Page 73 of Road Trip to Forever
I turn and shift and bend until I find a comfortable position on my side. One foot crossed over the other, knees to my chest. My cheek is against the small cushion in the sleeping bag that tries to call itself a pillow, and I do my best not to squirm as Patrick’s arm snakes around my waist. His palm splays out across my stomach, pinky running along the waistband of my pajama shorts.
He’s been more open with his touches on this trip. Purposely physical, with subtle grazes of his body against mine that have me close to panting. It’s nothing downright scandalous, just enough to drive me wild and put ideas in my head. Imagining his hand sliding further up. My hand sliding down. Wondering how well we would fit together and knowing it wouldwork.
“Here’s where all the warmth was hiding,” I joke.
“You should’ve woken me up.”
“You were sleeping soundly. I think I heard you mumble something about a parrot.”
“Don’t care.” His words ghost over the shell of my ear and he pulls me closer. I can feel every inch of him, his body aligned perfectly with mine. “I always want you to wake me up when you can’t sleep. Because you’re cold. Or I’m snoring too loudly.”
“Let’s pretend I didn’t wake you up. You wokemeup with your sawing logs.”
“Whatever you have to tell yourself. Are you more comfortable?”
“Yes.” I sigh. “I’m perfect. Thank you for coming to my rescue. I’m learning you do that a lot.”
“Not rescuing,” he mumbles. “Helping. There’s a difference.”
“And what’s that?”
“Rescuing implies you’re incapable, which isn’t true. You’re very capable. You just need someone by your side now and then. A sidekick, if you will.”
“We could go on tour. Start a comedy club or fight some crime,” I say.
“Knock ’em out with laughs or a sucker punch. They’ll never know what hit them.”
“Oh, boy. Here come the dad jokes.”
“My best content comes in the middle of the night,” he teases.
“I have a habit of keeping you awake, don’t I?”
“Don’t care. Don’t mind. That’s what friends do.”
“Keep each other awake?” I ask.
“And stay awake to listen,” he says.
“Then you’re my very best friend. I need a few minutes, then I promise I’ll be asleep. It takes my brain a while to shut off.” I pause and reach for his hand, wrapping our fingers together and measuring the length of his palm, so large around mine. “Tell me a secret?”
His smile curves against my shoulder and his lips brush against my skin.
“You’re going to win the fashion show,” he says immediately, without an ounce of hesitation.
“That’s not a secret.” I turn so I can stare up at him. “That’s an opinion.”
“Which makes it a secret.”
“I’m going in with no expectations, but…” I trail off and bite my bottom lip, afraid to say it out loud.
“But it would be really fucking cool if you won?” he finishes for me, reading my mind.
“Yeah. Really fucking cool.”
I picture it. How my life would change and the dreams I could accomplish. A life a little more rooted, grounded, settling into consistency and stability. The store I’ve envisioned, with bright lights and large dressing rooms. Outfits on display in the windows, high-quality and cute designs without costing a fortune. My name on the outside with a little logo next to it.
“Are those wheels still turning?”
