“If by yes, you mean, yes, I’d love to take more pictures, Miles, and it would be amazing if you’d let me capture this moment in time so we can remember it always, then I agree.”
“You’re going to let me take your picture without complaining?” I pull my phone from my pocket. “That’s a first.”
He smirks. “What can I say? I’m feeling generous today.”
I’m not about to pass up the opportunity. Not when he’s offering.
If a few of the pics make their way into my Insta reel, well, who could blame me?
Part of being a successful influencer is giving people the content they crave.
Right now, they’re craving Miles.
Miles, who’s wearing a thin gray T-shirt that shows off every dip and swell of his muscular biceps. Biceps, I have no doubt, will generate plenty of likes.
“Why don’t you go stand over near the lights?” I suggest, pointing to a bright spot along the safety railing.
He shoots me a dubious look, attention swiveling between me and the railing. “You’re not going to push me, are you?”
I grin. “Only one way to find out.”
He shakes his head but moves to the railing, allowing me to snap pics to my heart’s content. When I’m done, we take a selfie, Miles holding the camera at arm’s length to fit both of us in the frame.
As we hurry to catch up with the tour group, I scroll through the pictures. They’re good. Really good. Especially the ones of Miles standing alone before the mirrorlike stream that reflects the stalactites from the ceiling.
It’s the perfect follow-up to yesterday’s post.
Guilt niggles at my conscience, but I ignore it. It’s not like he asked menotto share the pics.
Camarón que se duerme se lo lleva la corriente.
How many times have I heard Papá recite that proverb? If I want to be a successful travel influencer, I need to make the most of every opportunity.
And right now, that means satisfying the eighteen thousand new So Savvy Traveler followers desperate for another glimpse of Miles.
It’s a temporary strategy. Far from sustainable. But if it’ll help me gain traction, I have to do it. After all, what Miles doesn’t know won’t hurt him, right?
Chapter Sixteen
Miles
Seven days to Santa Monica
For the first time in my life, I may be in over my head. It’s day seven of fourteen in this Route 66 trek from hell, and Lucy’s enthusiasm hasn’t waned one damn bit. She’s as bright-eyed and bushy-tailed now as she was on day one, while I’m developing a permanent crick in my neck from sleeping on that blasted pile of lumpy cushions. A crick that, after being terrorized on the Texas Tornado—a looping rollercoaster Lucy made me ride three times in a row yesterday—is more pronounced than ever.
Hell, it would’ve been four times if I hadn’t pointed out that paying to ride the same coaster over and over is the exact opposite of budget friendly.
Not that I give a damn about the money.
That’s Lucy’s thing.
I scrub a hand over my face and reach for the bag of Twizzlers she placed in the center console. I’m not really hungry, but I need a sugar boost, however temporary. Normally, I’m all about driving because I get to control the radio, but this afternoon the road seems to stretch endlessly before us.
“Twizzler?” I ask, offering the bag to Lucy.
“No, thanks. I’m good.”
For the last hour, she’s been quietly working in the passenger seat, doing whatever it is aspiring influencers do when they’re not posing for photos. Despite the fact that I warned her about the danger, her feet are propped up on the dashboard like she doesn’t have a care in the world.
