Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 96178 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96178 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
A shrieking giggle ripped through the car, and Fitz barely managed to keep from slamming down hard on the brakes. “Holy sh—what! What is going on?”
“There’s a place called Sex Peak about sixty miles down that way!”
He took a beat to gape at her before turning back to the road. “What in the hell is Sex Peak?”
“I don’t know! But it’s on the map!” She turned to him. “Fitz, may I use your browser to google it?”
He sighed, resigned. “Fine. But don’t look at the other tabs.”
She was quiet for a second and then hummed. “Oh,” she said, frowning down at the screen. “That name is misleading. It’s a lookout point and camping area. I don’t see anything about sex happening here.”
“A lookout? Yeah, for sure people have sex there.”
“They do?”
“I mean, I assume so. It’s called Sex Peak.”
“I guess you would know.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She ignored this, whispering in awe, “The internet is magic.”
He quickly glanced to see what she was looking up. “What are you googling?”
“Whether people have sex at Sex Peak.”
“Okay there, Sweden, let’s just…” He reached for the phone and tucked it into the center console. “Maybe let’s take a break from Google. I don’t want you getting carsick.”
“Oh, good point.” She looked out at the slowly darkening view ahead of them for a few minutes and cleared her throat before turning to look at him. She didn’t speak, but he felt the pressure of her attention on the side of his face like a finger gently tapping there.
Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. “God. What.”
“I wanted to apologize if that was rude just now when I said ‘You would know.’ You might not be a lothario at all, I don’t want to assume.”
“A lothario? Seriously, Ren, where did you learn to speak?”
She ignored this. “When I first arrived, before I met you for the tour? Miriam—that’s my roommate—said you were always in everyone’s pants and warned me not to let you in mine.”
Fitz swore Max’s engine stuttered beneath him, and he gripped the steering wheel tighter. “Rule eleven. No discussion about whose pants anyone’s been in.”
With a nod, she pulled the pencil from the spiral ring of her notebook, turned back the page, and added number eleven to the list of rules.
He sensed a change in Ren the second they reached the border to Idaho. As they passed the sign indicating that they’d crossed the state line, her shoulders hunched up to her ears and she pulled her knees up, hugging herself.
“You all right there, Sweden?”
“Yes.”
He wasn’t so sure. For the entire forty-five minutes through the panhandle, she appeared to be going through an existential crisis. Mumbling quietly to herself, she argued with an invisible voice. He thought he caught an “If they found out, this would kill them!”
Ignoring her, he turned the music up.
Finally, she raised her hand to speak.
He lowered the music again. “Yes?”
And then she dropped a bombshell: “Fitz, can we—can we turn around?”
Beneath them, Max swerved on the road. “What?”
Ren quickly waved her hands. “Never mind. No,” she said with more force. “Ignore me. I do not want to turn around.”
He weighed the relative bummer of losing three hours round trip with the even greater bummer of continuing with her for the next few days. “We’re only a couple hours out. If you want to turn around, tell me now.”
“No. Keep going.” But then she groaned, leaning her head back against the seat. “What they don’t know won’t hurt them, right?”
“Look…I know this is stressful for you, okay? No harm, no foul. Tell me now, and I can take you back.”
“No. No.” And then she released a tight “I’m just a terrible daughter, that’s all” and dropped her head into her hands.
“Let me ask you something,” he said, then attempted another sip of the now-cold sugar bomb she’d bought him. “Does anyone other than me know that you left?”
She reached down to fidget with the notebook on her lap. “Of course.”
An obvious lie.
“Does that seem like a safe choice?” he asked her, holding up a hand when she started to protest. “Come on, kid.”
“I’m almost twenty-three, Fitz, I’m not a kid.”
He huffed out a laugh. “I’m just saying, you barely know me.”
“You?” She turned those giant green eyes on him. “I think under that cocky shell, you’re a big softie.”
He laughed, incredulous. “I assure you, no female has ever called me that before.”
She smiled, sweetly. Too sweetly. “Fine,” she said. “You’re a little softie.”
“Oh my God. That’s not—”
“Anyway,” she said, putting on that tough face again. “I told you, it’s not your business where I’m going or who knows.”
“You shouldn’t trust me just because we go to school together.”
Beaming like she had him cornered, she said, “The fact that you’re worried about this tells me you’re a good guy.”
A good guy? She had no idea. “Just—You’ll get your own hotel room, okay? And keep the door locked.”