17 Drive-in Saturday
Drive-in Saturday
“I can not pee in there.” I shudder, still clenching my toothbrush and toothpaste. “That place is practically a crime scene.”
“Seriously?” Dash lifts a brow. “What’s wrong with this one?”
I glare at the innocent-looking convenience store just beyond the front bumper as the horrifying, Jackson Pollock–esque images stitch themselves into the intricate quilt of my memories, where I’m certain they’ll fester for all eternity. “Trust me, you don’t wanna know.”
Exhaling an exasperated breath, Dash backs out of the space and heads toward the highway. “You should’ve gone before we—”
“I didn’t need to go in Lexington.” Oh, what a lying liar I am. But it’ll be a cold day in hell before I admit he’s right. I cross my legs, squeezing my knees together. Did he seriously expect me to waltz into a hotel, without a reservation, and ask to use their bathroom?
“I know you’re a camel—it’s almost impressive how long you can hold it—but this is getting ridiculous. Promise me I’m not gonna have another princess and the pee situation on my hands. Because I’m running out of clean underwear.”
I skewer him with a glare.
“Don’t give me that look.” One corner of his mouth tips up. “I’m only watching out for my leather seats.”
I roll my eyes. “Find me a clean bathroom, please?”
“You’ve got it, princess.” Dash hits the gas, heading east toward the next exit. He chews the inside of his cheek before speaking. “You know what you need?”
I still my bouncing legs and turn toward him. “No, but I suspect you’re about to tell me.”
“A GoGirl.”
“A go-what?”
“It’s a ...” Flushing pink, Dash rakes a hand through his messy hair. “A funnel.”
“What kind of funnel ?”
“The kind you—”
“Stop!” I point at a store up ahead, everything but my nagging bladder forgotten. “Let’s try this one!”
“The Quiki-Mart?”
“It looks clean. Cleaner , at least.”
“If you say so.” With a loud sigh, he pulls in and parks. “Third time’s the charm, right?”
“A girl can hope.” I hop out and bolt for the back of the store.
The restroom isn’t the nicest place I’ve ever peed, but it’s a huge step up from the last few places we stopped. After doing my business, I break out the toothbrush and toothpaste. Hopefully, fresh breath will be the good omen I need for the rest of the day.
July 3
New York. The Big Apple. The city that doesn’t sleep.
I’ve never seen buildings so tall. The streets are still packed at eleven at night.
In a shocking turn of events, Mom seems to know her way around the city.
Our first night here, she dragged me to CBGB to see Sonic Youth, where she flashed her boobs .
.. again, and we wrote our names on the bathroom wall in permanent marker.
Mom said adding our names to decades of graffiti would make us part of something bigger than both of us.
We’d be immortalized for all eternity. I’m not sure I’m cool with being immortalized on a bathroom wall for all eternity, but if Mom’s happy, I guess it’s worth it.
The next day, after getting lost in Chinatown for over an hour, my erratic mom dragged me to the building where my alleged father lives and almost got us arrested for stalking.
After the doorman chased us away, we headed into Central Park and carved my name in a tree directly across the street.
Took us forever because Mom wanted it to be perfect.
We had to climb the tree first, so my name would “stand out above the rest.” She said he might not realize it, but every time he looks out his window, he’ll see me there.
Once I got over the creepiness of the whole thing, I decided it was really sort of sweet.
Could she be telling the truth after all? Wouldn’t that be wild?
With her words still fresh in my mind, I pluck Mom’s photo from the diary.
I barely recognize her with her blond hair curled and teased like a Cosmopolitan cover model.
She’d posed on the sidewalk in front of a grungy redbrick building.
And her black T-shirt bore the same four bold-red letters as the ones printed across the white awning above her.
“What the hell is CBGB?” I mutter under my breath. Using the picture as a bookmark, I snap the diary shut and turn to Dash behind the wheel. “Is that some New York hashtag thing?”
“Are you serious?” He does a double take, and his eyebrows nearly reach his hairline. “Holy shit, you are. I can’t believe you’ve never ...” He huffs out a quiet laugh. “It’s only the birthplace of punk rock!”
“Then we definitely need to go there ... and Central Park.”
“Central Park is no problem.” He releases a breath. “Unfortunately, CBGB is closed.”
“When do they open?” I tuck the diary into my tote.
His smile dissolves. “I mean, closed down. As in not there anymore.”
“They tore it down?” The words rip from my throat. Not again. Not another piece of Mom’s history, erased.
“The building’s still there, but they converted it into a John Varvatos store.” He rakes a hand through his hair. “We can go there if you want to get some pictures under the awning.”
“Does it still say CBGB?”
Eyes darting to mine, he shakes his head.
“That’s ...” Fan-freaking-tastic. I fold my arms across my chest and stare into traffic.
“I’m sorry, Zoey.”
I feel his gaze burrowing under my skin. “It’s fine.”
“You’re a horrible liar.” He coils his fingers around my wrist and pries my hand free. “Talk to me.”
“I’m fine, really. We can skip it.” I release a shaky breath and turn toward him, ignoring the pricking behind my eyes. “I’ve never even heard of John Whoever , so what’s the point of going to his store?”
“Varvatos.” He says the name again, enunciating every syllable. “Men’s clothing designer. High-end stuff for a younger crowd.”
“Like I said ...” My throat constricts, and I swallow before it completely closes. “Why should I give a damn about his store?”
Dash’s eyes soften, and he slips his fingers through mine, stroking the back of my hand with his thumb as if he can tell I’m barely holding on ... that I’m a single breath from breaking. “What happened at CBGB? On your mom’s trip—what made it memorable?”
The pricking behind my eyes becomes a steady burn, but the constant pressure of his thumb steadies me. “She wrote her name on the wall.”
And now those walls are ...? Gone? Painted over? Little more than decades of blurry photos boxed up in someone’s damp basement?
I stare out the window as if the clouds hold the answers. “But I’m not gonna find Mom’s name written on the wall in some fancy New York boutique, so we may as well skip it.”
He squeezes my hand. “Don’t get your hopes up, but I think they left the walls intact.”
“Seriously?” My soul tingles back to life, and I tear my gaze from the sky. “Because that would be amazing . We definitely need to check it out.”
He offers a warm smile. “I’ll take you wherever you wanna go.”
“Jersey drivers are assholes.” Dash tightens his grip on the wheel until his knuckles whiten.
For the past hour, he’s barely taken his eyes from the road. A sea of glowing taillights snakes into the darkness as far as the eye can see, like miles of flickering red Christmas lights against the velvet backdrop of twilight.
“Guess we shouldn’t have stopped in Washington,” I mutter.
He glares at me out of the corner of his eye, his jaw ticking like a bomb, counting down the seconds before mass destruction.
“Point taken.” I blow out a breath. So maybe it was my idea to stop, but I really wanted to drive past the White House. How was I supposed to know we’d have to park and walk the rest of the way?
The traffic slows to a standstill, boxing in the shiny red Tesla in a scene straight out of an apocalyptic disaster movie. So many lanes of traffic. So many cars.
“Do you think we’ll make it to New York in time for fireworks?” I chew my bottom lip raw.
“It’ll be close.” He clears the current map from the display. “But I know a shortcut.”
A shortcut the GPS apparently isn’t aware of.
Taking advantage of a break in the traffic, Dash changes lanes, cutting off a black Lexus and earning a few rude gestures.
He takes the next exit, winding around a series of ramps that remind me of a big bowl of spaghetti, then hops onto another section of highway, where we find ourselves in another bumper-to-bumper slowdown.
Every time I think we’re in the clear, we hit another wall of traffic. Our quick shortcut turns into another hour of one exit after another, followed by several random side streets, roadblocks, and U-turns. The longer we spend in New Jersey traffic, the more agitated Dash becomes.
Darting his gaze to the clock, he exits the highway and cuts through a residential area before coming to an abrupt stop at a traffic light. We missed the green by a heartbeat.
Dash slams both hands against the steering wheel. “Damn it!”
“What’s wrong?”
He rests his head on his knuckles. “We’re on the wrong side of the Hudson River. On a holiday. We’ll never make it through the tunnel in time.”
The car behind us honks, and Dash lifts his head to glare into the rearview mirror before continuing forward.
I take a deep breath, hiding my disappointment behind a smile. “It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not.” His eyes soften as they dart to me. “I promised you fireworks. You’re getting fireworks.”
He takes the next turn, weaving around another series of side streets, toward downtown Jersey City. With every spot in the lot already taken, we park illegally on a strip of grass along the sidewalk.
“Ready?” He gets out and holds my door open.
I glance at the No Parking sign in front of the car. “Won’t you get a ticket?”
He shrugs, his gaze meeting mine as if to say, You’re worth it.
“Come on.” He takes my hand, tugging me forward. “The view’s better down there.”
We pass several food carts, and my mouth waters at the tantalizing aroma of charred meat and spicy chili.
Dash stops and buys a funnel cake, and then we cut through the crowd along the riverfront walkway to a vacant patch of grass facing the water.
Dash sits, motioning me to join him, and we devour the funnel cake as if we haven’t eaten in days.
Across the river, the glittering New York skyline captures my full attention. The water shimmers like glass, reflecting the lighted buildings and making the whole sky glow. “It’s amazing.”
“Especially at night,” he agrees.
As if to punctuate his sentence, the sky sizzles with bursts of red and blue, and ribbons of glittering ash swirl toward earth, winking out before reaching the water.
“You were right.” I glide a hand through the cool grass between us, inching toward him as if he has me hooked at the end of a line, reeling me in like a fish. “This is worth every minute of traffic and every nasty bathroom along the way.”
Drawn by the same unseen force, Dash meets me in the middle, his fingertips barely grazing mine before he snatches his hand back.
Undeterred, I drag my eyes to his stunning profile ... his perfect lips.
He shudders, as if he feels the heat of my gaze caressing his skin. “Being this close to you is absolute torture.”
Heat engulfs my face, and I freeze, willing my muscles to move— to flee —before humiliation crushes me. “I’m sorry.”
“Zoey, wait.” Dash’s hand closes over mine, holding me still. “That’s not what I—” He releases a ragged breath. “It’s taking every bit of self-control to keep from kissing you.”
My heart flutters. “Self-control is highly overrated.”
“ Zoey ... ” He groans, and his trembling hand cups my face.
Prickles of warmth spread through my belly.
Another burst of color explodes across the sky with a series of pops and crackles, scenting the air with sulfur and smoke, but Dash locks his gaze on mine as he glides his thumb over my cheekbone ... and the swell of my bottom lip.
His touch sets me on fire, and a needy sound breaks out of me.
He drops his hand, cursing under his breath. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”
“ Why? ” Blood races through my veins as I drag out the word.
He tears his gaze from me and scrubs a hand down his face. “You have a boyfriend .”
The grip on my lungs loosens, and I release a breath. “Had,” I whisper. “I had a boyfriend.”
“Had?” Dash raises his eyebrows. “As in past tense?”
“I broke up with him after we got back from Memphis.” G-Lo’s words rattle around in my brain, urging me to make the first move, but my limbs won’t cooperate. “Did I tell you he blew off my mom’s funeral?”
“Dick move.” His mouth curves into a sly smile as he gravitates toward me and cups my jaw in his warm palm.
The sky explodes with color again, but the spectacular pyrotechnics are no match for the sparks flying between us. The whole damn world could burn down around us, and I wouldn’t notice.
He tilts up my face, and our gazes collide.
“What are you waiting for?” My breath stills, and my pulse quickens.
He drops his gaze to my lips and his eyes darken, sending my stomach into a free fall.
“Just kiss me already.”
“I thought you’d never ask.” He dips his head and presses his warm lips to mine.
Our mouths fit together like missing puzzle pieces, and my heart explodes at the first touch. Achingly slow and soft, each featherlight brush of his lips is like gasoline to a flame, sending a ripple of need racing through me and liquefying my insides.
I curl my fingers in the front of his shirt, drawing him closer and clinging to him like a raft in the middle of the ocean. He tastes of powdered sugar and sweet pastry, and I can’t get enough of him.
The sound of his groan vibrates through me until I feel it everywhere at once.
Stars explode behind my lids as he angles my face for better access, parting my lips with his velvet tongue and kissing me as if the whole world really were coming down around us. As if nothing and nobody else matters but his hot mouth against mine.
Flushed and out of breath, Dash breaks the kiss and falls back against the soft grass, bringing me with him. “I’ve wanted to do that since Memphis.”