“You know, you just might be onto something.” He leans back and stretches his legs. “I could use more downtime. For the last seven years, it’s been all Triada all the time.”
Jealousy pierces my chest. Not because I envy his success, but because he has the means to do both. To be a successful businessperson and travel.
Or pursue whatever else strikes his fancy.
I loved working at Triada, but the salary of an executive assistant was hardly conducive to world travel.
Especially when paired with crushing student loan debt.
This trip has been incredible, but I miss Triada. Miss having a routine. Miss the satisfaction that comes from crossing items off my to-do list and the thrill of successfully juggling multiple priorities.
Not that I can admit it to Miles.
If I breathe even a hint of dissatisfaction, he’ll have me chained to my desk in no time.
It’s like we agreed. Sex changes nothing. Not our relationship, and certainly not our bet.
“Son of a bitch.” Miles leans forward, squinting through the windshield. “Unless it’s a mirage, I think there’s a gas station ahead on the left.”
I check the dashboard.
Two miles. Two freaking miles.
“We’re going to make it.” I press down on the accelerator, pulse thrumming. “Mental math for the win.”
He snorts.
Whatever. Math. Luck. Karma. Whichever it is, I’ll take it.
It sure as hell beats hoofing it through the desert.
Suddenly, the Jeep sputters, the entire vehicle shaking.
“Do you think—”
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” I hiss. “You’ll jinx us.”
I flip my turn signal on as we close in on the tiny station, hardly daring to breathe. Beside me, Miles is silent. It’s entirely possible he’s stopped breathing, too.
The Jeep sputters again, and my stomach drops.
So close. We’re so freaking close.
Come on, universe. Don’t do me dirty now.
If we make it to the pump, I swear I’ll never let the gauge drop below a quarter tank again.
Just fifty more feet to the entrance.
I brake, slowing to make the turn into the parking lot.
Forty.
I tighten my grip on the steering wheel, palms sweating.
Thirty.
The Jeep gives another heaving shake, and the engine dies, the dashboard readouts fading to black as the needles on the manual dials drop to zero.
