okay?” Cara peeked around the corner. She was already dressed and had a mouthful of foaming toothpaste. I stared at her foaming lips before trying to look away and getting my attention snagged by her headful of curls. The feeling of them between my fingers was so fresh and real that my hand flexed in response.
I said something, probably words, as I got to my feet.
I went straight past her, pushed her out the bathroom door, and took a shower.
* * *
This would be the worst of our days on the road. There were no aliens or sand dunes or rabid javelinas to break up the day, justroad and desert. I’d searched for some small tourist attraction, but the Stonehenge of broken cars—Carhenge, for those in the know—was in Nebraska, the world’s largest beagle-shaped bed and breakfast was in Idaho, and Spoonbridge was all the way in Minnesota.
Cara and I vowed to keep an eye out for interestingly shaped cacti.
We drove through the morning in relatively good cheer, though my mind played the dream of making love to her on a loop, like a reel that I couldn’t put down. And despite the awkwardness of fantasizing about her while she was sitting next to me, I didn’t want to let it go.
Late in the morning, Cara talked me into duet karaoke. We were particularly good at “You’re the One That I Want” fromGrease, but our “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart” was awful no matter which of us sang Kiki Dee’s part and no matter how many times we practiced.
We stopped in a small town for a late lunch, then headed out into the empty desert again.
We drove another hour, then four. If there was anything out here but road, desert, and Cara’s car, I couldn’t see any evidence.
Eventually, Cara sighed dramatically. “Can we just stop? I’ve got to get out of the car for a minute.”
Just as she spoke, a building appeared ahead, a convenience store with a single car in the parking lot.
I pointed to it. “What do you think aboutnotpeeing in the sand?”
“Yes, please.”
I parked at the fuel pump to refill the tank, then we trekked over the sand-speckled parking lot. It was grungy inside, even for a convenience store, and most of the overhead lights were out, but they had an antique popcorn machine in pristine condition.
