Page 84 of Fight For Me

He doesn’t touch me until we’re out of the building but the second we hit the sidewalk he has his hands on my shoulders and he’s pushing me back against the brick wall. “Missed you,” he breathes against my mouth, then he’s kissing me hard, my head spinning while my stomach does that swooping thing it only ever does for him.

He finally pulls back and we’re both breathing hard. “Needed that,” he says.

“Me too.”

We hold hands as we walk to his car—a somewhat battered Jeep that he had transported all the way here from Seattle. He could have rented a car—hell, his dad was probably dying to buy him something new and flashy—but Wyatt had insisted on having his own car brought down.

Wyatt opens my door for me, setting the backpack on the floor at my feet. George hops into the back, tail wagging with excitement. Apparently, he’s not at all annoyed by the fact that we’ve dragged him from his cozy bed in the middle of the night.

Wyatt climbs into the driver side and puts on his seatbelt. “You hungry? Need some coffee or anything?”

“I’m fine for now.”

“There’s water bottles in the bag.”

I poke at the bag at my feet. “What else is in here?”

“Food for George.”

I look over at him while he backs out the Jeep and heads to the parking lot entrance. “We’re going to be gone long enough for George to need food?”

It’s dark in the car but I’m pretty sure he’s narrowing his eyes at me. “You’re fishing for hints about what we’re doing, aren’t you?”

I hold up my hands. “Fine. No more fishing.” Then my head snaps to him. “Wait,arewe fishing?” I know the deep fishing tourist boats go out pretty early, but this seems excessive.

“We’re not fishing. Now stop asking questions.” He holds out his hand. “Phone.”

“Bossy,” I grumble as I hand it over. Keeping his attention mostly on the empty road, he thumbs through my music library until he finds what he wants then hooks the phone up to the Jeep’s Bluetooth system. The familiar opening of Listz’s “Liebestraum” filters through the space.

“I love this piece,” I sigh, leaning my head back against the head rest.

“Me too.” He reaches over the console to take my hand. “It was always one of my favorites, but I love it even more now. Reminds me of you.”

I make a face. “Reminds you that I’m a crazy stalker who bought all your albums before you even knew I existed?”

He squeezes my hand. “I like that you had a crush on me back then. It’s cute.”

“Just what I was going for,” I grumble. “Cute.”

He laughs, the sound light and carefree. It occurs to me he’s been laughing a lot more since we started hanging out over spreadsheets and knitting needles. For a few years there, he’d gotten pretty grumpy. He hardly ever came home, and when he did, he was often quiet and withdrawn. This Wyatt, the one who teases and smiles and plans adventures, reminds me more of the happy, confident guy I had such a crush on.

I have no idea where we’re going, but the drive is nice. It’s dark outside my window as Wyatt heads north on the 101 and it feels like we’re in our own little bubble, just the two of us. The only sound in the car is the strains of Wyatt playing piano filtering softly from the speakers and the occasional snores of George sleeping in the back.

“I like this,” I whisper after a while.

He tightens his grip on my hand, which he hasn’t dropped since we got in the car. “You a fan of road trips?”

“Definitely. It’s my favorite kind of trip, actually. Whenever we all had some free time, my mom and dad used to pack us up in the car and just start driving. Sometimes we would be looking for interesting things for my mom to take pictures of, sometimes we’d just drive for the hell of it. They loved stuff like that—exploring, not having a plan.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “I didn’t realize you guys did that.”

“Just because our families are close doesn’t mean you know everything about us.”

“I guess not.” He squeezes my hand again. “So, tell me about it. What did you do on these exploring trips?”

I tell him about the more memorable road trips we’d taken over the years. The time we decided to go see the Redwoods on a whim and the time my dad had woken us all up at five am and we’d climbed into the car still in pajamas, and just started driving. It had taken us three days to meander our way up to Lake Tahoe, staying at roadside motels—after a Target run to pick up some clothes and supplies since we hadn’t packed a thing.

Wyatt, in turn, tells me about the road trips his family took, which looked a hell of a lot different from ours. Theirs generally consisted on the entire family in a tour bus traveling the country. We’d been with them for some of those tours, but Ransom’s schedule didn’t always match up with my mom’s assignments and since my dad was always working on the tours, I didn’t really consider them family vacations.