“I thought we should end the trip on a high note,” she says, continuing as if I haven’t spoken. “For So Savvy Traveler. My followers will love it.”
“We have vastly different definitions of a high note.”
A high note would be a bottle of California Cab and a night of hot sex under the stars.
It’s our last night on the road, and we’re camping in San Bernardino. Tomorrow it’s on to Santa Monica and the end of Route 66. It’s hard to believe this adventure is coming to an end already. The last two weeks have flown by, and despite the hurdles, it’s been an incredible experience.
I have Lucy to thank for that.
I never would’ve considered a cross-country road trip if it weren’t for her.
“Lessons start in five minutes.” She tugs on my arm again. “We’d better hurry or we’re going to be late.”
Kill me now.
“I’m really not much of a dancer.”
“Quit being so precious. It’ll be fine.” She gives an exaggerated eye roll. “Besides, how bad can you be?”
“I’d rather not find out.”
Or, more accurately, I’d rathershenot find out.
I couldn’t even manage the Macarena as a kid, and I doubt my skills have improved.
A devious smile transforms Lucy’s mouth. “Are you quitting then? When you’re so close to the finish line?”
“Who said anything about quitting?”
“You agreed to travel as I do.” There’s a hint of amusement in her tone. “That doesn’t just mean food and lodging. It also includes excursions.”
“Dance lessons are hardly an excursion.”
“Semantics.” She shrugs. “Either way, it works for me. If you bow out now, I can even help you draft my letter of recommendation.”
“Smartass.”
“Oh!” Her eyes light up, and that cunning smile gets even wider. “My bonus will buy so many hot dogs. Like, a lot, a lot. I’ll be able to completely resupply after this trip.” She tugs on my arm again, but this time she’s not pulling me toward the nightclub. She’s pulling me away from it. Back toward the Jeep. “I guess we can head back to camp and roast everything I have left in the fridge. I bought two new packs of hot dogs yesterday.”
Just the thought of eating another hot dog triggers my gag reflex.
“Has anyone ever told you that you have a devious mind?” I ask, once again resigned to my fate.
She laughs, the light, airy melody I can’t resist. “I think you just did.”
“You win.” I throw my hands up in surrender. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Ten minutes later, we’re lined up on a wooden dance floor with a dozen boot-wearing strangers, facing our instructor, Neve.
“It’s not too late to change your mind,” I whisper.
Lucy shushes me, her attention fixed on Neve, who, like many of our classmates, is wearing traditional country western gear. Lucy and I stick out like, well, native Texans who didn’t pack boots for their cross-country road trip.
Not that I own a pair of cowboy boots.
Neither does Lucy. They’d hardly be practical in a capsule wardrobe.
Fifteen fucking items. Who would choose to live like that?
