Page 9

9

CONNOR

T he tow truck drops us off at what has to be the shadiest rental car place in existence.

It’s one of those off-brand, barely legit places that probably rents cars that were stolen twice.

I don’t care.

I just want a damn vehicle that won’t betray me.

Allie hums happily beside me, sipping her coffee like this is the best day of her life.

She’s fucking annoying. Too chipper. Too smug.

She’s up to something.

Considering she hasn’t stopped smirking at me since we left the airport, I’m guessing that something is making my life as miserable as possible.

The guy behind the counter barely looks up from his phone.

"Got anything bigger than a Barbie car?" I grumble.

He chews his gum slowly. "Only one left."

"Great. We’ll take it."

He slides the keys across the counter.

I snatch them up, storm outside, and stop dead in my tracks.

I blink once.

Twice.

Three times.

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

Allie bursts out laughing while I die a slow death.

The station wagon is straight out of the movie National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation. It’s olive green with wood paneling. A long, ugly behemoth of a vehicle.

Allie collapses against the rental office wall, wheezing.

I slowly turn my head, glaring at her.

"Oh. My. God," she gasps, wiping her tears. "This is the greatest day of my life."

I turn my head, staring at the car before looking at the sky, contemplating every fucking decision that led me here.

"Get in the fucking car, Payne," I growl.

She stumbles toward the passenger door, still giggling.

"Connor Byrns, hockey star, road-tripping in the Wagon Queen Family Truckster," she cackles. "I will be telling my grandchildren about this."

I grip the wheel so hard, the leather groans. "This car is an insult to my existence," I mutter.

Allie throws her feet up on the dashboard. "Relax," she purrs, grinning at me. "It’s not that bad."

I glare at her. "This car smells like depression and divorce papers."

She snorts. “I’ve never heard it put that way before.”

I rub my temples. "I need a drink."

She lifts her coffee. "You need therapy."

“Probably.”

She leans back, casually propping her feet on the dash like she owns the thing. “I’m naming her Wanda.”

I blink. “ What? ”

“The wagon. She looks like a Wanda. You know, dependable, a little unhinged, probably has a side hustle selling essential oils.”

I stare at her like she’s lost her damn mind. “You don’t get to name this car.”

“Too late. Wanda’s part of the family now.”

I slam the car into drive.

Three days.

Three fucking days of this.

“At least it’s not pink,” Allie chirps.

I turn to glare at her. “Shut your fucking mouth, Payne.”

She grins.

I’m going to murder her.

* * *

We pull back onto the highway, and I swear the car smells like stale cigarettes and regret.

Allie is still humming happily, scrolling on her phone. She managed to find a radio station playing 80s music.

Allie pulls a hairbrush from her bag and starts belting out the lyrics of “Object of My Desire.”

I fucking die.

My temperature shoots up ten degrees.

I’m melting into the fucking ancient, rotting seat.

When she belts about something about her body screaming to make love to her, I nearly run off the fucking road.

She grins at me while I glare at the road, regretting the day I met her.

She taps her foot to the beat of the next song, tossing her hairbrush in her bag and grabbing her phone.

“Uh-oh,” she mutters.

I grip the wheel tighter. "What?"

Don’t tell me she posted that video of me driving the pink Barbie car, and it went viral.

She taps her phone. "The GPS says this route is gonna take us a while."

I exhale through my nose. "How long?"

She takes a slow, obnoxious sip of her coffee, licks her lips, then calmly says, "Three days."

I nearly swerve into oncoming traffic . "THREE DAYS?!"

She beams. "Yep! Guess we’ll be staying in more hotels. You, me, and Wanda.” She pats the cracked dash. “She’s earned her name. She smells like regrets and probably once ran over a husband.”

I stare straight ahead. “Stop naming vehicles.”

“Too late. She’s family now.”

* * *

We stop at a gas station and a convenience store.

I’m pumping gas while Allie bounces across the parking lot, not a care in the world.

I shake my head, glaring at the numbers on the pump.

When I’m finished, I go inside to use the restroom.

Then I grab some drinks, snacks, and antacids since Allie’s giving me fucking heartburn.

She waves at me, beaming, before exiting the store.

I watch her walk away, a growl rumbling inside my chest.

I’d like to throttle her.

Throw her on the roof and kiss the hell out of her.

Sink between her thighs ? —

Fuck! Stop this!

I glance up, watching as she slides into the car, her glossy brown hair gleaming with reddish-blonde highlights beneath the sun.

But I don’t want to define what I feel for her.

She’s a pain in the ass.

We’ll leave it at that.

* * *

We stop at a hole-in-the-wall diner to get something to eat.

As soon as we walk inside, the waitress begins flirting with me.

Allie is oddly silent.

The waitress leans against the table, batting her lashes at me. "You need anything else, sugar?" she purrs.

Allie remains silent.

I don’t look at her, but I feel the shift.

The slight tension radiating from her.

The way she suddenly isn’t chirping like a bird, getting under my skin.

The waitress taps her nails on the table. "You sure are a big guy," she adds, looking me up and down.

“You sure I can’t get you anything? Anything at all?”

Before I can respond, Allie moves.

She slides between us, pressing her palm to my chest. "Sorry, sugar," she says sweetly . "He’s taken."

I freeze.

The waitress raises a brow.

Allie just smiles, saccharine sweet.

"Come on, babe," she coos to me, curling her fingers around my shirt and dragging me toward the door.

My brain short-circuits.

What the fuck just happened?

I let her pull me outside and shove me toward the car.

She flings open the passenger door, pushes me inside, then slams it shut.

Oh. My. God. That’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life!

I want to attack her.

But I can’t.

Fuck! My fingers curl, my restraint hanging by a thread.

Allie gets in, slams the door, and grips the steering wheel.

I sit there, staring at her with my brows raised.

Slowly, she reaches for her coffee, taking a long, angry sip.

"You okay there, sweetheart?" I murmur, my voice low.

Her grip on the cup tightens. "Peachy."

I smirk. "You sure?"

She glares at the road. "Shut up, Byrns."

I tilt my head, studying her.

A chuckle bursts from me, dark and low.

She’s fuming because she lost her composure.

And I fucking love it!

I pat the car’s dashboard lightly. “Damn, Wanda. I think my girl’s overheating.”

Allie shoots daggers at me.

I’m never letting her live this down.