He nods. “I’m going to pull over for gas since that’s a pretty good stretch. Get some more snacks.”
At the next exit, Ryan fills up the tank then heads into the store.
I’m glued to my phone, waiting for a reply to come through to Mitch. And while Mr. Smith may be hesitant to answer Mitch’s message, I’m hoping the overwhelming curiosity about what Mitch wants, added to the high probability that he is tracking me and knows we were in Oxford, will get the better of him. I need him to react the way I expect or I’m dead in the water.
Now that I know where to look, I open my browser and find the message board so I can snoop around instead of just seeing what Mitch is looking at. Since Devon can also see Mitch’s screen, I’m sure he’s doing the same. There are a lot of posts that say:I just heard Dancing in the Moonlight for the first time today. I always knew I wasn’t the only one working for my boss, but by the sheer number of posts, he’s got a lot more going on than I originally thought. There are a few usernames that could possiblymatch up to jobs I’ve done in the past, but I can only see their initial post. I’m sure the conversations with Mr. Smith are moved to private messages.
It’s only another minute or so before I get a notification that Mitch has a response to his message.
Kingharvestmegafan: What can I help you with?
Gridiron Boss: a girl showed up at my house. Said she worked for you. Wendy something. Asked me for money! She was out of control. Told me to fuck myself when I told her to leave. Screamed it loud enough for the neighbors to hear. I paid you too much money for some crackpot to knock on my door!!
Kingharvestmegafan: My apologies for the unexpected visit. I assure you, she will be taken care of and you will not be bothered again.
“There you are,” I whisper. “Got you.”
It’s late when we get to Nashville. Ryan pulls up in front of a run-down motel on the edge of town; my door is open before he puts it in park.
“Wait here. I’ll get us a room,” I say, one foot already out of the door.
He cuts the ignition. “Are you sure? I can—”
“I’m sure. Wait here.” He’s been frustrated with me since we left Oxford because I have dodged every question he has asked.
A few minutes later I’m back in the car and give Ryan the room number. We park right in front of the door since I asked for a unit on the ground floor. While we could afford nicer accommodations, I prefer to be able to make a quick exit if the need arises.
We packed light so it doesn’t take long to get settled in.
“I’m hitting the shower,” Ryan says. “I’ll find us some food after I get out.”
As soon as I hear the water turn on, I pull out my phone and scroll Instagram until I find a comment giving me the meeting time for tomorrow. I comment on a different post letting Devon know I received his message.
When the bathroom door opens, Ryan exits in nothing but a towel.
I could look at him all day. His body is exactly my type—fit and trim but not overly muscular. Ryan must see the glint in my eye because instead of moving toward his bag, he crawls across the bed toward me. His mood has greatly improved.
And I give myself this moment. I push away the plans rolling around in my head. Hit pause on my timetable. Relish these few stolen moments where we can be normal.
I pull him close and his weight settles over me. My hands drift up to his hair, still damp from the shower.
“It’s been a helluva week,” he says, his lips only inches from mine.
“And it’s only Tuesday,” I answer. Then my expression turns serious. “Regretting coming on this road trip?”
“Not yet,” he says with a laugh.
Ryan kisses that spot on my neck that he knows I love, and I feel it down to my toes.
“What if I did it? What if I had something to do with Amy Holder’sdeath?” My whispered words hang in the air between us. This is self-sabotage at its finest.
He stills. Then his head lifts and his eyes meet mine. “That’s not a question I need the answer to.” Ryan leans closer, his lips landing softly on mine. It’s not long before we’re skin to skin, and I lose myself in this moment as his hands and mouth roam slowly down my body before working their way back up.
His hands grip me tighter, he holds me closer, as if he’s afraid I’ll disappear, then he buries his face into that sensitive spot where my neck meets my shoulder. Whispered words flow out of him, broken sentences that shouldn’t make sense but do.
I soak up every word as my nails dig into his back. Show him I feel the same way without having to say it.
Alias: Helen White—Four Years Ago
