Am I a fool for getting involved like this? Am I just entranced by what an amazing fuck she is or is there something more with this woman?
“I’m going and that’s the end of it,” I tell her firmly, but then I try to emphasize that this truly isn’t a big deal. “And you’re not disrupting me. I wouldn’t have offered if it did, okay?”
“Rand… it’s too much—”
“Cat… I’m going so just accept it. It’ll be a fun road trip. We can buy sugary soda and sour gummy worms to eat on the way, sing bad 80’s songs at the top of our lungs. It’ll be awesome.”
I then give her my best and most charming smile.
The indecision and doubt on her face melts away, and she gives me a girlish laugh with a pat to my chest before releasing me. “Okay, fine. You can go.”
I take her hand, relieved that today will not be our last day together. As I lead her out of the breakroom and through the shop, we wind our way through racks of ski apparel, which is the most direct route to the door. Jake’s behind the counter and throws us a wave.
I call out, “Later, man.”
“This weekend,” he reminds me with a pointed look.
I just nod. I’ll have to call him later and explain this weekend isn’t going to work as, apparently, I’m going to Vegas with this woman and we may or may not be breaking into a house that may or may not belong to her. Also that I may or may not be developing some feelings for a woman who may or may not be in my life for much longer.
Chapter 12
Cat
Although it was a nipple puckering forty-two degrees when we left Jackson at six this morning, I don’t regret my decision to wear a loose, flowered skirt for the drive. This time of year in Jackson is amazing. The days are sunny and warm, but the nights get downright cold. The valley floor is thick with wildflowers just starting to fade but the alpine ones are peaking, which paint the mountains with color.
But we’re headed south now and when I checked last night, Las Vegas was holding steady with temperatures in the eighties, so I know my choice of apparel is sufficient. Besides, when I kicked off my taupe-colored ballet flats and put my bare feet up on the dashboard of Rand’s Suburban, I know he appreciated the way the skirt slid along my thighs and revealed my skin. I know this because his head immediately snapped my way for a moment. As he studied me, or rather my legs, his lips tipped upward. He didn’t say anything, but he did place a warm palm on my knee and slide his hand along the same path my skirt took. He did this pushing inward slightly so the stroke of his skin against mine was along the inside of my thigh.
Sliding his hand slowly along, he pushed my skirt even further up legs until his hand was resting just inches from my panty line.
My heart felt like it was about to explode. I knew if he moved his hand just slightly, he’d feel the dampness of my underwear. Yes, I was horny for this man. He fucked me well last night, but it was only once, and then he proclaimed we needed to get to sleep because we had to get up early for the long drive ahead of us. With a man like Rand, I’m finding once just isn’t enough.
But he did nothing more than squeeze my inner thigh with his large, warm hand and then pulled it away so it could rest casually again on the steering wheel. It took a good twenty minutes for my heart rate to go back to normal and for me to think coherently.
The rest of the trip is proving to be uneventful, however. We’ve been driving for almost eight hours with short stops to refuel and grab something to eat. I’ve offered to drive, but Rand’s refused. Not sure if it’s a macho, alpha thing, a gentlemanly thing, or maybe he just doesn’t trust me with his vehicle, but I’m not averse to riding shotgun as long as he’s not too tired.
It was my decision to drive versus fly, which is what Rand wanted to do. He felt the ten and a half hours it would take us to get there was a waste of time, and he’s right about that. But my money’s tight and it was cheaper to drive. I netted around $3300 from pawning my jewelry, which sucks since it was probably worth ten times that amount. But beggars can’t be choosers, and I have to ration my money carefully. This meant I could budget money for gas to Las Vegas, but not plane tickets. Rand offered to buy the air fare, but I shut that conversation down quickly. I also reminded him that I didn’t need him to go with me and that I was driving, and it was the end of the discussion. Except he did somehow convince me to take his Suburban rather than my small Mercedes, which would be more comfortable for Rand, and I felt that was a good compromise.
I smile over that word.
Compromise.