“Well, I think he likes me less.” I slip onto a stool. “Tell me about Jonathan. He’s okay? Where did you find him?”
“We didn’t,” he says, his eyebrows pulling together. “He just showed up on his doorstep. The dumb shit won’t tell us where he’s been.”
“But he’s okay?”
He grabs salad stuff from the fridge and tosses it on the counter “He seems to be fine.”
“Can I talk to him? He might tell me what’s up.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” he says, dumping lettuce from a bag into a salad bowl. Despite his obvious irritation at Jonathan, his mood seems lighter. He confirms this change in demeanor when the hint of a smile plays over his mouth. “So, how bad do you really want to get out of here?”
I give him my most exasperated stare.
He starts dicing a tomato on the cutting board. “Pack your stuff. You’ve earned yourself a field trip.”
My jaw nearly hits the counter. “For serious?”
He flicks me a glance out from under his lashes. “For serious.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow morning.”
“Where?”
He fights a smile but loses. It spreads slowly across his face, lighting the whole thing up. “It’s a surprise.”
WE’RE BACKING OUT of the garage in the Escalade at 7:00 A.M. the next morning and I feel jet-lagged. It’s been a while since I’ve been up this early. My plan is to sleep on the ride, but I’m pretty sure the country music pumping out of the deluxe surround-sound speakers system is going to keep that plan from becoming a reality.
I reach up and click the stereo off, but Blake touches a button on his steering wheel and it’s louder than it was a second ago.
“You suck,” I tell him, rubbing my eyes.
He stops the car and throws it in drive, pulling us back into the garage, then turns off the engine and starts to climb out.
“Wait!” I say when I get the message.
He turns and arches an eyebrow at me.
I drop my head back onto the headrest and blow out a frustrated sigh. “Fine. You can listen to your stupid music.”
He steps out of the car and heads for the elevator.
“Stop!” I say, flinging my door open. “I said you could listen!”
He looks over his shoulder at me as he turns the key in the elevator panel. “To my ‘stupid’ music.”
“Oh!” I say, throwing my hands in the air and storming over to him. “So I have to like it? This is blackmail.”
He pulls the key and turns slowly back to me. “Have you ever even listened to country?”
“Hell, no!”
“Tim McGraw? Blake Shelton? Montgomery Gentry?”
I scrunch my face at him. “Why do they all have your name?”
He rolls his eyes and starts to punch in his elevator code.
“Fine!” I say, tugging him back to the Escalade by the arm. “I’ll listen and try to like something! I’ll do anything to get out of this house.”
He glances to my hand on his arm, and for some reason—desperation, maybe—I can’t let go. His eyes lift to mine and burn into them as he scrutinizes me. “Anything?”
A shudder ripples through me with his sudden shift in direction. “Within reason.”
His gaze caresses my face and settles on my mouth as he presses closer. “Define ‘reason.’ ”
I lick my lips automatically as my breathing gets a little erratic, and my grip on his arm tightens. Since he came home yesterday and announced our “field trip” he’s been more playful, like the weight of the world isn’t pressing down on him anymore, and I wonder what that means for us.
When I shift under his gaze, my fingers glide up his arm to his bicep, which is like steel under my hand. His fingertips whisper down my side, coming to rest on my waist, and he lets out something that could be a sigh. But the next second he breaks his gaze and takes my hand. “C’mon. We’re going be late.”
He tows me to the car and loads me back in. Once he’s situated in the driver’s seat, he opens the console between our seats and pulls out a CD, sliding it into the slot in the dash. The song that pours from the speakers has a decent beat, a little bluesy, and the man’s voice is gritty and true, without any of that annoying country warble. And he’s not singing about pickup trucks and pretty girls.
It doesn’t suck.
“This is country?” I ask.
A slow almost-smile creeps across his face as he backs out of the garage, and that’s all the answer I get.
Cooper’s black Charger follows us as we wind out of the Berkeley Hills toward Oakland, and I tip my head back and listen to the music.
“Where are we going?” I ask for the hundredth time.
“It’s a surprise,” he answers for the hundredth time. I can tell he’s enjoying this game, and it makes me smile despite myself.
When Cooper pulls in behind us at an IHOP parking lot near the highway, my heart sinks. I mean, just being out of the house is great, but I was hoping Blake had thought of something a little more exciting than blueberry pancakes.
I reach for my door handle, but before I can tug it open, Blake lays a hand on my knee. “Hold up.”
The electronic ring of a phone comes through the speakers, and when I turn, I see Cooper is out of his car.
Blake pushes the button on the steering wheel. “We clear?” he asks.
“Clear,” Cooper confirms.
Blake slides out of the Escalade and comes around to my side, opening my door and ushering me out. He gives Cooper a nod, then looks around warily, laying a hand on the small of my back and guiding me quickly toward the building. We step through the door and my legs falter. Sitting in a booth up front are three of the most beautiful faces I’ve ever seen.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“OH MY GOD!” I squeal, leaping into Jonathan’s outstretched arms. “You’re okay.” Tears sting my eyes as Ginger and Izzy circle us in a group hug.
“ ’Course,” Jonathan says, crushing me in his embrace. “Indestructible, remember?” he says low in my ear.
I pull back and smack him. “You scared the shit out of me!”
“I was just out partying with the guys,” he says with a grin. “No big thing.”
I glance at Blake, who’s standing back watching the exchange. He gives me a tight nod.
Jonathan clamps his arms around me and starts to pick me up, but flinches and sets me down, holding his side. “Yeah . . . don’t quite have those Guitar Hero superpowers back yet.”
I press my hand over his. “You’re okay?”
“The chicks dig battle scars,” he says with a grin. “Told you, Red,” he adds, lifting a finger to the scar on my cheek, “they’re super hot.”
“He’s right,” Ginger says, tugging him to her. She loops her arms around his neck and plants one on him. When their tongues start wrestling, I look away.
Izzy grasps my shoulders and turns me to face her. “Look at you, girlfriend! You’re almost as black as me.”
“Swimming,” I tell her, hugging her tight. “You’re all right?”
“Unemployed, but other than that, I’m fine.”
“Phones,” Blake says, holding out his hand to Izzy. She pulls hers from her pocket and gives it to him.
“Seriously?” Ginger whines when he gets to her.
“There’s no cell service where we’re going anyway,” Blake tells her with a wiggle of his fingers.
She rolls her lip in disgust as she hands him her phone. “Where is that? The Stone Age?”
Jonathan flips his phone at Blake, and Blake plucks it out of the air. “Grab your things. Time to saddle up.”
I look at him and back at my friends. “What’s going on?”
“Road trip!” Jonathan says. He grabs his guitar case off the floor and slings his backpack over his shoulder. Ginger wraps an arm around his waist, and Izzy comes up to my side, wrapping her arm around mine. Blake steps to the side as we all file out the door.