Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 102282 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102282 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
“I...” Renzo wasn’t sure how exactly to respond to that. He didn’t really want to schedule in kissing like teeth brushing or something, but at the same time there was a certain inevitability here that he probably was going to kiss Canaan. Out of curiosity if nothing else. Or gratitude for not running away when Renzo confessed his issues. Or maybe simply because Renzo really, really wanted to. He’d spent the past week dreaming about those lips, and the chance of him holding out all weekend were slim to none.
“Options,” Canaan reminded him. “How about we see what happens? Play it by ear? You feel like fooling around, and we will. But I’m going to have a good time with you regardless.”
“Yeah?” Renzo’s chest went warm and tight again, like he’d done too many reps.
“Sure. You’re already fun to road trip with even if you won’t let me take a turn driving. Let’s see what you did with your playlist.”
Mercifully, Canaan turned up the volume on the stereo, finding one of Renzo’s favorite driving songs. He liked how Canaan was a natural talker but didn’t seem to mind quiet time either, sitting back in his seat and chilling to the music by drumming on his thigh.
“You gonna drop me in El Centro if I sing along?” Canaan asked as the track changed.
“Nah. You’re all right.”
“A-ite.” Canaan still couldn’t quite pull off the Philly, and Renzo had to laugh. “I’m gonna work on doing better than that. Gotta earn your praise.”
Renzo wasn’t sure whether he could handle a universe where Canaan did better at getting under his skin, where he was more appealing, more fun, more sexy. He’d handled countless dangerous missions, but somehow he wasn’t sure he was up to the threat Canaan posed. Smartest thing would be to push all the sex talk to the back of his brain, forget about the kissing he wanted more than his next meal, because that way led to all sorts of uncertainty. Better he focus on driving, on getting them to Flagstaff, on the camping—the stuff he knew he was good at. No stupid risks.
Chapter Six
Lord save Canaan from control freaks. Especially control freak drivers.
“Why is the GPS telling me to take some tiny highway?” Renzo interrupted their conversation about which music was best suited for road trips. His tone suggested that perhaps Canaan was personally responsible for the deviation from plan.
But Canaan was nice so he got out his own phone, clicked around, tried to figure out why Renzo’s GPS was freaking out. GPS malfunction was a nice distraction from trying to stay casual about how badly he wanted to bang Renzo. Sure he could talk music and had for the past while, but their earlier sex conversation was still eating up his brain power. If there was one thing in the world he was good at, it was sex, and now he was bound and determined to give Renzo great sex. Amazing sex. Mind-blowing, sweaty bodies, shredded muscles, can’t-breathe sex. But he wasn’t a complete ass, so he was trying not to pressure Renzo into messing around with him. Instead, he focused on the map on his screen, hoping to put Renzo at some sort of ease.
“There are closures on I-8. We shave some time off taking this side highway up to I-10 and then that interstate all the way into Phoenix.”
“Define some.”
“You must be hella fun in the field, barking orders like that. I’m just saying.” Canaan studied his phone some more. “Like a half hour.”
“Sorry.” Renzo’s tone softened. “I don’t trust rural highways as much. We’re fine on gas, but I’d marked Yuma to stop for food.”
“Do the detour here,” Canaan advised. “I’ll find us a place for snacks or we can just push through and eat in Phoenix. But this way we can do I-8 or even I-40 coming home, see some other things. I always like taking different routes back.”
“I don’t. But fine.” Renzo took the exit for the rural highway. “I’ll do gas in Phoenix for sure. I don’t like letting it dip too far below half a tank.”
“You’d do awful with a band on tour, man. When you’re strapped for cash, you get used to pushing E really fast. Even playing So-Cal, we ran on fumes, and Europe, where gas prices are even worse, we were always courting disaster.”
“Hey, I was a stupid teenager once too. We ran out of gas going to a party off the Chester Pike once. That was an interesting evening spent on the side of a highway, but I’d rather not have to hike for gas in the desert.”
“Me either. I’m not exactly vibing on the hiking part of this trip.”
“Why go? I mean, I know they’re your friends, but I’m just curious how a band decides that camping is a fun reunion trip. I would have figured you guys would do Vegas or LA or something like that.”