Chapter 18
MAREK
“I booked us a place in the Finger Lakes region for a few days.”
Nikki’s head whips around and she gives me a blank look. “Pardon me?”
“I think you heard me.”
“Okay, I did hear you, but I don’t understand.”
“I have a two-week break. I don’t want to hang around here all that time. I thought it would be good for both of us to get away. See something different.”
“But…” She nibbles her bottom lip in that sexy way that makes me want to grab her and kiss the breath out of her. “But…”
“There’s no reason you can’t go. You can take showers and watch TV there.”
Her eyes narrow and her mouth thins. “I do more than that.”
“Not much.” I’m playing with danger, teasing her about her activity or lack of. I lift one eyebrow. “Or is there something I don’t know? Have you been writing songs? Working out?”
She swallows and her lips push out. “No,” she mutters.
“Okay, then. We leave tomorrow. We’ll drive up. We’re staying at the Lakeside Inn. It looks like a nice place—there’s a spa. You could have a massage.”
“That sounds nice,” she says reluctantly.
“There are wineries. We can swim in the hotel pool. Go hiking. Do yoga. Cross country ski.”
Her skeptical expression shifts to anxious. “Uh…”
“What’s wrong?”
Her mouth pinches together. “I… it’s winter.”
“Yeah…”
“There’s snow,” she says in a low voice.
Ohhhh, fuck. “There is,” I say gently. “Let’s check the weather forecast.” I pull out my phone and bring up the weather for the town of Afton. I show her. “It snowed yesterday, but the weather’s clear today, and for the next few days.”
She nods and looks up at me, still skittish.
“I’m a good driver,” I tell her. “Even in snow.”
She swallows. “Okay.”
“Go pack your bag. Is there anything you need from your place? I could go get it.”
“I don’t know…” She still seems a little apprehensive. “I’d need a swimsuit, I guess?”
“Not for the Japanese soaking tub in our room.”
Her eyes widen.
“But for the hotel pool, yes. Maybe some warmer clothes for layering? Have you got good boots?”
“I… no. I haven’t hiked for… well, ever, maybe.”
I gasp with dramatic exaggeration. “Well, we’ll make a stop and buy you some. Write down what you need and where I can find it.”
I cruise over to her place a while later. It appears the paparazzi have given up on her; the street is deserted. Other than cars parked bumper to bumper all along the street. It takes a while to find a parking spot.
In her apartment, I follow her directions and find a leather weekender bag which I fill with her requested items. When I open a dresser drawer and I’m confronted with piles of silk and lace lingerie, I pause.
I could add a few things to her list. Would that be creepy?
I’m hoping for lots of adult fun times at the resort.
So I pull out sexy underwear that I really, really want to see on her.
I add a couple of bikinis, sweaters, the thickest socks I can find, and a few toiletries she asked for.
As I prepare to leave, I pause at the door to the room I noticed last time, a sort of music studio.
My eyes land on a guitar case. Should I?
Probably not. But I’m going to. I grab it and carry it to my vehicle as well as the bag.
I move some things around in the back of the SUV so I can push the guitar case to the back and hide it behind some hockey gear and an emergency kit.
I’ll put my own suitcase in front of it, too.
I won’t show it to her until we’re there, so if she freaks out, it’ll be too late.
I gnaw my bottom lip for a few seconds. I don’t want to trigger her. I just have this intense feeling that she needs her music. And I don’t think she knows that.
In the morning, I load up the SUV and then we hit the road.
“How long is it going to take to get there?” Nikki asks.
“Four or five hours.”
“Oh my God.”
“What? The time’ll fly by. We’ll play games.”
She gives me a sidelong look.
After we ride in silence for a while, other than the playlist I put on, she says, “I talked to my manager the other day.”
“Oh, yeah. Blake the snake.”
She giggles. “Come on, he’s not that bad.”
“Whatever.”
“He says we have interest from a big movie studio in a sync deal.”
“A what now?”
“They want to use one of my songs in a movie.”
“Oh. That sounds good.”
“It is!”
“Sounds like big money.”
“Yeah, it can be. It’s also great exposure.”
This is the first time she’s talked about business.
My GPS guides us into Pennsylvania and we decide to take a break for lunch and shopping in Scranton.
I locate a Dick’s Sporting Goods and with Nikki bundled up with a scarf and hat tugged low on her forehead, we enter and find the women’s boots.
She’s interested in a pair of Doc Martens, but I guide her over to a pair of Sorels that’ll be nice and warm for walking.
The bored sales associate barely looks at her and finds her a size six, and Nikki pronounces them a perfect fit.
Then we track down a pair of snow pants for her.
“I bet you want to look at the hockey gear,” she whispers to me as we walk to pay for her boots and pants.
“Maybe just a quick look…” It’s not like I need anything.
I’m picky about my skates and sticks and loyal to the Diehl brand.
A few years ago I was in a bit of a goal-scoring slump and the equipment rep from Diehl sat down with me and gave me some suggestions and let me try out a few different sticks with a stiffer blade and right away everything felt better. So I stick to what works.
But I can’t resist looking at a few sticks.
“That stick is three hundred and fifty dollars,” Nikki whispers, wide-eyed.
“Yep.” I slant her an amused glance. “You used to play. You should know sticks are expensive.”
She snorts. “Not my sticks. I think mine cost about fifty bucks. If that.”
I stroke the shaft with my fingertips. “It’s nice. But enough of this. I’m starving.”
After we’re back in the car, I ask, “Do you want to take a chance on a sit-down place? Or go through a drive-through?”
She wrinkles her nose. “Drive-through, I guess.” Moments later, she points. “Hey, there’s a Sonic! I haven’t been to one of those in years.”
“I’m good with that.” We wheel into the parking lot.
“I really want a slushie,” she says. “I’m not allowed to have them.”
“I bet one slushie won’t wreck your vocal cords.”
“It doesn’t matter anyway,” she says morosely. “Lemonade slushie, please.”
I hate it when she talks about her career being over. I want to argue with her and spank some sense into her. But I think she might have to figure that out for herself.
We get cheeseburgers and fries along with the slushies and eat in the SUV. Nobody pays any attention to either of us.
“This is kind of cool,” Nikki says grudgingly. “I like being ignored.” She pops a fry into her mouth, chews and swallows, then says, “I also like cheeseburgers and fries.”
Memories of that night in Vegas slide into my brain.
Jesus. Not a care in the world, either of us, just having fun and having hot ninja monkey sex.
I remember how carefree Nikki was, how bubbly and upbeat she was, how fun and sexy.
It’s so fucking hard comparing that to how she is now—shut down, tired, apathetic.
I think she’s doing better than she was that day I arrived at her apartment; but she’s definitely not her normal self. And that is so fucking sad I could cry.
“Let’s play French toast,” I say.
“Is that one of your road trip games?”
“Yeah. Do you know it?”
“Nope.”
I explain it to her and I let her pick the first word. “Got a word?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Is it more like French toast or more like… gasoline.”
“Hmmm.” She taps her bottom lip. “I guess it’s more like French toast… but it is a liquid like gasoline.”
I think on that. “Is it lemonade?”
“What!” Her mouth falls open and she glares at me. “How did you get that so fast?”
Grinning, I shrug. “I’m good at this game.”
“Phhhht.”
“Okay, I’ll go.” I choose the word. “Got it.”
“Is it more like French toast or more like a car?”
“That’s tough. I’ll say more like a car.”
“Any other clue?”
“Hmmm. Well, I could say it has a harness, sort of like a car has a seatbelt.”
She frowns. “A harness. Huh.” She takes her time thinking. “Is it more like French toast or more like a dog?”
“A dog?” I grin. “This is getting weird.”
She throws her hands up. “Well, I don’t know what you’re thinking of!”
I like that she’s getting into this, becoming animated. “Okay, more like a dog. Added clue—but it’s more like a male dog.”
Silence as she thinks more. I’m trying not to laugh.
“Harness. Male dog,” she mutters. “I don’t know. Is it more like French toast or more like a leash?”
“More like a leash.”
“No other clue?”
“No.”
She pouts. She takes several more guesses, then says, “Okay, I know! I’m ready to guess.”
“Go for it.”
“Is it a horse?”
Baffled, I shake my head. “No.”
“What is it then?”
“A strap-on.”
Her jaw slackens again. “You are kidding me.”
“Nope. That’s my word.” I slide her a grin. “That’s how we play this on the road. We’re dirty-minded guys. Strap-on is tame, actually.”
The game stretches out over an hour as we drive past snow-covered fields of vines. Happily, the roads are all clear and Nikki isn’t freaking out. Then she changes course with our game. “Tell me something about you I don’t already know.” She pauses. “There’s probably a lot.”
I think about that. I told her about getting my throat cut, which is probably the biggest thing most people don’t know about me. What else? “I can make my pecs dance.”
She chokes on a laugh. “Um, wow. I need to see that.” I move to take off my jacket, and she smacks my shoulder. “Not when you’re driving! What else?”
“I’m really good at making my armpit fart.”
She sighs theatrically. “I know you like to keep things light, but tell me something deeper.”
Ugh. Finally, I say, “I feel guilty about my sister. About what happened with her ex.”
“Ohhh. She told me about that.”
“She did?” I glance sideways at her.