“Fine.” He exhales through his nose, lips pressed into a thin line, as though the word physically pains him.
I let the silence stretch a beat, then flash him a grin before turning back to the clerk. “We’ll take it.”
CHAPTER 3
Kip
It takes ten minutes and three forms of ID before the harried clerk hands us the keys.
“Stall twenty-eight,” she says, already looking past us. Like this is just another Sunday and not the quiet burial of my professional dignity.
The parking garage reeks of exhaust. My suitcase rattles behind me, one wheel wobbling like it knows I’m seconds from unraveling. Hutch lopes ahead, jangling the keys, humming a little too cheerfully. Because being crammed in a car together for the next fourteen hours is totally something to celebrate.
I’m expecting something small. Efficient. Maybe a hatchback.
Then we turn the corner.
It’s not a car. It’s a van.
A big, white, battered van with one dented side panel and a faint whiff of despair.
And now I’m questioning every life choice that led me here.
Hutch apparently feels differently because he’s grinning like he won the lottery. “Well, she’s got character.”
“She’s got tetanus,” I fire back.
He smacks the hood, and it wobbles ominously. “All the best stories start—or end—with a bit of tetanus.”
“Yours, maybe.” I reach for the driver’s side door. “Mine don’t usually involve infectious diseases.”
I barely get my fingers on the handle before Hutch’s hand shoots out, curling around it like it’s a trophy.
“Not a chance.” He yanks the door open.
“Excuse me?” I glare, bracing against the van.
“No way I’m letting you drive,” he says, chuckling. “You’d have a meltdown at the first dodgy rattling noise.”
“I do not melt down.” I shove my suitcase upright a little harder than necessary.
“Really?” He leans against the door, all smug ease. “You practically broke into hives when the hotel lift got stuck for thirty seconds in Monaco.”
“Because someone kept pressing every button.”
He spreads his hands, all fake innocence. “Just trying to lighten the mood.”
“By forcing us to stop on every floor?”
“It worked, didn’t it? You’re still talking about it.” He swings into the driver’s seat with the confidence of someone who’s used to getting his way, tossing his bag onto the back seat. “Now come on. The road’s not getting any shorter.”
I fix him with a stare. He looks far too pleased with himself, as if winning control of a tetanus-on-wheels rental is some grand victory.
“Unbelievable,” I mutter, stowing my luggage with his in the back and circling to the passenger side. The door creaks in protest when I shut it.
“See?” he says, grinning as the engine coughs to life. “She likes me already.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “You remember they drive on the right here, don’t you?”
