Page 58 of Room Serviced
“I watched all your videos,” Sloane admitted, his cheek against her hair now. “And got jealous of everyone else you went cryptid hunting with. Even your cousin.”
Max started laughing.
“Shut up,” she said, but he could hear the smile in her voice.
“I stalked your LinkedIn.”
Sloane snorted. “Pervert.”
“What? You look hot in that profile picture,” he said, because it was true. Business Sloane also did it for him, it turned out. “I wake up every day looking forward to five o’clock so I can call you from the car.”
She buried her face in his shoulder, laughing. “Same,” Sloane admitted. “Last week when I had to work late, I was in such a bad mood my coworker avoided me the whole next day.”
“Wow.”
“Well,” she said, defensively, and looked up at him.
Max kissed her. They’d kissed that morning, both naked and panting for breath, but this was different. It was slow and sweet and somehow it felt brand new. Max cupped her face in his hand and let it linger as Sloane kissed him back.
He didn’t know how long they kissed before they stopped and he wrapped an arm around her, still sitting on the picnic table, looking out over the Sierras in the hidden picnic area tucked away like it was just for the two of them. Somewhere in the distance, over the horizon, was Los Angeles. Sacramento and Last Chance were both a lot closer but still too far away to see. It was nice sometimes, Max thought, to be adrift. It was nicer to be adrift next to someone else.
“No one knows where we are.” Sloane sounded a little dreamy. “We could stay here all weekend.”
“We could,” he said. “A few more minutes, at least.”
When they walked back to the car, they held hands, and Max kissed her before they got in.
Epilogue
A year and a half later
“So,” Max said, sipping an iced coffee and leaning against a U-Haul. “When do we drive down Rodeo Drive in a convertible and then go on a shopping spree?”
Sloane, coming out of her building across the sidewalk from him, rolled her eyes.
“I also need to go to the Chinese Theatre and get my picture taken with my hands in Clark Gable’s handprints. And then go on one of those double-decker-bus tours to the homes of the stars.”
“You’re way too late for all that,” Sloane said, coming up to him and putting a hand on his waist. He was way too calm and collected for having just driven ten hours in a moving van, even if it was a small moving van. “You’re not allowed to do touristy shit if you live here.”
“I haven’t updated my address yet,” he said, giving her a kiss.
“You taste like coffee.”
“Weird.” He took another drink through the straw, never breaking eye contact.
“I should make you rent a convertible, drive to Beverly Hills, and go shopping,” she said. “You’d complain for days. How was the drive?”
“It’s been worse,” he admitted, shrugging. “But the REPENT sign was up, so we’ve got an easy moving day ahead of us.”
“Ooh, a good sign.” On the 5 somewhere north of Kettleman City, parked in the fields alongside the road, sometimes there was a box truck with REPENT! painted on the side. If the truck was there, it was good luck.
“And I got you a present.”
“Is it a truck-stop rattlesnake?”
“Sorry, no.”
Sloane sighed, tragically. “You keep promising me a pet.”
