We collapse together, laughing.

“Next time, I’m booking the rooms on both sides, too,” Dash promises. “Then you can scream as loud as you want.”

Next time…

I like the sound of that.

I roll away and grab a robe. According to the GPS, we just have one more day of driving ahead of us. “Shower?” I ask, heading for the bathroom.

Dash grins and scoots out of bed. “You really are insatiable.”

“I didn’t mean that!” I protest, but he scoops me in his arms and carries me into the bathroom.

“Well, I did.”

After two more soapy orgasms that our next-door neighbors definitely heard, we check out and go grab breakfast at a cute little 50’s-themed diner down the block. It has red vinyl booths, grumpy waitresses, and Elvis crooning about hound dogs on an ancient jukebox. In other words, perfection.

“Easy there, tiger,” Dash watches in amusement as I inhale the pancakes in front of me. “What happened to sharing?”

“I’m famished.” I grin. “Someone helped me work up an appetite.”

“Well, if I’m taking credit…” Dash flags down our server and orders another portion, then leans over for a syrupy kiss. “You’re going to need your strength.”

“Am I now?”

“Mmhmm,” he kisses me again, a kiss that gets deeper and steamier, until I’m gasping by the time I pull away.

In time to see a row of familiar faces staring at us through the windows. Our neighbors from last night.

“Umm, Dash?” I blurt, blushing.

He looks at the scandalized parents and sends them a big wave. Mom and Dad glare at us, grab the kids, and drag them away—past the doors and down the street as fast as their little legs can carry them.

“Their loss.” Dash grins. “These pancakes are great.”

His phone buzzes, and he checks the message.

“Let me guess,” I say. “The Mavericks are wondering when you and your luck will be back?”

He shakes his head slowly, and I know him well enough by now to see the little crease on his forehead. “What’s wrong?”

Dash winces. “Zelda. Wishing us safe travels… And wondering when I’m going to pop the question.”

“Oh. That.”

The bite of pancake I’m chewing suddenly doesn’t taste as good, as if the reminder of our scheme sucked all the flavor out. I gulp a big swig of coffee to wash it down. “What are you going to do?”

He sighs. “I figure we should give it at least a couple weeks, and then… You can dump me and leave me brokenhearted. Hopefully, she’ll take pity, and not ask too many questions.”

“Excuse me?” I protest lightly. “I did not agree to be the cruel heartbreaker in this scenario, that was never part of the deal.”

He smiles. “Okay, okay, I take it back. How about I tell them that I discovered your love for cheesy Bon Jovi songs, and it was the last straw?”

I gasp theatrically. “How dare you malign my playlists? I’ll have you know, John Francis Bongiovi Jr. is an unheralded lyrical genius.”