Page 72 of Road Trip to Forever
“Would you do it again? Purposely this time?”
I drag my gaze back to him. I see the vulnerability in asking. My answer will change the dynamics of our relationship, and Patrick’s letting me be the one to decide how this plays out.
Friends? Or something more.
I inhale a breath of courage and nod, a single bob of my head. “Yes,” I whisper.
“Would you do it with me?”
“I would.”
“Ah.” Patrick nods. He runs his hand through his hair, ash from our campfire falling from the brown strands. “That’s good to know.”
“Yeah.” I smile and tip my head back to the sky, a weight lifting off my shoulders with the admission. “It is good to know.”
TWENTY
LOLA
I shiverin my sleeping bag, cursing myself for not grabbing my sweatshirt out of the Jeep before we went to bed.
The inside of the tent is freezing, cool mountain air sneaking in through the half-open zipper. I miss the afternoon sunshine and the campfire, desperately wishing I had put on an extra layer of clothing. I need something more substantial than the thin T-shirt I’m wearing and the pair of socks with holes in the heels on my feet.
The Jeep is only a few yards away. I wonder if I could slip out without waking Patrick up. I could pull on my shoes and—
There’s movement behind me, the shift of nylon and polyester, and then a hand folds over my shoulder.
“What’s wrong?” Patrick asks. His voice is rough, a man half-dead to the world and woken up by his obnoxious tent mate who can’t sit still.
“Sorry,” I say. “I’m just cold.”
“C’mere,” he mumbles. It’s slightly slurred, a delirious invitation to move closer as he unzips his sleeping bag and gently tugs the ends of my hair.
“And do what?” I ask. “Share?”
“Yeah.” His hand dances down my arm and rests on my hip. He presses into the exposed sliver of skin under the hem of my shirt, and I hear him inhale sharply. “Sweetheart. You’re freezing.”
Sweetheart.
The endearment makes my head spin. It’s a precious word I tuck alongside the time he called melove, another middle-of-the-night meeting with lowered inhibitions that left me starry-eyed. I like this collection of affection I’m gathering from him, and I wonder what else I could add.
“I’m fine,” I say. “Go back to sleep. We have a long day tomorrow with lots of driving.”
I turn to face him. Even in the shadows of the night, I can make out his sharp features vividly. The dimples on his cheeks and the spot on his lips where his smile likes to sit. Dark eyebrows and tan skin.
“Get in here, Lola, or I’m going to make you.”
It’s the same way he spoke to me earlier in the lake, and a twist of heat settles between my legs with the fierce tone. It’s a departure from the way he usually talks, kindness gone and replaced with a demand behind the words. I’ve never heard him so pushy, so determined to get his point across. There’s no teasing or joking, and I understand this is an argument I cannot win.
I kick off my sleeping bag and shimmy across the ground until my chest connects with his. He’s shirtless, bare skin and a human furnace I want to nestle into and stay for a while. His chest is sturdy, a study of masculinity. Like a great Renaissance sculptor carved him out of fine marble, a chisel to create his perfect form.
“Spin,” Patrick says, the sharpness abating and ebbing toward the compassionate side of him I know so well. “Back to front.”
“Bossy,” I mumble.
“With you and your well-being, I’m always going to be bossy, Lola.”
Wellshit,that’s hot as hell.
