The Stopover (The Miles High Club #1) - T L Swan Page 0,102
laugh out loud at the look on his face. I put the pickup into park and jump out and start throwing our bags into the back.
“You can’t be serious,” Jameson stammers.
“Deadly.”
His eyes scan the beat-up old truck. “This car isn’t even roadworthy.”
“It’s not a car—it’s a truck.” I smile as I slam the back shut. “Her name is Bessie.”
Jameson puts his hands on his hips. His eyes glance to Alan, who is laughing out loud.
“This isn’t fucking funny, Alan,” he snaps. “I don’t camp, Emily. Surely you would know this. What on God’s earth would make you think of this cockamamie idea? This is not relaxing me in the slightest. I can feel my blood pressure skyrocketing by the second.”
Alan drops his head and really begins to laugh. “Forgive me, boss man, but this is the funniest thing I’ve ever seen. Can I take a photo for Tris?” he asks.
“Absolutely not,” Jameson huffs. “Shut up, or I’ll make you come with us.”
Alan bites his bottom lip to stop the giggles.
“Why would we need to take this . . .” He pauses as he finds the right word. “Hunk of junk?”
“Because we’re going off the grid.”
“Emily Foster, this isn’t off the grid. This is a recipe for instantaneous death.”
I slump in the seat and pull a whiny face. “You promised. It’s three days, Jameson, and then I’ll come back and move in.”
He puts his hands on his hips and rolls his eyes, and he knows I’ve got him. He did promise.
I toot the horn, and he comes around to the driver’s side and opens the door.
“What are you doing?” I frown.
“Driving.”
“Do you know how to drive a column shift?”
“A what?” He frowns.
I point to the gear stick on the steering wheel.
His face screws up. “Is this even legal to have on the road?”
I laugh. “Yes.”
“Then get out. I’m driving.” He pulls me from the car, and I jump around to the passenger side and climb in.
He gets in and goes through the gears with a look of sheer concentration on his face.
Alan and I giggle at each other as we wait for him to work it out.
“Okay, I’ve got this,” replies Jameson Miles, the control freak.
“Let’s go,” I sing. “Toot the horn for Alan.”
Jameson looks over at me deadpan, and I do a “toot the horn” signal that I used to do to passing trucks when I was a child.
“Emily, I don’t know what that means, but it’s a surefire way to get thrown in the trunk.”
Alan bursts out laughing again, and I bounce in the seat in excitement. “Bye, Alan,” I call. He waves.
Jameson stops and calls to Alan through the open window. “Have your phone on. We’re going to need you to pick us up from the side of the road in approximately seventeen miles when we break down.”
Alan and I laugh again, and as Alan waves, Jameson bunny hops the pickup out of the parking lot.
We get to the security gates, and he’s too high and can’t swipe his card. “Fuck this piece of junk,” he mutters under his breath as he puts the car in park and gets out to open the gates. He swipes his card, and the gates slowly open. He jumps back in and revs the truck, and it bunny hops up the driveway to the sound of gears crunching.
“Fuck.” He winces. “Who owns this piece of shit, anyway?” he asks as we pull out into the New York traffic.
“Michael, Molly’s husband.”
His eyes flick to me. “Isn’t that the fucking idiot who OD’d on Viagra, and you had to take him to the emergency room?”
“That’s him.” I smile.
“Figures,” he mutters as he drives. “Okay, where are we going?”
I pull up my maps on my phone. “Okay . . . we need to get on the interstate.”
He looks at me in question.
“We’re going to High Point State Park, New Jersey.”
“What?” He frowns. “What in the hell is there?”
“Me.” I smile as I lean over and kiss the side of his face. “Nothing but me.”
He smiles as he keeps his eyes on the road and slides his hand over to my thigh and gives it a squeeze. “Lucky you’re my favorite thing, then, isn’t it?”
A huge beaming smile is plastered across my face. He’s actually doing this.
“It sure is.” I lean over and begin to kiss him all over his cheek.
He scrunches his face up. “Stop. It’s hard enough to drive Bitchy as it is.”