“Are you kidding me?” I protested. “I’m not stripping down in front of strangers. You’re insane.”
“Fine,” there was a challenge in his eyes, “I will.” He marched towards the parked Camaro.
“I hate you so much right now,” I growled as I stood, stomping after him.
“Hate is a passionate word,” he sing-songed, “and I will be rewarded with all that passion later,” he glanced at me over his shoulder, holding back laughter.
“I’m sure you’ll think I’m real passionate when I pull your hair,” I glared, stopping by the trunk.
“Oooh, you wanna get rough? I’m down for that,” he smirked, unlocking the trunk.
I punched him as hard as I could and was pleased when he let out a grunt.
“I’ll show you rough,” I mumbled, looking through my duffel bag for dry clothes. I wasn’t at all pleased about the idea of almost getting naked in front of all these strangers, but Trace was kind of right, it was like a bikini. Or so I kept telling myself. “Give me one of your shirts,” I pleaded.
He handed me one of his long sleeved plaid shirts and I pulled it on, quickly doing the buttons and rolling up the sleeves. While I would’ve loved to change out of my wet tank top, people were watching us, and I just couldn’t stomach it.
Since his shirt almost came down to my knees, it made it easy to get the wet shorts off and replace them with dry ones without anyone seeing.
Trace, apparently, didn’t have an ounce of modesty. He was smiling crookedly at me as he stood in just his boxers.
“Put some clothes on,” I rolled my eyes.
“Yes ma’am,” he saluted me, grabbing a pair of jeans and a dry shirt.
I shook my head and got in the car. I knew if I stood there, it would only enable him to do something stupid and embarrassing.
Instead of getting in the car, he jogged over to Marcus and they exchanged phone numbers.
“What was that about?” I asked when he got in the car.
“Thought it would make it easier when we meet up later,” he shrugged, pulling away from the group.
“Oh, of course,” I shook my head. I looked around at the bright green leaves on the trees and the grazing cattle. “Where exactly are we?”
“New York,” he answered.
It was crazy to me that we had just left home and were already several states away. But we had a lot farther to go before we reached Maine.
Trace found a small diner and pulled into the parking lot. Several eighteen-wheelers were parked in back and there were few cars in the front.
“You did mention no fancy restaurants,” he reminded me.
“Yeah, yeah,” I eyed the place with suspicion, “I know.”
We stepped inside the small diner and a bell chimed pleasantly above the door.
“Take a seat anywhere you’d like,” a voice called out from the back.
We found an empty booth in the corner by a window. The table was sticky and looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in years. I tried to hide my frown but it was impossible.
Trace laughed at my expression.
“Don’t tell me you’re not grossed out,” I challenged.
“It’s not the best,” he shrugged, “but spontaneity is what we agreed on.”
“I didn’t agree to get a strange flesh eating disease,” I countered, wishing I had a bucket of Germ-X and a spray can of Lysol.