* * *
We drive in relative silence until we reach the outskirts of Vegas. Somewhere along the way, I notice a black car behind us. It starts off right on my tail, and then it backs off. I don’t think much about it until it pulls up on my right and the driver—shades and a blue ballcap—rolls down his window and looks pointedly into my truck. Hannah’s asleep, her hair covering her face.
I stare back at the driver until he rolls up his window and turns his head back to face the road. Then, I accelerate and shift lanes so I’m in front of him. He again drifts back, and I put him out of my mind as a weirdo who’s got too much time on his hands.
Hannah sleeps on and off throughout the rest of the drive, her head leaning against the window until she jerks awake with a start.
“We’re just outside Sin City,” I tell her as she rubs at her eyes and yawns.
She bounces up and down on the seat. “I haven’t been here in years.”
“Really? It’s so close to L.A.”
“I know. But my ex was a workaholic. We didn’t do much for fun.” Her voice is devoid of emotion, but that almost sounds worse than if she were just sad.
“Why don’t we spend tonight here?” I hear myself say.
WTF?
“Really?” Hannah says. “I thought you wanted to camp.”
“I do,” I say. “But we can camp tomorrow night.”
“Okay.” She reaches over and briefly touches my arm. “That’s sweet of you to suggest we stay here. Thanks.”
“You deserve a fun night,” I tell her.
As we reach the Strip, Hannah’s phone rings.
She glances at the screen and immediately silences the caller.
Her phone rings again.
By the third time of her silencing it, I say, “Want to bury your phone in the glove compartment?”
She shoots me a grateful look. “Thank you. I’ll just turn off the volume until he gives up.”
He.
Don’t ask. Don’t ask. Don’t you fucking…
“Your ex-fiancé?”
Jesus, Mav. Can’t you leave well enough alone?
Hannah exhales. “Yes. He hasn’t accepted our break-up.”
Her voice shakes as she says it, and before I can stop myself, I reach over and pat her thigh.
My hand apparently likes Hannah’s thigh a lot, because now the fucker is resting on her leg.
Before I can attempt to awkwardly remove it, Hannah puts her hand over mine.
“You really do have a sweet side underneath all that bossiness,” she teases.
I pull back my hand, and she laughs.
“I’m not sweet,” I mumble.
