“I said I’m fine, B. Just practicing safe driving.”
Yet no hint of a smile, even when she pulled out the James Earl Jones. In fact, he wouldn’t even look at her when she spoke. Safe driving. That didn’t mean he couldn’t throw her a glance or offer a quick grin. But she wouldn’t push it.
Jamie nodded in the general vicinity of the radio, and she knew the conversation was over when he gave her control of the tunes.
She scrolled through the music files on her phone, but somehow “Daydream Believer” didn’t feel quite right. So she played with the tuner until a local station came in with minimal static.
Old-school hair-band music, Jamie’s favorite next to classic rock. But just as Motley Crue’s “Kickstart My Heart” blared from the speakers, Jamie hit the power button.
“Headache,” he said.
“I’ve got ibuprofen,” she said.
“I’m fine.” He leaned in to the driver’s side door, as if he didn’t have enough room in his seat.
She gave up and closed her eyes, resting her temple against the cool glass of the window and sliding to the edge of her seat as well.
Maybe she was tired after all.
Chapter Fifteen
What the hell had he been thinking taking Brynn with him on this trip?
Safe driving his ass. Jamie couldn’t keep his eyes on the road for long, his head constantly drifting to the right to see if she was still sleeping. He wanted to brush the curls out of her face, skim the back of his fingers over her cheek. Instead he gritted his teeth and white knuckled the steering wheel, berating himself for thinking this trip would be anything more than what he offered her.
If it had been just him in the truck, cruising along Route 66 (or, technically, I-40) for the last five hours, he’d have filled at least four of those hours with the recent Brew Strong podcasts he’d missed. He’d have appreciated watching the trees lining the route slowly morphing to those impressive yet mildly freaky white windmills that now seemed to be judging him and his life decisions. And instead of pulling off on to the frontage road from mere obligation, he’d be marveling at the Cadillac Ranch art installation in the cow pasture he was now standing in as he wondered if his passenger would wake up or miss the stop completely.
It didn’t help that he hated himself a little more with each mile for putting his ego and his heart through such torture—and also for deceiving Brynn. He wasn’t one for half-truths. Nor was he an ulterior motives kind of guy. Yet here he was, his agenda for this trip a far cry from hers.
He shook the can of black spray paint as he stared at the line of graffitied cars half buried in the dirt at angled nosedives. He’d come prepared. He wasn’t sure what he’d have wanted to add to make his mark if he’d been here alone, but when he decided to take Brynn with him, he was sure they’d be doing this together, contributing something that signified their often zigzagging journey to what should have been a happy ending. But all it took was one damn text to remind him that while his agenda had been to finally make things right with Brynn, her agenda was someone else entirely. Annie was right. He was a fucking idiot. But then again, he always had been when it came to Brynn. Why this surprised him now, he didn’t know.
“Welp…” He heard her voice from behind. “If anyone needs a lesson on how to freak a girl out, leave her asleep in a vehicle on the side of the road and let her wake up alone.”
She was out cold when they’d pulled up, and at the time he didn’t see the sense in waking her. He was going to do his thing with the spray paint and be back in the car before she knew they’d stopped. In hindsight, he could see how maybe it wasn’t the best decision to leave her on her own in the truck in such a strange place.
Jamie opened his mouth to apologize until she strode up next to him and he laid his eyes on what she was wearing. The weather had warmed the closer they got to California. This afternoon in Amarillo it was a sunny eighty-three degrees, a far cry from the wet and windy autumn they’d left in Chicago. Brynn had apparently layered in anticipation because, instead of the jacket she’d had on when she got into the car in Tulsa, she now wore only a simple white button-down with jeans. The light cotton was wrinkled from the hours in the car, but that’s not what caught his eye. It was the one-too-far she’d gone with leaving the top unbuttoned. In fact, he was sure she hadn’t meant to show him the cream-colored lace of her bra, let alone the pink flesh of her nipple that peeked out of the demi-cup.