Chapter 6
CARA
An hour into the trivia game, Team Power Puff was embroiled in a nail-biter with Team WickedPedia.
I’d more than held my own with the eighties’ questions.
More than once, though, I’d been distracted by Nick’s voice.
The man gave great trivia. Those stray thoughts only bolstered the case for my split-second decision to avoid sharing a car with him for the better part of a week.
I blinked, then shook my head. I must have heard him wrong. I looked at Gabi, who glanced at Summer, then stared back at me.
“What was the question?” I asked.
“Something about guns,” Summer said. “A subject he probably thinks we know nothing about. And those guys are like cops or former military or something.”
“You’re right,” I said. “What an asshole move. And he’s right, we know nothing about guns.”
“This is your fault,” Summer whisper-yelled at me. “This was our chance to close out the year with the best trivia record in the bar, and you blew it.”
“I blew it?” I whisper-yelled back. “How is any of this my fault?”
“Because you were incredibly rude to him,” Summer answered.
“One, I wasn’t. Just because I don’t want to ride cross-country with a stranger doesn’t make me rude. And two, even if I had been rude—and I wasn’t—it would be incredibly childish of him to retaliate.”
“Maybe,” Gabi said, “but this is definitely your fault.”
“Thanks, bestie.”
Gabi shook her head. “I don’t give a crap about winning the game. Well, not as much as Summer, anyway. But Mason vouched for the guy, and you’d be safer sharing that long drive with someone, and...”
“And the best way to get over one guy is to get under another one,” Summer reiterated. “Then along comes Nick Roman and those hands. The man is so fucking hot, my panties are literally on fire as we speak.”
“Not literally,” Gabi corrected, then stopped speaking when Summer and I both glanced at her.
“That’s exactly why I can’t take him with me.” I returned to whisper-yelling at Summer. “I don’t need to add morning-after regrets to heartache and a cratering career for a holiday trifecta of misery.”
Both my friends sat back in their chairs and stared at me with wide eyes.
“We’re sorry,” Gabi said, “but you said yourself you’re happier without Riley. And you’ll get your career back on track soon. You just need to get out of your post-break-up funk.”
“Forget all that,” Summer said. A slow smile spread across her face. “You want to bang Nick! You’re already thinking about the morning after. I think he’s the type who would make breakfast and serve it to you in bed.”
“That is not what I thought about Nick.” My face flushed hot and made a liar out of me. And now I had an image of Nick wearing only a towel wrapped around his hips, carrying a silver tray piled high with French toast and bacon. “Damn it, Summer,” I muttered.
“Time’s up!” the man in question said into the microphone. “Okay, teams, it all comes down to this. Ladies first. Team Power Puff, the question was: What is one difference between a SIG Sauer P226 and a Beretta 92FS?”
The three of us exchanged a look, then Summer blurted out, “One’s a handgun and one’s a pistol.”
“I’m sorry,” Nick said. “They’re both pistols. Your answer is incorrect.”
“Aren’t handguns and pistols the same thing?” I asked Summer. I realized I’d spoken more loudly than I’d intended when Nick looked straight into my eyes, sending an electric jolt through my veins and into my core.
“That is also incorrect,” he said, then turned his attention to the other team.
“Did he say that just to embarrass me?” I whispered to my friends. “I mean, it was totally unnecessary, right?”
“Pretty much,” Gabi said.
A few tables away, Team WickedPedia was sharing their answer. “The 92FS uses a striker-fired system and the P226 uses a hammer-fired one.”
“That’s correct!” Nick called out jovially. “Team WickedPedia are the eighties’-trivia-night champions!”
A round of applause went up around us and patrons lifted their glasses to toast the week’s winners.
“I’m not sure which loss makes me sadder,” Summer said, “the trivia game or the hope that you two would do the nasty. I was ready to hear all the naughty details on New Year’s Eve.”
I dropped my head into my hands. As much as I’d dreaded getting myself to the bar, it had been proving to be a happy distraction from my breakup with Riley and not selling my art piece and having to crawl home, alone and barely making ends meet, to my family.
But in the past hour, it had gone down in a blaze of… Well, a blaze of Nick Roman.
That was the bad news. The good news was I no longer felt any concern that I would submit to his seductive charms while on a road-trip with him, because once you scratched the very, very pretty surface, the man didn’t have any seductive charms. But he did have a mean streak.
“I’ll do it,” I said.
Summer perked up. “Bang him?”
“Of course not.” I took Summer’s Manhattan out of her hand and slammed back the rest of it. “You’ve had enough of these. I’m going to accept his offer to split the driving and costs for a cross-country road trip.”
Summer opened her mouth to say something, but Gabi came to my rescue and pressed her fingers over Summer’s lips.
Icaught up with Nick at the bar. “Hi again.”
“Hi.” He frowned. “Sorry about your loss.”
“Really? Because you seemed pretty happy when you gunsplained to me in front of the crowd.”
He grinned, then laughed. It was a pleasant sound.
Hell, it was a great one. Riley never laughed like that, with his head thrown back, giving in to wild abandon.
“Shit, I’m sorry,” Nick said when he’d caught his breath.
“I didn’t mean to be an asshole.” He nodded his head toward Lyle, who was mixing a cocktail.
“And I’ve already requested a round of apology drinks for the table. ”
Now I smiled. “So that’s your MO, a round of drinks for the table. A way to be less of an asshole and let the womenfolk down easy.”
He nodded. “Probably.”
His easy admission surprised me.
“Listen, Cara, I really am sorry about that last question, so I hope you’ll accept the drinks. As for the last time I sent your friends drinks, I’m not sorry for shutting down Summer because she’s way too young for me. Maybe if I weren’t such an old guy...” He held my gaze as he spoke.
Butterflies took flight in my belly because they and I got the distinct impression his “if” was in reference to me and not Summer. “I’m sorry, too, about earlier,” I said. “I didn’t need to be so curt.”
I twisted my hands together in front of me.
Now that he’d drawn a firm boundary by announcing he was too old for Summer, and by extension me, agreeing to drive off into the sunset with him should be a no-brainer.
The man had asked to share a ride, not to take me back to his place and tie me spread-eagle to his bed.
I didn’t know why my brain had gone in such a specific direction or why it had supplied a full-color visual of the thought, but now my face—and possibly my panties, too—were on fire. Figuratively.
“Earth to Cara,” Nick said quietly. “The bartender’s delivering the drinks to your table.”
“Thanks,” I said, unable to meet his eyes.
When I didn’t move, he asked, “Was there something else?”
“Um…yes.” Smooth, Cara. So, so smooth. “I wanted to say, if you’re still interested... I was rude earlier about sharing the drive, and I’d like to change my answer to yes. But before you answer, you should know I have a small car, a Honda Fit, and I’ll have a significant amount of luggage.”
“I can pack light.”
“And I get to pick the music.”
He frowned. “For the entire three-day drive?”
I furrowed my brow. “It will take five days. Four if we rush it and I cut out a couple of photo shoots.”
“Photo shoots?” He nodded as understanding seemed to dawn on him. “Something about your online career, I’d guess. How much extra time have you built into your travel plan for those?”
“Travel plan?” I chewed my lower lip as I considered the question.
I didn’t have much of a plan beyond hitting Klosston, affectionately known as Clause Towne to tourists, on the eastern side of the Indiana-Ohio border, ending up at my parents’ house north of Philly on Christmas Eve day, and posting the entire collection of photos from my cross-country trip to my subscribers on the 26th.
Along the way, I would stop to snap shots of my sculpture in front of picturesque backdrops in a handful of places I’d scouted online.
If the mood struck, I might make some unscheduled stops.
If it felt right, I’d possibly post some raw shots to my subscribers each day.
The more I thought about it, the prouder I was. That actually sounded like a very fine plan.
“Not that I expected you to have a multi-page itinerary laid out,” Nick continued, but his tone implied that’s exactly what he’d expected. “But maybe with two of us driving, we could shave off a little time from the five days. I’m on a bit of a time crunch.”
“How much of a crunch?”
“How about this? We agree to four days. I’ll do extra driving shifts, you try to keep your photo shoots brief, and you pick the music two and a half of the four days.”
The man drove a hard bargain. That thought tempted my brain to go in another naughty direction, but I cleared my throat and kept my composure. “Deal.”
He handed me his phone. “If you don’t mind, you can text yourself my number so we have each other’s contact information. And would you send me your list of must-stop destinations?”
I raised my eyebrows. “I take it you like to be in control.” I immediately regretted my choice of words. I quickly punched in my number and sent myself a text, hoping he hadn’t picked up on my innuendo. “I’ll look over my list before I send it. I can probably cut out a few of my planned stops.”
“Thanks. And I have to ask—not because I’m a control freak, but because I’m curious—why did you change your mind?”
Because I was mega-attracted to you, then I wasn’t. And now I don’t know what the hell I’m thinking. No way I was admitting any of that.
“Well,” I improvised, “I figured a man who knows the difference between a SIG Sauer P something and a Beretta something else might come in handy on the drive.”
“Not planning to pull off a bank heist, are you?”
Now I laughed. “I won’t if you won’t.”
He held out his hand. “It’s a deal.”
I shook his hand. “Agreed. Let’s meet here in Mason’s parking lot, say around noon?”
He grimaced. “I was hoping for eight.”
“A.M.?” I had to feed my roommate’s cat, pack my bags, fuel up the car. Not that I was going to admit my lack of preparation to him. “I guess we could compromise. Let’s say ten.”
His mouth twitched, but he nodded his agreement.
“See you then.” I stepped away from him.
“Hey Cara,” he called and I turned back toward him. “All pistols are handguns, but not all handguns are pistols. A pistol has to have a particular kind of barrel. In case you ever need to know.”
I nodded slowly. “For that bank heist we’re definitely not planning.”
He laughed again. In that moment, I had the terrible realization I might actually like him.
I mean, sexy as hell was one thing, but a man who made me feel like I was funny lit up a whole other part of my brain.
And all of the same lady bits. But luckily, he and I both knew where we stood.
I was too young for him. Or he was too old for me. Or something.
Oh, hell. I was beginning to regret changing my mind.
I reminded myself I now had to set my alarm for 8 a.m. because of him, which helped me like him a little less.
Now I just had to get through the next five—no, four—days without liking him enough to take Summer’s advice.
I would definitely not ask Nick Roman to help me get over my ex.