Chapter 14
chapter fourteen
Audrey
Today's vocabulary word: halfway
By the time we landed in Salt Lake City, I was hot trash.
Every muscle held a grudge after nearly six hours crammed between a knitter with stabby elbows and someone who'd claimed the armrest and at least twenty percent of the real estate around it, not to mention the very robust perfume situation behind me.
Everything was wrinkled and slightly damp from the recycled air and clammy seat. Hot, hot trash.
The hard cider hadn't done me any favors either.
My brain felt like it was the wrong size for my skull.
My belly was annoyed with me even though I usually tolerated cider pretty well and hadn't eaten anything that should've caused a flare.
Should've being the operative word here.
There was nothing more whimsical than an irritable gut, forever selecting the worst times to reject foods that'd long been proven safe and causing all kinds of merry havoc.
I'd kept watch for an opening to grab my meds and a peppermint tea bag from my carry-on without agitating my seatmates, but it never came.
The one time I attempted to inch the bag into reach with my feet, the armrest imperialist bumped my knee which sent me into the knitter, who accidentally jabbed me in the side with the butt of her needle.
Her apology sounded a lot like a ruler slap to the wrist. No tea for me.
All I did was sit and read—and fend off land wars—but by the end of the flight, I was exhausted like I'd barely finished a wilderness survival race. I needed a hot shower, a soft bed with silky sheets, and forty-eight hours to reincarnate.
I would not be getting that shower. Or the bed. Or any sleep at all.
"What do you mean, we're driving to Sedona tonight?" I ask-shrieked as Jude led me toward the rental car center.
All I'd wanted when I'd stepped off the jetway and into the terminal was a moment alone in a non-aircraft bathroom, hot water for my tea, and some eye contact with the knitter to give her a solid teacher stare.
I'd already doled out justice to the armrest guy. So sad how he was standing too close to me in the aisle to notice when I shouldered my bag and nailed him in the junk with it.
But I had bigger problems on my hands now. Namely, my fake fiancé's insistence on keeping these good times going with eight hours of driving through the night.
"Hotels are going to be packed with all these canceled flights," he said over his shoulder. "No point wasting time when we could hit the road now."
"Oh, I don't know, how about getting some rest?" I asked. "We've been awake for almost twenty hours now. There's a point in sleeping."
He swept a quick glance over me. "I'm good." Reaching for my rolling bag, he added, "You can sleep. I'll drive."
I yanked the bag behind me. "I know you want to get there as soon as possible but I don't think driving on unfamiliar roads at midnight is the best idea."
"They're not unfamiliar to me."
Right, because Jude knew all the roads. As men always did.
He pried my fingers from the bag's handle. "Let's go."
"I'm getting some tea first," I said to his back.
Without glancing back at me, he motioned to the shuttered storefronts throughout the terminal. "We'll stop after we pick up the car."
I glared after him as he continued following signs for the rental car facility.
At the black t-shirt that stretched taut across his shoulders and hugged his biceps in a way that would've been gratuitous if it'd been intentional.
I didn't think it was. At the jeans he'd probably owned for at least a decade.
At the easy, smug way he maneuvered our bags with one hand.
I would've pulled off to the side twice by now to straighten out the wheels and cry while people shot annoyed looks at me.
"Let's go, Saunders," he called.
Despite the fact that I absolutely hated making a scene and drawing attention to myself in public places, I shouted back, "It's not like you're going to leave me here. I'm kind of important to this operation, in case you've forgotten."
He stopped then and shifted to face me, caring nothing for all the other weary travelers forced to stream around him. A few of them pinged glances between us but most were just as tired, wrinkled, and pouty as I was. They didn't care.
I stared at him for a minute, my chin tipped up and my arms crossed over my chest. I didn't know which point I was trying to prove with this but I was committed. Not backing down now. I'd live the rest of my days in this terminal if I had to.
But then he beckoned me, his gaze hard, his tone low as he said, "Come here."
And I went. Jude met me halfway, a scowl carved into his face. He studied me with a slow sweep. When he finally met my eyes, he brushed a ratty strand of hair off my forehead and reached for the bag on my shoulder. "Give me this."
I pulled back. "I can handle it by my—"
He closed the distance between us, slipping his fingers under the strap. Against my shoulder. "And you should know I haven't forgotten a fucking thing."
He dropped a hand to my lower back and steered me forward, and I didn't say another word.
I didn't know what that said about me. Or Jude. Or any of this.