“I wish you had, but only because my session was pretty crap, and I wanted to tell him thanks. You look like your afternoon was about as productive as mine.”
“That bad?” he asked, but she could tell his heart wasn’t in it.
“That bad,” she replied, tossing the towel over her head and breathing deep. The steam gathered on her face and made her flush as she remembered their erotic encounter in the bathroom. Lightning skittered down her nerves to pool hot and damp low in her belly.
She was going to be in a lot of trouble when she left town if using her steamer made her think of Conn. Still under the towel, she could hear him walking around. Sure enough, when she tossed back the towel and switched off the steamer, Conn was standing by the island, hands jammed in his pockets. His laptop and notebook were gone from the coffee table.
“What’s wrong?”
“If I knew that, I’d fix it,” she said, but with a smile to take the sting out of her words. “I’d ask if you wanted to hear it, but it’s not even close to ready.” It wasn’t working, and worse, it was starting to take on the dense, overkneaded feeling that meant she’d have to trash the whole thing.
“What about you?” she asked. “What were you doing all day?”
“Research,” he said, like he’d spent the day handling spiders or digging through the trash. “It’s not my thing.”
She smiled at him. “What is your thing?
“The street,” he said.
“I could see that,” she agreed, openly looking him over. Even without his favorite watch cap on his head he’d blend right in with the guys on the corners. “But that option isn’t available to you right now, because you’re stuck here with me.”
“I’m here with you,” he agreed, subtly changing her words. “So I’m adapting. I’m an adaptable kind of guy.”
“The computer?” she hazarded.
“Metrics,” he said, lumping the word in with research. “Statistics. Analyzing trends.”
“I’ve sat through meetings like that,” she said, remembering hours of conversation about market penetration and crossover appeal, how soul-deadening if you just wanted to do, to be. “Do-be-do-be-doooo,” she sang, then, when he looked at her like she’d lost her mind, said, “Sounds like an absolute blast.”
“It’s not my favorite thing.”
She waited. She’d spent enough time around men, long hours on tour buses, and in the studio, and across tables and bars to know that sometimes the best thing you could do was keep quiet. Conn looked like he was being ground between two steel plates dusted with shards of glass. She offered him what she knew he needed. “Let’s get out of here.”
His lips twitched up in a ghost of a smile, but his eyes lightened. “Where do you want to go?”
Their options were so limited. Her house wasn’t yet her home, much less the safe haven she longed for, and Lancaster itself was filled with threats. “For a drive,” she said. “Let’s just drive.”
“I can do better than that,” he said. “Want to take your car out for a few test runs at the airfield?”
Her brow furrowed. “Can I do that?”
“We run occasional rookie nights, where people can get the hang of the process so they’re comfortable on race nights. Tonight is one of those nights.”
“Yes,” she said, and ran water into the kettle to make her Cady juice. “Or more specifically, hell yes.”
“Bundle up,” he said, already heading for his room. “Temps are in the twenties.”
“Wind?”
“No wind.”
She darted into her bedroom and scrambled into long underwear, wool socks, a pair of jeans, and several layers of sweaters. By the time she was dressed, the water was boiling. A hefty squirt of honey into the insulated cup, boiling hot water, and she was set. She jammed her feet into her hiking boots, pulled on the coat Emily made for her, and tugged Conn’s watch cap over her hair.
“Oh, sorry,” she said, and pulled it off to hand to him. Sparks flew as static crackled in her hair. “Ow.”
“Keep it,” he said. “It’s not windy. I’ll be fine.”
Feeling a little like he’d just loaned her his letter jacket and not the least bit ashamed of it, she put it back on, wrapped a blanket scarf around her throat, and followed Conn down the hall into the garage. He walked to the driver’s door, then looked down at her when she came up beside him and held her hand out for the keys.
“If I can drive it at the track, where chances are good I’ll be recognized, I can drive it to the track,” she said.
He wavered for a second, then dropped the keys in her palm. “Do not get us pulled over,” he said.
“This time, I’ll drive like my mother,” she promised.
“How does your mother drive?” he asked, a wicked glint in his eyes.
“Very carefully,” Cady said, indignant. “Really? You think my mom’s a speed demon?”