“Wait,” I say, searching in my bag. I pull out my chunky sunglasses, and a silk scarf that I tie around my hair. “OK, now I’m good to go.”

He grins over at me from behind the wheel. “Anything else, m’lady?”

“I’ll let you know,” I sit back with a happy sigh. Two days of road-tripping with Dash, and no more having to lie to anyone?

Seems pretty perfect to me. As long as I can keep all those pesky feelings in check, that is. But the great thing about driving, is that feelings aren’t on the agenda: We spend the next five hours bickering over the music, eating road-side junk food, and talking about everything under the sun.

“… It can be a frat house sometimes, but we’re like brothers that way.”

Dash is telling me about his buddies and their bar. Bars, plural now.

“So if they do the business side, construction, booze… What do you bring to the mix?” I ask, curious.

Dash flashes me a grin. “My good looks and natural charm, obviously.”

I laugh. “Well, yes, but how does that build you a nightlife empire?”

“I don’t know,” Dash pauses, looking back at the road. “I guess I’ve always just had a feel for things. Promotional ideas, people to hire… I can just see the direction to go, you know?”

“Your instincts,” I nod.

“Or luck.” He shrugs. “Whatever you want to call it. My dad always said, it’s better to be lucky than smart.”

“What?” I protest. “But luck is out of your control. It could change at any minute!”

“Exactly. That’s why you have to be ready to seize the opportunity when it comes your way.” Dash gives me another smoldering look.

“Any opportunities on the horizon?” I ask, flirty.

“Only if I’m very, very lucky.”

“Well, we’ll have to see about that,” I reply, as if I’m not breathless just from that wicked look in his eyes.

Because I know that look. I saw it right before he sank to his knees last night.

And he wasn’t the one getting lucky after that.

My pulse kicks, and I fidget in my seat. Suddenly, I’m painfully aware of Dash’s body beside me. The tanned sinews of his forearms stretching from under those rolled-up shirtsleeves… The easy lean of his torso.

A torso I’ve had pressed up against me. Solid and hard.

I swallow, turning the AC up. “Hot, isn’t it?”

“The joys of Florida.”

“Don’t you mean, Georgia?” I ask, checking the GPS. I begin to regret the whole ‘driving’ portion of this trip. The one thing about a road trip, is the driver has to keep his hands on the wheel at all times.

I see an exit up ahead. “Why don’t we take a break, grab a snack?” I suggest innocently, as if the only snack I need isn’t sitting right next to me.

“Sounds good.” Dash turns off the freeway, and soon we’re pulling up at a gas station.

I get out of the car and stretch, yawning. It’s afternoon, now, and my thoughts turn to the night ahead.