or do you want me to do it? So you can go use the bathroom. Or maybe you need to wait? I guess don’t know really know how that works for guys in the morning. Guys like you, at least. With… all that. Never mind.”
“You go first.”
“Are you sure, because—”
“Fiona,” he snapped.
“Fine, fine.” I put my hands up. “I guess with all that bed-hogging you were doing last night, you didn’t get enough sleep, grumpy-grump man.”
“For fuck’s sake,” he muttered.
I laughed and scooted off the bed, careful to keep my boobs covered. “I know, hurry up, Fiona, we need to get on the road. I’ll hurry.”
“Good.”
The scenery flew by as Evan drove down the open highway. We passed farmland, fences, horses and herds of cattle. My eyes were heavy, my body lulled into relaxation by the hum of the tires on the road.
We’d left the motel early—true to my word, I’d hurried to get ready—and covered a lot of ground already. I shifted a little in my seat and my bladder reminded me that we hadn’t stopped for a pee break yet. There wasn’t much along this stretch of highway. I hoped we’d come to a town soon. Or at least a gas station.
A new song came on the radio and I idly sang along. I didn’t actually know all the words to this song—or most songs—but I liked to sing anyway. Evan glanced at me out of the corner of his eye a few times, but didn’t complain. So I didn’t stop.
Not that I would have. I’d have just sassed him back until he grumbled under his breath.
Riling him up was fun.
We seemed to have recovered from the embarrassment of waking up on top of each other. Or, more accurately, me on top of him. The drool thing was pretty bad, and him seeing my boobs wasn’t ideal. But we’d moved on. It felt like our fledgling friendship had been tested, and we’d passed.
It made me wonder if he thought of us as friends or if that was just me.
My phone rang and one glance at the screen had my stomach in a knot. It was my dad.
I thought about ignoring the call. But maybe I just needed to get it over with. Rip the bandage off, so to speak.
“Hi, Dad.”
Evan’s head whipped around to look at me.
“Where are you?” Dad asked.
“I’m on the road.” Perfect. Not a lie, but I didn’t have to tell him any details, either.
“You’re supposed to be at work.”
“I told you I’m not coming back to work.”
“Fiona,” he said, his tone maddeningly patronizing, “you can’t just not show up to work.”
“You can if you quit. That’s actually the expectation.”
He let out an exasperated breath. “Quit? Come on, don’t you think you’re taking things a little too far?”
“No.
“Fiona, you’re an adult. Maybe it’s time you learned to share your daddy.”
The stream of words that tried to claw its way out of my throat was too thick and jumbled. My mouth opened, but nothing coherent would come out. “You think… but she’s… that’s not… oh my god.”
“When you’re done pouting, we’ll talk. And hurry up. I’ll let this go one more day, but I expect to see you at work in the morning.”
He ended the call and I moved my phone away from my ear, staring at it like it might sprout wings and fly out the window. Anger pulsed through my veins, making me tremble.
I pulled my legs up onto the seat and hugged my knees to my chest. Evan didn’t say anything, just kept his eyes on the road. Angry tears stung my eyes. I didn’t want to cry, but sometimes I did when I was mad. I hated it. It made me angrier, which made the tears worse. A vicious cycle, especially when I had an audience.
Evan turned up the volume on the radio.
Really, Evan? Seeing a girl upset makes you so uncomfortable, you have to drown her out with music?
I opened my mouth to say just that, but before I could utter a single word, he started to sing.
His deep throaty voice was low but quiet, his lips barely moving as he mumbled the lyrics. The lump in my throat eased and the stinging in my eyes began to dissipate. Keeping my gaze on the passing landscape—I was afraid I’d break the spell if I looked at him directly—I took a cleansing breath.
Quietly, my own voice sounding timid in my ears, I started to sing along with him.