Page 19 of My Holiday Hookup Road Trip

“Oh my God, I was kidding.” I find the bottle and pour two aspirin into my palm. “You’re my travel buddy. I trust you.”

If anything, his jaw clamps even tighter. “Your travel buddy.”

I pat his chest on the way to the bathroom to get some water. “Yes. My travel buddy.”

It’s a reminder to myself as much as it is to him, and when I emerge from the bathroom, he hasn’t really moved. God, he must be pissed about yet another delay. At least I know how to give him some space.

“I’m going to shut my eyes for a bit. Try to shake this headache.” I flip the covers of my bed back, grateful I pulled on leggings this morning. If I was in jeans, I’d be wondering how weird it would be to take them off before climbing between the sheets.

This shakes him out of his trance. “Headache?” He takes a step toward me. “Can I do anything?”

I shake my head, then wince. “No, thanks. But maybe we could find some dinner once I’ve napped?”

“Yeah, of course.” He picks up his phone and turns toward the door. “I need to call the windshield place to confirm our location for tomorrow and then let my family know it’ll be another day.”

“Wait, you don’t have to—”

But he’s already out the door before I can tell him that I don’t hate the thought of falling asleep to the rumble of his voice. I drop a pillow over my head and ponder whether I’m on a road trip with the last genuinely thoughtful guy in America. How many other men would’ve yakkity-yakked away from the bed next to mine while I tried to sleep? Probably all of them.

When I wake up, the light in the room is low, and Sebastian’s propped against his headboard, one ankle crossed over the other, an iPad in his hands.

“Feel better?” he asks once I’m upright.

“Blarg,” is all I can manage as I bat my tangled hair out of my eyes. “Headache’s gone, at least.”

“Excellent.” He sets the tablet on the bed next to him, and I wriggle around to face him.

“How’d your family take the news?”

“Insultingly well.” He links his hands behind his head. “Apparently they can decorate sugar cookies just fine without me.”

“Heathens.” I yawn and stretch, then grip my growling stomach. My headache’s gone, and I’m starving. “Food time?”

“Food time,” he agrees. “I figure we can head to the lobby and ask the clerk if there’s anything close by.”

“Good idea.” Or it was until I glance down at myself. “Can you give me, like, ten minutes to clean up?”

He cocks his head and takes in all my rumpled, travel-stained glory. “Whatever you need. Take your time.”

How does he look so good after two days on the road? His soft-looking sweater stretches over his broad shoulders, and his jeans aren’t creased and baggy like mine get after sitting in them all day.

He’s a warlock, I’m sure of it. And that’s on my mind as I wheel my whole damn suitcase into the bathroom and flip on the shower. He said to take my time? I’ll be takingalllllthe damn time.

Thirty-five minutes later, I’m scrubbed, toweled off, blow-dried, curled, made-up, and looking as cute as possible in my least travel-gross jeans and the cream cable-knit sweater that looks like I stole it from one of Chris Evans’ douchier characters. I even scrounged up a pair of earrings from the bottom of my makeup bag.

Sebastian shoots to his feet when I finally exit the bathroom.

“Wow. You look… wow.”

I give a little twirl. “No road grime here.”

He ruffles his hair as he stares at me, for a moment looking as frazzled as he did during the worst of the blizzard the night before. Then he smooths the silky brown strands back into place and grabs my coat off the chair where I flung it, holding it out so I can slide it on. I try not to sound breathless as I thank him, but it’s hard when he runs his hands over my shoulders before letting me go to reach for his own coat.

We’re quiet as we walk to the elevator and head to the lobby, where the rail-thin clerk with the huge mustache greets us. “Are you off to the beach?”

This stops us in our tracks.

“Come again?” Sebastian asks.

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