I squirm. “Uh…”
“And where is that somewhere, exactly? I’m finding it hard to wrap my head around the idea that a girl from Portland has never had Doritos.”
“I didn’t say I wasfromPortland,” I point out tartly, annoyed he’s wound me up and has now pivoted to grilling me.
If you can call two questions grilling, which…maybe not. But still.
“What did you say?”
“I came from Portland. Which is true.”
“Ah.”
I sigh and squirm again. “I live in New York City.”
He frowns. “Pretty sure they have Doritos on the East Coast.”
“Mmm.”
“Do you like it there?”
I blink in surprise. “New York?”
“Yeah.” His left hand tightens on the wheel, his knuckles turning white.
“It’s where I’ve lived for the last seven years.”
He slides a look sideways before returning his attention to the winding mountain road.And before that?the glance asks.
Less of an interrogation and more of a straight-forward getting to know the person he wants to have sex with.
I take a deep breath. “Washington.”
“Can I ask what brought you to Oregon?”
I make a face. “Family tradition. Except I’m the only person left in my family. So more of a somber, sad memorial event for one.”
He slows the truck down and signals his turn into his lane. We’ve reached the top of the mountain.
Home. Even though he doesn’t live here most of the time, that’s what it feels like, that we’re coming back to his home, and his question about liking New York hits me like a ton of bricks.
I don’t have a home. New York was my mother’s home, but from the time she married my father, she lived everywhere but there.
Hawaii, where I was born.
San Diego. Distant childhood memories sparkle at the edges of my mind.
Washington. The closest thing to a hometown for me, but I never want to return.
He doesn’t get far down the lane—we’re about halfway between the road and the cabin, deep in the forest—when he stops the truck suddenly. “I’m sorry,” he says roughly. “Come here.”
I scrabble for my seat belt buckle, then he’s hauling me over the console and into his lap. His mouth finds mine, hot and urgent.
“I didn’t mean to be fucking nosy,” he mumbles against my mouth.
“I know.” I kiss him back, desperate to show him Idounderstand, but I don’t know how to share freely.
“I’m sorry you were alone.”