“Good idea.” I hustle to get my stuff and run to the shower. Of course I want to get on the road, but mostly I need to be close by if he dies. There will be a body to bury—I mean … 9-1-1 to call.

Chapter Thirteen

Oklahoma. Just as I suspected.

We make it two hours down the road. I start to think I should have used the whole mushroom. The good news—if I can really look at it like that—is Jake’s still alive.

“Fucker!”

Jake’s body tenses with my outburst. Swarley whines, making his own adjustments in the backseat to hide behind Jake instead of me.

“I hate you! I. HATE. YOU!” I roll down my window and throw my phone out into the ditch.

“Av-er-y …” Jake rolls up my window.

Clenching my teeth, I will away the tears. Anthony Fucking Asshole, chocolate-mousse liar, cheater, hateful man doesn’t deserve my tears.

“Ave?” Jake rests his hand on my leg—this brings out the tears.

I don’t want his kindness and sympathy.

“He had my cell phone disconnected,” I whisper, swatting at my tears.

Jake squeezes my leg.

“Anthony wanted to marry me and he wanted to fuck his cook. Oh … and he wanted me to be okay with it. I said no. Now he’s …” I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Do you want me to kick his ass?”

My head snaps to the side, meeting his quick glance filled with concern and sincerity. “You’d beat a man up to defend my honor?”

“I’d do it as a favor.”

“For me? Or …” I wrinkle my nose as that stupid reel of Deedy in the throes of passion flashes in my head again. “How do you know Deedy?”

He shrugs. “What does it matter?”

“Oh … it matters. It matters a whole helluva lot.”

“Why?”

“Because she’s marrying my dad.”

“So?”

“Please … please don’t be this way. Don’t make me spell it out for you.”

“Sorry, Miss Valedictorian, but I must be the idiot who doesn’t understand.”

“Did you have sex with her?” My voice booms, but I’m not sure why. I blame it on Anthony and his uncouth way of handling a breakup that’s his fault.

Jake waits a few seconds. It’s a yes or no answer. There’s no reason to wait, unless he’s formulating a lie.

“I’m trying to figure out how my sexual history is relevant to you or your dad.”

It’s a yes. I cuff a hand around my neck as if I can manually keep the vomit from coming out. “If you did to her what you did to me … and she’s going to be my stepmom, and my dad has probably put his mouth where you put …” I retch.

Jake pulls off the road. “Get out. Don’t you dare vomit in my truck.”