I needed the next four days to mentally prepare myself.
But when Wednesday rolled around, and Darcy’s red Volkswagen Jetta pulled into my driveway, blasting what sounded a lot like Eminem through the speakers at eight o’clock in the morning, I knew I could’ve prepared myself for ten days straight, and it still wouldn’t have been enough.
FIFTEEN
DARCY
Archer made it to the car so much faster than I expected. The door opened, letting in a cold rush of air, and the man himself stood frozen while I cleared off his seat, a weary expression on his face. It was just my purse, sweatshirt, water bottle, and hat, but you’d have sworn by the look on his face that it was fast food wrappers, used tissues, and wads of chewed gum.
When I finished and he still didn’t move to get in, I patted the seat and plastered a bright smile I most definitely did not feel onto my face. I woke up this morning feeling tired, slightly nauseous again, and with a headache that food, caffeine, and Tylenol had yet to kick. Oh, and to top it off, my boobs were killing me. In short, the last thing I wanted to do was be trapped in the car with Archer and his grumpy self for the next six hours, but I was trying to play nice. That, and I really didn’t want him tonotice that I felt like crap. Knowing I was pregnant, and talking with him about all the nitty gritty details that were involved with it were two different things.
He finally folded his massive frame into my car, making the space inside feel smaller than usual, his knees coming halfway up the glove-box even with the seat all the way back.
“Good morning,” I said, attempting to break the tension that followed him in.
Archer peered over at me briefly before his gaze dropped to the gear stick in my palm. “You drive stick?”
“Yes . . .” I dragged out the end of the word questioningly, wondering what his fixation with it was.
“Why?” He was staring at me, confusion etched into his features.
I smirked and waggled my eyebrows at him. “Because I really love playing with sticks.”
When his expression didn’t change, aside from a slight twitch of an eye that I wasn’t sure I’d actually seen, I shrugged. “I like it better; it’s more fun. Plus, it’s a built-in anti-theft mechanism.”
A grunt was all I got in response, and I took that as my queue to get moving. I shifted the car into reverse, and took a deep breath before backing out of his driveway.
Ten minutes into the drive, and I could tell that it was going to be a long trip. When I’d deduced that he wasn’t going to be much of a conversationalist, I’d opted for turning the music up. That lasted for all of three minutes before he asked me to turn it down again. Either he wasn’t a morning person, or he didn’t like Eminem, and I refused to believe the latter. He might’ve been a jerk, but even jerks had taste. So, with my music playing at a volume meant for smooth jazz, I drove us onto the highway and spent the next two hours quietly mouthing along to songs, and stealing sidelong glances at the broody man to my right.
“Can we get off the next exit?” His voice cut through my thoughts, startling me after such a long period of silence.
“Uh, yeah, sure.” I looked down at the gas gauge on my dashboard. I still had well over half a tank, but if we were stopping now, I might as well top her off so we could make the rest of the drive without stopping. “Gas station okay?”
“A gas station is fine.” He stared out the passenger window, and showed no signs of looking back toward me. At this rate, I wondered if he’d get so much as thirty words out to me before we made it to my parents. By my count, we were currently at a whopping sixteen.
Pulling off the next exit, I drove us three minutes down the road to the nearest gas station, where Archer immediately jumped out of the car like it was on fire, and headed toward the convenience store inside.
“Okay then,” I muttered to myself before exiting the vehicle, and pumping the gas. When I finished, Archer still hadn’t returned, so I took the opportunity to go to the bathroom. If I didn’t go now, I’d probably have to in five minutes, and I didn’t want to make us stop again.
The convenience store looked like every other gas station which made finding the bathrooms exceptionally easy. On my beeline to the back left corner, I searched for Archer, but he must’ve decided to hit the restroom himself.
I took an extra second on my way out to adjust my hair that had been piled into a top-knot at the crown of my head, and then headed back to the car. Archer leaned against it, a gigantic bag clutched in one hand.
“What’d you do? Rob the place?” I asked, walking around to the driver’s side.
He scowled at me over the top. “No.”
Make that seventeen words.
Inside, I buckled, eyeing his bag curiously as he began pulling things out.
“That is the strangest assortment of road-trip snacks I’ve ever seen.”
Trail mix, dried apricots, a pre-packaged hummus platter, a blueberry muffin, and a single-serving box of Raisin Bran were now laid out across the dash, not a Dorito or Twizzler in sight. I mean, Archer was in excellent shape—not an ounce of unwanted body fat in sight—but he never struck me as a health nut. Not to the degree where a squirrel would approve of his road-trip snacks.
Not to mention, even the healthiest of people ate crap every now and then. I should know.
I couldn’t tell from the tilt of his head, but I could’ve sworn color had risen to his cheeks when he spoke next. “I wasn’t sure what you’d want.”
