She spread her legs and Dylan settled between them. They kissed hungrily, and his hands roamed wherever they could reach until he suddenly stilled. Joy could feel him poised at her entrance. She felt the weight of him, but he didn’t move. His body shook.

She smoothed the hair away from his face. “What is it?”

He swore. “Condom.”

“You don’t have one?”

He closed his eyes and shook his head.

She drew up her knees, opening herself wider. He slid in an inch.

His eyes snapped open. “Joy,” he warned.

“I’m on birth control, and I’m . . .”—her cheeks flared hot—“I’m clean.”

He dropped his forehead to hers. “Same, I swear.”

“It’s okay. This is okay,” she whispered. “We’re okay.”

Dylan groaned. He arched his hips, pressing into her. They didn’t kiss as he pushed his way in but breathed each other’s air and reveled in the feeling of Dylan fully seated inside Joy.

She moaned, and Dylan kissed her collarbone, her neck, her chin, her lips.

“Best side trip ever,” she said.

“Best feeling ever.”

“Better than jumping off a bridge?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely. God, Joy, you feel incredible. This is . . . I can’t—” He choked up.

She lifted his face so that they looked each other in the eyes. “You can’t what?”

“I can’t . . . I mean, I never—I can’t find the fucking words.” He laughed at himself. Drew out, pushed back in. They both groaned. He briefly closed his eyes before locking on hers. “This feels different with you.”

Those were good words. “It feels better,” she whispered.

“God, yes, much better,” he murmured. He threaded his fingers into her wet hair and his mouth landed on hers. He then started to move. Long, drawn-out strokes that stole a piece of her heart with every thrust.

The shower ran in the bathroom, the weatherman droned on at low volume on the TV, and the rain poured outside the window. Eventually, the storm cleared, but neither suggested checking out of the hotel and getting on the road. They stayed in bed, exploring their bodies the way they’d explored their minds while on the road.

At some point, Dylan pulled himself away and turned off the TV and shower.

“I don’t want to know what that water bill will be,” Joy joked when he returned to the bed.

“Me neither.” He chuckled, lying on his side. He bunched the pillow under his head.

Joy rolled to her side, facing him. She traced the sunburst tattoo. “Always heading west,” she murmured. Soon, the sun would set on their trip and he’d head back west. She’d stay east. And like a map with a circled starting point, she let her mind go there, to where her journey began. To Judy.

“I can’t help but think that I wouldn’t be here if . . .” She let her voice trail off. Her expression turned sad.