Page 77 of Side Trip

Dylan dragged both hands down the sides of his face. Holy hell, he had so many questions about Judy but suspected that wasn’t what she wanted to hear from him right now. “Don’t thinkwhat-ifs, Joy, not when you can’t change the outcome. Trust me, hindsight’s a bitch.” How many times had he wished that he’d resisted that leggy model to prove he wasn’t a typical Westfield male?

“So am I.”

“You’re not a bitch. Why would you say that?”

Joy rubbed her eyes and groaned into her hands. “I’ve lied to Mark.”

He arched a brow. “About the bucket list?” He knew that.

“Yes, and I haven’t told him about you.”

“What happens on the road stays on the road. You’re just honoring our deal.”

“I told him that I wanted to break off our engagement.”

Dylan balked. “You did?”

She nodded, mouth pressed tight and eyes wide like she couldn’t believe she had.

“That was a lie?”

She slowly shook her head.

“Wow.” Dylan eased back in his chair. He hadn’t expected to hear that from her, even after their conversation last night. Doubtful Mark had expected it either. That explained all the yelling he’d heard through the phone before Joy had eased up her window.

“How do you feel?”

“Not sure.” Her thumbnail flicked a corner of the paper. “I’m still processing. I didn’t plan to say anything, not until I got to New York. But he started going off again about my trip and how I didn’t want him to come, and that I never sound enthusiastic when we talk about the wedding, and why did I say yes when he proposed if I didn’t want him to help me move. It just sort of slipped out.”

“How did he react?”

“Like I don’t know what I’m talking about, or what I want. That we’ve been apart too long, and this trip’s muddling my feelings. Then he backtracked. He apologized, said he was mad at me—and he has every right to be—because it seemed like I was avoiding him.”

“Maybe you were avoiding him because you needed to say that.”

Joy traced her finger along the sharp paper edge. “I was avoiding him yesterday because I was having a good time with you. And I wanted to watch you sing.”

“Oh.” Dylan blew past cloud nine and landed on ten. A wide smile split his short beard. He couldn’t help it.

“I love listening to you play.”

“I love seeing you in the audience.” His eyes met hers across the table.

She smiled sweetly, then looked away. “To be fair, Mark is great, and he loves me, and, well ...” She paused. “He wants to discuss this when I get to New York.”

Dylan didn’t blame the guy. Hashing relationship shit face-to-face was challenging enough, let alone over the phone.

Joy reached into her purse for her pencil and crossed offsleep under the stars.

The stars had been brilliant last night after the moon dipped below the horizon. “I had a good time with you yesterday, too. And I really enjoyed spending the night with you,” he whispered, leaning across the table. Her peachy cheeks turned bright crimson under her freckle constellations. He flashed a grin and after a beat, she softly laughed.

“You’re trouble, Dylan Westfield.” She shook the pencil at him, then tucked both the list and the pencil back into her purse. “So ... what’s on the agenda for today?” she asked, taking out her wallet.

“The plan is”—he unfolded his paper map and scanned the grids—“six and a half hours of driving fun. I have a gig in Saint Louis at eight thirty. We have time for a short side trip,” he added, glancing at his watch. A shower somewhere would be ideal. “Anything you want to do or see?”

“Something spontaneous. I’ve been wondering what I should do for that one.”

Dylan gave her a look. “You can’t plan something spontaneous. That defeats the purpose of being spontaneous.”

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