Page 32 of The Road Trip Romance

“Yeah. I’m fine, Tate,” I reply but immediately wish I had a reason for him to stay. “Can you…I mean…you can sit in here for a bit and we can talk if you want…that is,” I ramble as I look up at him.

He nods and walks around the bed, climbing on it, but staying on top of the blanket. I can feel his warmth through the sheets, and I snuggle toward him without thought.

“Did you have fun with Jordan?” he asks as he leans back against the headboard.

I smile to myself. “I did. I like your friends. I wasn’t sure what to make of them when they showed up at my house, but…they are good peeps. You’re lucky to have them.”

I inch closer, my head is dangerously close to his lap. His arm brushes mine and he rubs it. “You’re tense. Here, let me rub your back. You drove a lot the last two days.”

He nudges me closer, and I lay my head on his thigh as he begins to rub my back. I groan and he stops for a moment before clearing his throat and continuing.

“That feels amazing,” I moan as his fingers work on a knot by my shoulder.What can’t this man do?

“Good,” he replies as he quietly works on my muscles.

“I don’t get why Lacey left you. I mean, really, the whole kids thing after all that time, and thenpoofshe’s out of there?” I speak before I realize what I’ve said. “Shit. Sorry. Never mind. It’s none of my business.”

“It’s OK,” he assures me, his hand stilling for a moment before moving again. “I mean, it’s a lot more complicated than that. I want this whole family life away from Hollywood and she doesn’t. We had so many conversations over the years. I don’t know why I thought she’d change, that if I gave her enough time, she’d come around. I guess I was just hoping because I loved her…I mean, I love her,” he corrects himself.

“Well, I’m sure we can change her mind. Maybe she’s already regretting her decision?” I offer as Tate’s big hand comes up and massages my scalp.

“Maybe. Any ideas on this ‘grand gesture’ thing yet?” he questions.

“No, not yet, but we have time,” I say with a sigh as I press against his strong fingers. “You are too good at this. It should be illegal for someone to look as good as you do while being as nice, smart, and kind. What’s your thorn?”

“My thorn?”

I giggle. “You know. You seem all perfect like a rose flower, but everyone has to have at least a thorn on their stem. What are you not good at? Make me feel human because I got enough faults for the two of us.”

His hand stops. “I hardly believe that, Sophia. And I have plenty of faults, trust me. I’m a neat freak. I’m stubborn as hell. I use humor to mask everything. I can be needy as fuck, or at least, Lacey would say that. Oh, and I never manage to get my dirty clothes in the laundry bin.”

“Oh, well, there it is. That ‘dirty clothes’ thing is a total relationship killer. I’m not sure a grand gesture will work after all,” I tease.

He gives my shoulder a playful shove. “Ha-ha. Very funny.”

I grin to myself. “Seriously, tell me about something you did that you regret. I need to know you are actually human.”

“OK, one time when I was ten, a bunch of baby goats escaped from a local farm. I found them while bike riding and decided to bring them home to my grandparents. My grandfather was running errands, and my grandmother was cooking dinner. So, I left them in my room, except I didn’t close the door hard enough, and while I was helping my grandmother, they got into the living room and ate her sofa.”

My shoulders shake as I try not to laugh, but then I give up and start cackling until I snort. Tate chuckles.

“Oh my God! I would have killed you,” I manage in between laughter as I envision little Tate trying to do a good thing and ending up ruining his grandparents’ furniture.

“How much trouble did you get in?” I ask.

“I had to mow enough lawns to cover a new sofa cover, but they weren’t too mad at me. I mean, I had been a city kid most of my childhood before that, so I just didn’t get it. We got ahold of the farmer and returned the goats. He was pretty happy to have them back. So, he let me bring over a goat every so often after that. I got to play with it, and it ate all the weeds in the backyard, which pleased my grandparents,” he adds.

“Tell me more about little Tate. He seems like a fun kid,” I demand.

He’s quiet for a long moment. “He was…a good kid. Or at least he tried to be,” he says quietly.

And then, he begins to tell me stories as my eyelids grow heavy. I’m not sure when I fall asleep. But the last thing I remember is hearing Tate’s gravelly voice telling me tales of his misspent youth and I smile at his sagas as I drift off to sleep feeling so lucky to have Tate in my life, even if it’s just as friends.

CHAPTERFOURTEEN

Tate

I wake with a start and look up at the ceiling. Chicago. We’re in Chicago.

---