Page 68 of Road Trip to Forever
I can only look at her, and I’ve never seen anything so fucking beautiful in my entire life. I could search for a thousand years, and I still wouldn’t find anything as breathtaking as Lola Jones.
There’s a meaning behind her question, fear clear in her tone. She’s not talking about the stakes or the mallet. Neither am I when I whisper, “Never,” so softly it gets snatched up by the breeze.
NINETEEN
LOLA
“Patrick Walker,if you throw me in that water, our friendship is over,” I bellow, putting my hands on my hips. “Do you hear me?Over.”
He grins at me from the other side of the picnic table, his palms splayed out on the wood. I’m cornered, nowhere to go as I try to move left, then right, frantically searching for an escape.
Jumping into a lake with icy mountain water seemed like a good idea thirty minutes ago. That was when we were busy wrestling with a tent that didn’t want to cooperate and sweating under the late afternoon sun.
Now I’m tired and hungry, ready to make the soft tacos we bought ingredients for back in town. I want a shower and a campfire. A sleeping bag where I can rest my head for a few hours before we get up early and hit the road again tomorrow.
Patrick ran and jumped off a long fishing dock without a care in the world as soon as we got our site set up. I’ve never heard someone holler as loud as he did when he plunged under the water, coming up for a breath with drenched hair and a deep laugh.
“Really, Lola? Twenty-four years of friendship gone because of a little water?” He shakes his head and droplets fling from the end of his hair, landing on my arms. “Seems a little dramatic.”
“It’s not a little water, you nut. It’s the whole damn lake, and it’s freezing cold.”
“It’s ninety degrees outside. It’ll feel good.”
“Is that why you screamed? Because it feltgood?”
“It invigorated me. I’m soaking up the greatness of life. One of those you-only-live-once moments.”
“No. We’re not bringing back that phrase. It’s staying in—”
I don’t get a chance to finish my sentence.
Patrick moves like a viper, darting around the table and grabbing me by the waist. He hauls me over his shoulder and jogs toward the water.
“Oops,” he says without a hint of remorse, and I can hear the grin in his voice.
“Put me down,” I squeal. I swat at his back with half-assed effort, giving up after two taps to his broad shoulders. “You’re going to hurt yourself carrying me, and I don’t know how to drive a stick shift.”
“Fuck that,” Patrick says. It sounds like a growl from the back of his throat, his voice turning deep. His hand tightens around my leg and slides farther up my skin. His touch is no longer in a safe zone near my knees but moving steadily closer to my hips, a spot that treads toward intimate. “You’re light as shit. And if you don’t stop talking so poorly about yourself, we’re going to have a problem.”
“Yeah?” I challenge, wanting to play with fire. “What kind of problem?”
“I’ve forgotten how much of a smart ass you can be,” he says.
“You’ve never hated it before.”
He moves his fingers up, up, up, untiloh.
They press into the curve of my ass, the bare skin not covered by the fabric of my swimsuit, a spot he’s never come close to touching in the past.
Heat races through me, and I think I might be burning alive. Patrick’s fingers stay there for a fraction of a second, gauging my reaction.
I like it, I want to scream.
Do it again,I want to add.
I’d like for him to drag his thumb across my stomach. Over my ribs and across my breasts. I want him to pull the straps of my bathing suit down and kiss my shoulder and my throat.
“I still don’t hate it. I’m thinking about all the things I could do to that mouth of yours if you don’t drop the self-deprecation. Don’t test me,” he says in warning.
