Reece grabs one of the pillows off the bed. “That was what?”
“That was before,” I say, grabbing at the pillow.
He laughs and grabs it back. “Seriously? There are like six pillows on that bed. You don’t need them all.”
I grab it back again, only to regret it, because at least the pillow blocked some of the view of his six-pack. To make matters worse, his boxers are slung low, revealing far too much muscly goodness.
I’m in so much trouble.
He turns away and I think I’ve won, but he merely goes to the other side of the bed, grabs a different pillow and stalks to the couch.
“You’re not going to pull out the bed part?” I ask, watching as he settles on the couch, picks his phone off the side table and begins swiping at whatever’s on the screen.
“Obviously not,” he says.
I toss the pillow onto the bed with more force than necessary and go to my bag for pajamas.
“What’s your deal, Lucy?”
“What?” I snap.
He’s not even looking up from his cell. “It’s not my fault you can’t decide what you want.”
“Meaning?”
I sneak a glance to make sure he’s not looking, then peel my dress over my head. His bored tone tells me he cares a hell of a lot more about whomever he’s texting than he does me.
“Meaning, you can’t decide if you want to force yourself to pretend you’re trying to get over that ass-wipe Oscar, or if you hate my guts, or if you want me to jump you, but I’ll tell you, if you’re going to strip in front of me, the latter is likely to happen.”
I spin around, and sure enough he’s staring at me.
I automatically pull my arms toward my chest, the tank top in my hands doing little to cover my front.
Then, both annoyed and motivated by his blatant perusal of my mostly naked body, I hold his gaze as I slowly lower my arm, letting him take in the strapless white bra, the black and white striped panties with black lace and a little bow as I leisurely pull the tank over my head.
Normally I’d take the bra off first, but I’m not quite that brave.
Brave enough though, to turn, my back toward him, bending over slightly as I look for my pajama bottoms.
I think I hear Reece groan, and I grin as I pull out the white cotton shorts and step into them more slowly than I need to.
Only then do I undo my bra, under the safety of the top, whipping it away and dropping it into my bag before scurrying into bed.
I haul out my journal. Reece wasn’t half-wrong when he said I’d been crying into my diary. I’m a little embarrassed to say that the notebook thus far reads more like my seventh grade diary with the pink and teal glittery stripes than it does the worldly travel journal I’d envisioned.
Instead of talking about the sights and my impression of parts of the country I haven’t seen before, it’s a lot of, well, boys.
Last night it had been a lot of tear-soaked scribbles about betrayal and loyalty, alternating between self-pity that I seem to be the type of girl that boys cheat on, and righteous, girl-power indignation that they’d even dare.
Tonight though…I tap the pen against my lips, sneaking a glance at Reece as I try to figure out how to even capture this particular day and night of our road trip.
He’s ignoring me altogether, and I suppose that’s the lesson right there.
Keep your eye on the prize, Lucy. You’re moving toward Napa and away from your history with Reece Sullivan. Don’t be that girl who moves backward.
By the time I plug in my phone and turn off the lamp, he’s still ignoring me, except this time I know he’s faking it and is as determined as I am to dodge the fact that we have unfinished business.
After a few minutes, I see the faint glow from his cellphone go out, and then there’s nothing but the darkness and our silence.