Jace turns onto the highway a couple of blocks later, forcing the truck’s growling engine to a faster speed. Bare trees line the asphalt road, turning the scenery to a blur of brown as we motor along.

About an hour later, I look over at Jace. “Are we almost there?” I ask expectantly.

“Yes,” he replies seriously. “Only seven hours to go.”

“Seven hours?” I exclaim.

“What, did you think Nebraska was just down the road?” Jace asks, grinning.

I don’t reply, which Jace correctly interprets as a yes. The length of the trip was probably something I should have clarified before agreeing to this journey, but despite my initial surprise, I don’t actually mind being stuck in this tiny cab with Jace for that length of time. There’s a sense of ease when I’m around him, even when we’re bickering, that I’ve never experienced with anyone else.

A couple hours later, I’m staring out the window when I notice Jace trying to shrug out of his dark green hoodie. The truck’s vents are weak at best, but the dry heat has finally permeated every recess, raising the temperature inside the truck to near tropical levels. I laugh as he attempts to shake one sleeve down his arm while holding the steering wheel tightly with his other hand. I’ve already pulled the sleeves of my cashmere sweater up as far as they’ll go, regretting having thrown it on with nothing underneath but my bra in my haste to get ready.

“Little help here?” Jace asks.

I take off my seatbelt so I can scoot across the bench seat to help him tug off the sweatshirt. I’ve just jerked the hoodie down his other arm when I suddenly lurch forward. The truck’s suspension bounces wildly in the immediate aftermath of the pothole we’ve just driven over. I end up half-sprawled across Jace’s lap, with his arm tucked around me like I’m an oversized football.

“Sorry. I couldn’t swerve to avoid that one,” he tells me. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I reply, pushing myself back to an upright position. Ease has been replaced by a swarm of butterflies. My skin tingles where Jace’s hands have just been.

Jace glances over at me as I continue sitting here, trying to reconcile the extremes his presence and touch elicit from me. How I can feel comfort and familiarity in his company one moment and shockwaves running across my skin a moment later baffles me.

“You sure?”

“I’m sure,” I confirm, sliding back to my original spot and clicking my seatbelt in order to avoid any more acrobatics. “It’s just guys usually buy me a drink before asking for a lap dance.”

Jace smirks at my thinly veiled reference. “Too bad I don’t have a cocktail,” he replies.

I bite back a grin and resume staring out the window.

Halfway across Iowa, Jace flicks on his blinker and guides the truck off the busy highway down one of the exit ramps. “We need gas.” He turns into the first station we come across, pulls up to the pump, and opens his door to climb outside.