“Great,” I murmur under my breath, taking my sunglasses from where I’d hooked them into the collar of my shirt and, removing my spectacles, I slide the tinted glasses over my tender eyes in a petty attempt to avoid making eye contact with him. Picking up my bag, I hesitantly walk down the steps, watching the ground as I cross the front yard.

“Morning,” he offers, his voice gruff as he takes my carryall from me, placing it into the truck bed next to his duffel bag.

I could be the bigger person, apologize for my actions last night, and we could both move on and have a wonderful day. But I’m not the bigger person. I never have been. I’m as stubborn as a mule. And suddenly my maturity level is nonexistent as I say nothing, ignoring him with my chin held slightly higher in the air while I walk around to the passenger side.

Inside, the truck is silent as I struggle to get myself comfortable while composing what little dignity I have, quickly fastening my seat belt. But then Harley opens his door and climbs in, and I’m immediately hit with that same insufferable scent as it inundates the confines of the tiny space, swirling around me, and it only helps in reminding me of last night. I roll my eyes beneath the tint of my sunglasses, shaking my head as my subconscious reminds me: three excruciating hours.

Without saying a word, Harley starts the engine, and I’m thankful for the sudden onslaught of music drowning out the painful silence. Even if it is Mötley Crüe.

***

Our first stop is unexpectedly only about thirty minutes out of town, and I glance up from my book, looking out the window at the gas station we’re parked at in the middle of nowhere, confused as to why we’ve pulled over.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, looking at Harley as he unfastens his seat belt. “Are we out of gas?”

“I need to piss,” he grunts.

“Charming,” I quip, quirking a brow.

Ignoring my comment, he opens his door and slides out, and I expect him to slam it shut in my face without so much as another word. But then he surprises me. “You want anything from inside?” he asks without looking at me.

This time I ignore him, looking back down at my book. The slamming door follows a heavy sigh and after a moment I slowly lift my head, watching as he hurries across the lot and disappears inside. I relax back in my seat, releasing what feels like the first breath I’ve taken since we left my house. For the last half-hour I’ve been pretending to read a damn book, when in actual fact I haven’t even turned the first page. I’ve been far too consumed with Harley. From the dramatic sighs I’m almost certain are for my benefit only, to the way he’s been obviously glancing at me every few minutes. His hands have been gripping the steering wheel so tight I’m surprised he hasn’t lost feeling in his fingers.