her ear, I see she’s not shaking as much anymore.
“Okay. But no heckling.” She grabs my hand and tugs me toward her room. The familiar glow of her computer lights it up, and when she unplugs her phone from the charger, an involuntary grumble comes out of my mouth. I’m starting to hate that thing.
“I need you to take this,” she says, grabbing my hand and slapping the cell in my palm. “Keep it away from me. Be in charge of waiting for that call. Please?”
“Why?”
“Because I’ll constantly be looking at it—Googling boating statistics and accidents and going absolutely insane.”
I give her a salute and stuff it in my pocket. Em grabs her Kindle as I sit on the bed, waiting for her to curl into my side. But she lies flat on her back, patting the small spot next to her. There’s no way I’ll fit on this twin without touching her, nearly everywhere.
Counting breaths, I ease down on the mattress, watching her face in case I touch her somewhere or somehow I’m not supposed to, but she doesn’t give any indication that it’s bothering her. In fact, she yanks on my arm and pulls me down so fast I’m pretty sure that if I hadn’t taken any medication, I’d be hyperventilating.
I hold still, and Em pulls her Kindle up between us.
“All right,” she says, sounding as breathless as I feel, “Chapter one …”
* * *
My ass has been nonstop vibrating all day and still no word about Em’s dad. I keep teasing her and joking around to keep her mind off it, but the second she goes off alone, I’m yanking her cell out and cursing every time I see it blank.
Well, not
blank
. Just no calls. She has four IM chats open, and that Facebook and Twitter thing goes off at least every ten minutes. It’s not only the stress of Em’s dad that has me anxious, but there’s this one chat bubble of this guy who looks like a tool, and it’s currently got a red
21
next to it. I want to open it up and see who he is and what the hell he’s saying to Em, but there’s the whole privacy thing … and Facebook tells you when someone sees your message. So I leave it closed and let it eat at me.
I glance back at the restrooms as I stuff the phone into my pocket. This rest stop isn’t exactly five stars, but Em had to pee so bad she was doing that bouncing thing in the passenger seat, so I stopped at the first place I saw.
“Hey, you in line?” the dude behind the counter asks, and I shake my head, shuffling closer to the bathrooms so I don’t have to talk to anybody or get in anyone’s way. I should’ve grabbed my pills on our way out. It’s not just Em’s dad, or whoever the hell is on her phone.
Everything
has me on edge.
I’ve got to get it together before she comes out, because I want be the guy to distract her today, not the guy who has a panic attack in the middle of a gas station.
As much as I hate it, I think I need food. There’s nothing in this place on my diet, but I need something to keep my mouth busy. I snatch a bag of Chex Mix and turn to the refrigerators for a Gatorade.
I hear Em’s flip-flops as I’m bent over in the fridge.
“Will you grab me a yellow one?” she asks, tugging lightly on the bottom of my shirt.
Snatching a lemon Gatorade, I throw her a half smile. “Didn’t know you were a fan of lemon.”
“I’m a fan of yellow.” She knocks the fridge door shut with her hip and grabs the drink. “It’s the best flavor ever.”
“Yellow isn’t a flavor.”
“Yes it is.”
We get to the counter and she plucks a pack of gum from the impulse aisle. I point to the red packaging.
“I suppose red is also a flavor?”
“No, that’s just silly.” She does that attempted wink of hers with one eye chasing after the other, and I can’t help but laugh. A deep flush fills her cheeks, and she suppresses her smile as I pay for our junk food.
We get to the Camaro, and Em pops open her drink. She guzzles down a quarter of it before I even get the engine started. My gaze
“Okay. But no heckling.” She grabs my hand and tugs me toward her room. The familiar glow of her computer lights it up, and when she unplugs her phone from the charger, an involuntary grumble comes out of my mouth. I’m starting to hate that thing.
“I need you to take this,” she says, grabbing my hand and slapping the cell in my palm. “Keep it away from me. Be in charge of waiting for that call. Please?”
“Why?”
“Because I’ll constantly be looking at it—Googling boating statistics and accidents and going absolutely insane.”
I give her a salute and stuff it in my pocket. Em grabs her Kindle as I sit on the bed, waiting for her to curl into my side. But she lies flat on her back, patting the small spot next to her. There’s no way I’ll fit on this twin without touching her, nearly everywhere.
Counting breaths, I ease down on the mattress, watching her face in case I touch her somewhere or somehow I’m not supposed to, but she doesn’t give any indication that it’s bothering her. In fact, she yanks on my arm and pulls me down so fast I’m pretty sure that if I hadn’t taken any medication, I’d be hyperventilating.
I hold still, and Em pulls her Kindle up between us.
“All right,” she says, sounding as breathless as I feel, “Chapter one …”
* * *
My ass has been nonstop vibrating all day and still no word about Em’s dad. I keep teasing her and joking around to keep her mind off it, but the second she goes off alone, I’m yanking her cell out and cursing every time I see it blank.
Well, not
blank
. Just no calls. She has four IM chats open, and that Facebook and Twitter thing goes off at least every ten minutes. It’s not only the stress of Em’s dad that has me anxious, but there’s this one chat bubble of this guy who looks like a tool, and it’s currently got a red
21
next to it. I want to open it up and see who he is and what the hell he’s saying to Em, but there’s the whole privacy thing … and Facebook tells you when someone sees your message. So I leave it closed and let it eat at me.
I glance back at the restrooms as I stuff the phone into my pocket. This rest stop isn’t exactly five stars, but Em had to pee so bad she was doing that bouncing thing in the passenger seat, so I stopped at the first place I saw.
“Hey, you in line?” the dude behind the counter asks, and I shake my head, shuffling closer to the bathrooms so I don’t have to talk to anybody or get in anyone’s way. I should’ve grabbed my pills on our way out. It’s not just Em’s dad, or whoever the hell is on her phone.
Everything
has me on edge.
I’ve got to get it together before she comes out, because I want be the guy to distract her today, not the guy who has a panic attack in the middle of a gas station.
As much as I hate it, I think I need food. There’s nothing in this place on my diet, but I need something to keep my mouth busy. I snatch a bag of Chex Mix and turn to the refrigerators for a Gatorade.
I hear Em’s flip-flops as I’m bent over in the fridge.
“Will you grab me a yellow one?” she asks, tugging lightly on the bottom of my shirt.
Snatching a lemon Gatorade, I throw her a half smile. “Didn’t know you were a fan of lemon.”
“I’m a fan of yellow.” She knocks the fridge door shut with her hip and grabs the drink. “It’s the best flavor ever.”
“Yellow isn’t a flavor.”
“Yes it is.”
We get to the counter and she plucks a pack of gum from the impulse aisle. I point to the red packaging.
“I suppose red is also a flavor?”
“No, that’s just silly.” She does that attempted wink of hers with one eye chasing after the other, and I can’t help but laugh. A deep flush fills her cheeks, and she suppresses her smile as I pay for our junk food.
We get to the Camaro, and Em pops open her drink. She guzzles down a quarter of it before I even get the engine started. My gaze
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