Jolene honked a second time. He knew she was in his driveway, he just wasn’t sure he could do this without losing his shit twelve ways to Sunday. They were already starting off on the wrong foot because she was driving. He hated being driven around by her. It made him feel like her boy toy. Though when he had suggested that, she’d laughed hysterically and told him a boy toy would be a hell of a lot more compliant.
He grabbed his duffel bag and his guitar, went out the door of his condo, and locked it behind him. Swallowing his rancor, he strode to the truck and yanked open the passenger door. He deposited his guitar in the backseat. He wasn’t going to say anything about how he could have driven. He wasn’t going to say anything about anything. Just a very polite greeting. “Hey.”
Not exactly an award-winning speech, but it was progress.
She smiled at him, looking sleepy and rumpled, her blond hair in a messy ponytail. She was gripping a coffee travel mug as if her life depended on it. Jolene wasn’t a morning person. They’d spent a lot of mornings in bed when he had attempted to get up and start his day and she had lured him back with lazy kisses and well-placed strokes.
Damn it. Why was he thinking about that? Not a good start to the trip.
“Good morning, sunshine,” she told him, putting down her mug and shifting into reverse. “I see you’re as cheerful as always.”
He wasn’t going to pick up what she was throwing down. He just wasn’t. He was going to be professional and get the job done. They weren’t going to spend the next two weeks at each other’s throats. He couldn’t deal with it. He had enough issues with Dixie basically stalking him and his career on the verge of total destruction.
“I’m at my best in the mornings,” he said mildly.
She raised an eyebrow at him, obviously surprised that he hadn’t gotten snarky with her. Ha. That felt good. He liked keeping her off balance. She didn’t know all his buttons. Well, she might, but he wasn’t going to react.
“Hmm” was her noncommittal response.
Jolene wasn’t wearing makeup, and he liked her best like this—not all glitzy for the stage but fresh out of bed, natural. She had on a loose sundress that was struggling to contain her breasts. Every time she shifted or took a turn, they fought to escape, and he had to admit he was mesmerized. Something was definitely different there. Had she gotten a boob job? Those babies were bigger than he remembered, and that had him both curious and aroused.
Yeah. Great start. They were going to some bare-bones cabin Ginny had found for them an hour out of the city, and he was fixating on Jolene’s tits like a teenage boy.
Then it occurred to him that someone was missing. “Wait. Where is Dolly?”
Jolene glanced at him. “With Elle.”
“You were supposed to bring her,” he pointed out. He’d been looking forward to seeing his dog.
“Oh.” She blinked. “I didn’t realize you meant you wanted her on the trip. I thought you wanted to take custody of her when we got back to town.”
“I want her now.” He knew he sounded stubborn, but hell, a man and his dog had a bond. “I miss my number one girl. I think she’d love being in the woods with us.”
She would also be a buffer and a distraction from his incessant urge to get Jolene naked and explore that luscious body of hers. The damn dress had slipped even farther. It was like the cotton was taunting him. Now you see it. Now you don’t.
“You seriously want me to go get her?” Jolene asked, looking annoyed. “Your number one girl?”
“Yes.” She sounded pissed off now. Even more so.
“Fine.” Without warning, she hooked a U-turn and sent him crashing into the window.
“Damn, Jolene, slow down!”
“Don’t be a backseat driver.” She shifted, and her irritation was clear in the way she ground the gears. “I’m just doing what you asked.”
This was going well. “I didn’t ask you to kill us.”
“I swear to God,” she muttered under her breath.
Before he could comment, she grabbed her cell phone off the dash and pushed it. “Text Elle,” she commanded it. Then she said, “Picking up Dolly. Be there in ten.”
They drove in silence and Chance concentrated on keeping his body loose, looking out the window as they moved into the exclusive neighborhood where Jolene’s mansion was. He had hated living in her house. Not because he hadn’t wanted to live with her—he had definitely appreciated waking up next to her every morning, and they’d spent many nights cuddled up and watching TV. But it had never sat right with him to be in her space. Nothing about that house had represented him. Maybe that was why he’d taken the Grammy when their six-month cohabitation stint had ended in the screaming match to end all screaming matches.