Page 37 of When the Time Is Right
“I’m driving,” I announced, hooking an arm around her middle. Her small body became flush with mine, and in one fluid movement, I lifted her off her feet and spun her away from the door.
About halfway around, I realized something was wrong.
She didn’t kick or fight.
She didn’t even scream or cuss at me.
From head to toe, her body flashed hard, turning her into a statue. And not even the statue of a pissed-off fireball. When I placed her on her feet, I couldn’t see her eyes through her sunglasses, but her cheeks were bright red as though we were back at the Jonas Brothers concert Judy and David had made me and Cal take her to when she was sixteen.
Keeping a hand on her hip, I slanted my head to try to get a better read on her face. “What’s wrong with you?”
She stared at me for several beats, with God only knew what was happening behind those shades, before finally finding two breathy syllables. “Nothing.”
I eyed her skeptically. “You sure? Because you look like you’re about to take your bra off and throw it on stage again.”
Her lips thinned, and she took a giant step out of my reach. “We should go.”
“Okay, but you’re riding shotgun.”
“No way,” she snapped, suddenly coming unstuck. Lurching forward, she attempted to duck around me, but I extended an arm for another hook-and-move maneuver.
This was the exact moment I became a leper. I don’t know when or how it’d happened, but she jumped away so fast there was no other explanation.
Her shoulders rose and fell with labored breathing as she stared at me from what had to have been six feet away. Jesus, I should have known dragging her out of bed before ten was a bad idea.
“All right. What the hell is going on with you? Are you having some kind of seizure from a lack of caffeine? Should I run in and grab you the coffee grounds so we can rub them directly onto your skin?”
She licked her lips and then blew out a ragged breath. “I have self-diagnosed myself with a stroke, but a seizure is not out of the question. I’ll need to do more research before I can confirm.”
“Riiiiight,” I drawled with a slow nod. “Any chance you can do that in the car on the way to the beach? I’d really like to get there before lunch.”
And then, just as quickly as I had become a leper, a miracle happened.
Alexis Lawson didn’t argue. She didn’t rage. No one said uncle. She didn’t even make eye contact as she shuffled around the hood of the car and slid into the passenger seat.
For fear of sounding ungrateful for what could only be described as the Lord’s handiwork, I kept my mouth closed as she wedged her coffee between her thighs and tugged her seat belt on.
The urge to text Cal and gloat that I was about to spend the next four hours behind the wheel of the Chevelle was strong. The damn near orgasmic vibrations when I started the engine were stronger.
Fuck, that car was a beast. I really needed to figure out who the hell I could set her up with next week to secure its place in my garage.
For the majority of the ride, Lex was on her phone. Her fingers frantically tapping the screen. She’d whisper the occasional, “You’ve got to be kidding me,” followed by a loud groan. I think, once, there was an, “Oh, God, this isn’t happening.”
When I questioned her about what the hell she was doing, her only answer was a shrieked, “Shut up and drive!”
I went so far as to ply her with Slim Jims and a king-sized Snickers at our one and only bathroom stop, but nothing helped. She’d eventually tell me what was wrong, and if she didn’t, I had no qualms about wading into the quicksand in her head to pull her out. With nothing but the open road, the hum of the engine, and the wind in my hair, I decided to first go for the tried-and-true method of letting her nap it off.
And sure enough, after another fifty miles or so, she took her scarf and sunglasses off and fell asleep with her head propped against the window.“Dad!” Jack yelled, running down the front steps as I put the old Chevelle into park.
Damn, I had missed that kid. I hated to be “that dad,” but I was going to have to have a talk with Lauren’s parents before their next beach trip. A week was too damn long.
Lex’s eyes flashed open and she bolted upright, already sporting a giant smile and furthering my belief that there wasn’t much a nap couldn’t fix. Judy and David were standing on the front porch, waving as though we’d just come back from war, and I climbed out in time to scoop Jack off his feet before he crashed into the side of the car.
