Chapter Ten
Miles
I really should have offered to drive again today. Lucy pulling Tallulah through downtown Chicago is nothing short of terrifying. It’s a miracle she hasn’t taken off a side-view mirror yet.
And you really think you could do better?
Probably not. Rush hour traffic in Austin is a leisure drive compared to this madness. Madness we are facing for a photo op.
It boggles the mind.
“Let me know if you see a parking spot,” Lucy says, head swiveling side to side as she searches the busy street for an opening.
I nod and begin looking for a parking lot. They’re few and far between. Every block we’ve passed is full to bursting with mid- and high-rise buildings and the occasional parking garage, which is totally out of the question with the Airstream.
We’d never clear the ceiling, and this trip would be over before it even gets started.
Which would be fine by me, except for the fact that Lucy would probably call our bet a draw, and I need a win. It’s the only way to guarantee her return to Triada. And after watching her reorganize my life in eight short hours yesterday, I’m more committed than ever to winning this bet.
I spot an orange parking sign ahead on the right. “Pull in there.”
“I can’t.” She glances over her shoulder at the silver bullet. “It’s too big. It’ll never fit.”
A grin tugs at the corner of my mouth, but I bite my tongue. “Trust me. It’ll fit.”
Lucy flicks her turn signal and eases into the lot.
The attendant approaches the driver’s side of the Jeep, shaking his head as she lowers the window.
“Ma’am, I can’t allow you to—”
“Sir,” I say, leaning forward in my seat. “We’re desperate. I’ll pay for every open space if that’s what it takes, but we’d really appreciate it if we could park here for an hour.”
“What?” Lucy turns to me, outrage plain as day on her pretty face. “You are not paying for the entire lot.”
“We’re never going to find street parking.”
“Yeah,” she grumbles, tightening her grip on the steering wheel. “Becausesomeoneoverslept.”
We could have arrived at five a.m. and we still wouldn’t have found street parking, but I’m not about to point it out.
“Exactly. This is my fault, so let me make it right.” I pause, giving her time to warm up to the idea. Lucy’s a hard worker. She busted her ass to put herself through college, and she won’t accept anything she perceives to be a handout, which is why I add, “You want to get your picture at the beginning of Route 66, right? To commemorate the start of this trip?”
It’s all she’s talked about since she put the Jeep in gear this morning. I’m not about to let her miss out. Not because of me.
She chews her bottom lip, considering, and when she finally nods, relief floods my veins.
I pass my credit card to the lot attendant so he can do his thing.
“Thanks,” she says quietly.
“It’s no big deal.” It’s just money, and, as Lucy so accurately pointed out, I have more of it than I know what to do with. Using it to help a friend fulfill a dream is as good a way to spend it as any.
Hell, it’s the best way.
Especially after that shit show in the trailer this morning.
I’ve been trying not to think about it. To not think about how fucking good those lace panties felt sliding between my fingers. To not think about Lucy wearing a pair just like them right this very minute.
