Nice Girls Don't Ride (7 page)

Natalie

I wander into Monroe’s living room, wearing a pair of his boxers and a T-shirt that has a picture of a pig with all the cuts of meat outlined on the body. I still can’t believe he’s such a food nerd. And I’m kind of sad that I’ll never get to taste his cooking.

I go into the kitchen to find a glass and get some water, taking in my surroundings since they were only a blur when we came in earlier. It’s a compact house but it has a homey feel to it—like it’s been lived in but loved. After I drink my water, I wander back into the living room where a plush leather couch and worn recliner take up most of the space. It would’ve been a perfectly nice couch to sleep on. I’m glad neither of us ended up there.

The pinkish-blue glow peeking through the front windows tells me it’s almost dawn. My birthday adventure will be over soon. And so will the magic of tonight. But I’m okay with that. I have no regrets.

Yesterday, I woke up thinking I had everything in place. Like that board game
Life
. My little car was on the set path, my peg person happily riding along in the passenger side to a predetermined destination. Today, all the game pieces have been thrown into the box, shaken, and then dumped out completely. I should probably be freaking out. Instead, I feel . . . relieved.

There’s something oddly freeing about not having a plan.

I let my fingers trail over the back of the couch as I make my way to the wall of bookshelves on the far side of the living room. One seems to be packed with a hodgepodge of novels, encyclopedias, and knickknacks. But the other is impeccably neat and organized. I scan the spines. Cookbooks. Of course.

There are so many of them—brightly colored new ones, faded older ones with worn spines, fat ones, skinny ones. I touch one labeled
From Canapés to Casseroles
. It looks more well-loved than the others. I imagine it having splatters on its pages and notes in the margins, marking the evidence that the recipe was tried.

“That one was my mom’s favorite.”

I jump, startled, and turn around. Monroe is leaning against the doorway to the living room, wearing only a pair of pajama pants, his hair sticking out three different ways. He smiles and nods at the shelf of books. “You’ve discovered my dirty addiction.”

I grin. “The truth is out.”

“I have three more boxes in my closet.
Hoarders
will be here any minute to interview me for the show.”

I look back at the shelf. “Have you cooked from all of these?”

“Nah, not all of them. Half of those were my mom’s. She suffered from the same addiction.”

“She’s recovered, I guess, if she gave them to you?”

He walks over and wraps his arms around me from behind. He sets his chin on my shoulder. “No, she died when I was nine. My dad held on to her stuff for me and my brother.”

My chest constricts. “I’m so sorry.”

I can feel him shrug against me. “It sucked. But I’ve made peace with it. She was a great mom. I was lucky to get nine years with her.”

The comment makes me sad all over again. “So was she a chef?”

“She loved to cook, but no, not a chef. She got pregnant with my brother too young and kind of got locked into the mom thing. So, she taught herself the old-fashioned way by cooking every recipe she could get her hands on. The month she worked her way through that casserole cookbook scared me off of cream of mushroom soup for life.”

I laugh, then put my fingers to my mouth. It seems wrong to laugh while we’re talking about his dead mother. But when I turn in his arms to apologize, he’s got a warm smile on his face.

“She always talked about one day opening a restaurant and how me and my brother could work in it with her. She wanted to name it the Bluebird Cafe because bluebirds are the symbol of happiness, and the kitchen was where she was happiest. But she got sick before our family ever had the kind of money to do something like that.”

I look down and put my hand over the bird on his chest. “So this is for her?”

“Yeah. And a reminder for me that dreams don’t wait for us. You have to chase them. Take your chances at happiness when you have them or you may not get more.”

I wrap my arms around him and lay my head against his chest, this melancholy feeling sweeping over me. “Your mom would approve of your summer road trip.”

He kisses the top of my head. “Well, all except the motorcycle part. If she was still around, she’d kick my ass if she knew I rode one of those ‘death traps’ and would be ticked that my brother is so obsessed with them, he opened his own shop.”

“You mom sounds very smart.”

He sniffs. “Yeah, you two would’ve gotten along well.”

I sigh and lift my head. The room is already brighter than it was a few minutes ago. “The sun is up. Time for things to start turning back into pumpkins.”

He tucks my hair behind my ears and cups my face. “Is the princess calling last night a fairy tale? I don’t think I’ve ever gotten to star in one of those.”

“So you usually just stick with starring in porn, then?”

He laughs and kisses me. “Well, there was some of that, too.”

“True. But seriously, thank you. I had an amazing night.”

“Back at ya, gorgeous. But before you give me my send-off, how about some breakfast? I cook a kickass French omelet.”

“You don’t have to—”

“Shut up,” he says and plants another kiss on me. “I’m cooking for you. No way you can trust the food at your place. The Evil Roommate probably sprinkled it all with rat poison.”

“You just want to show off your mad cooking skills.”

“True that,” he says, herding me into the kitchen. “My ego needs feeding. Prepare to be stunned and amazed.”

I smile. Because I’m already there. Stunned. And amazed. And a little sad now.

Because he’s not mine.

And this is good-bye.

At least it’s a really good omelet.

Monroe

There’s a BMW in the driveway when I pull in front of Natalie’s house. She lets loose a slew of colorful language from behind me. And I know immediately whose car it is. I want to cruise away and take her back to my house. Keep her from this. Keep her with me.

But, of course, I can’t. I’m leaving in a few days, and she has her own life to live. I’m not supposed to want to keep her. That’s not what this is about. And she made that clear when I asked her to spend the day with me today. I could already feel her shutting me out, closing that chapter of her life where my name appears on the pages. I was her wild-night adventure. Now it’s done.

I park at the curb. “Do you want me to go in with you?”

She releases a breath and presses her forehead against the back of my shoulder. “No, that’ll just make it worse. Maybe he just slept here with Rebecca to rub it in my face. As if I give a shit.”

“You don’t have to go in there, you know. You can hang at my place until he’s gone,” I say, hating that I’m probably coming off as clingy. What the fuck is wrong with me? I don’t cling.

“Thanks. You’re sweet¸ but I’m going to have to face this eventually. And I need to start packing. I’ve only got a few days to figure out if I’m finding a new place or heading home.” She gets off the bike and hands me the helmet.

“What do you think you’ll do?”

She gives me a half-smile and slips out of her heels on the sidewalk. “I have no idea. Maybe I need to be like you and say fuck it all and find a beach somewhere.”

“Or you can just come to mine.” The words are out before I realize it.

She stares at me for a second, looking a little dumbfounded, then seems to shake free of it with a quiet laugh. “Right. And interrupt the slew of bikini-clad girls that will be lined up for your entertainment? Even I’m not that mean.”

“Well, you’d be required to stay in a bikini for at least fifty percent of the day. So I wouldn’t need that line.” I don’t even know what I’m saying. A summer of half-dressed women is exactly what I’d had in mind for my vacation. But suddenly, that fantasy seems completely lame and . . . boring.

Natalie reaches out and touches my jaw. “You don’t have to do this, you know? Make me feel better. I’m all right. I know what last night was.”

I grab her hand and decide what the hell, why not be honest? What do I have to lose? Bluebird on the loose. Give chase. “I’m not trying to make you feel better. I’m being serious. If you’ve got no one counting on you for the summer, you could come with me. Creative writing is your thing, right? Instead of being stuck in one place trying to get inspired, why not go out and see the country? Imagine all the stories waiting out there for you.”

She’s watching me with this kind of wonder. “You’re being serious.”

“I am.” And I realize that’s the damn truth. I want to take her with me.

“You don’t even know me.”

“I know enough.”

She puts her forehead to mine. “You’re crazy.”

“Yep. Totally. Want to be crazy with me?”

“Monroe, God, I can’t just—I don’t know, flit off with someone I just met for the whole summer.”

“You can. If that’s what you want,” I say, and tip her face toward me to kiss her. “But I’m not asking for an answer now. I’m giving you an open invitation. I’ll have your car fixed and delivered to you by Tuesday. I leave on Thursday at seven in the morning. I want you to come. If you want that, too, meet me at my place. If not, I’m glad we had last night. I won’t forget it. Or you.”

Her eyes shine a bit at that and I’m worried I’ve made her cry, but she blinks it away and smiles. “You’re trying to wreck me, Monroe Hawkins.”

“No, I follow all traffic laws.”

She smacks my chest, and I catch her hand and kiss it.

“I’ll see you around, princess.”

She backs up onto the sidewalk, and her hand slips from mine. I pull away before I can hear her say good-bye.

Natalie

I must be delirious from no sleep and great sex because as Monroe rides away, I kind of want to cry. And call him back. And tell him yes. But even though I know I’m going to make some changes in my life, I can’t imagine that going on a three-month road trip with a guy I met less than twenty-four hours ago is a wise idea.

What if, by week two, we hate each other?

What if last night was a fluke?

What if . . . it’s amazing?

I put my hand over my eyes at the last thought.
Shut up, Nat. Get some sleep and get it together.
This is not an option
. Maybe I can just tell Monroe to look me up when he gets back in town, and we can see if our chemistry really means something more than a one-nighter.

I dig my keys out of my purse and head toward the front door, praying that the asshole formerly known as my boyfriend is curled up with the skank. I can’t handle him right now. But, of course, when I walk in, he’s on the couch in the living room like some overbearing parent waiting on the rebellious teenager to come home.

He gives me the up-and-down look, taking in my wrinkled dress and bare feet. “Seriously?”

For some reason, I find this comical. I want to laugh. I want to sing that P!nk song about the walk of shame. Something about looking like a hot-ass mess and wearing last night’s dress.
I’m walking, I’m walking
. I snort.

“Are you
drunk
?” he asks, his lip curling in disgust. “If that guy got you hammered and—”

“Shut up, Caleb.” I drop my shoes by the door. “I’m not drunk. I’m tired and want to go to my room without having to deal with you.”

He inhales slowly and releases a God-grant-me-the-patience sigh, pushing to his feet. “Fine, you’re right. That didn’t come out the way I wanted. I’m here to apologize. Any mistakes you made last night were my fault. I drove you to it.”

“Oh, how big of you,” I say, heavy on the sarcasm, low on the patience. “But the only mistake I made was not realizing how much of an asshole you are sooner. Anything that happened after that was far from a mistake. Best. Night. Ever.”

The expression on his face goes tight as he stalks over to me. He puts his hands on my shoulders and attempts a sincere look. “Listen. Nothing happened with Rebecca. After you left last night, I brought her home. Let’s talk about this. We can work on things.”

I shrug out of his grasp. “You think I care what you did or didn’t do with Rebecca? You two can have each other. Go wake her up for a morning fuck. I don’t care.”

His lips part. He’s probably shocked that I cursed. I usually keep that in check around him. He thinks it’s unladylike. “What did that guy do to you? I don’t even recognize you.”

I shake my head with a bitter laugh. “You never did, Caleb. That’s the problem. And what that guy did to me is none of your business.” I push up on my toes and get close to his ear. “But it was fucking
fantastic
.”

And with that, I stroll past him into my bedroom and shove the door closed behind me.

The reflection in my dresser mirror greets me from across the room.

I don’t recognize that rumpled, confident, smiling person either.

Hello, Me. Meet the new girl.

Monroe

“Is that all of it?” my brother asks, tossing a duffel bag in the back of the van.

I check the clock on my phone. Not for the first time. “Yeah, all I’ve got left is hooking up the trailer for my bike.”

Will braces his hand on the roof of the van and leans in. “You did a damn good job on this, little bro. Though, you should’ve kept the blue shag carpeted walls. That shit was awesome.”

“No fucking way. I would’ve felt like I was sleeping inside of Cookie Monster.”

He snorts and pushes off the van. “You got all the food out of the fridge?”

“Yeah, there’s a box of stuff from the pantry on the counter. Take what you want and ditch the rest. You sure you don’t mind keeping an eye on the place?”

“I’ve got it covered. No worries.”

“Cool.” The house is the one we grew up in, so I know he knows all its quirks and the things that could come up.

He closes the rear door and turns to me, arms crossed, that I-am-the-all-powerful-all-knowing-big-brother look on his face. “What’s with you? You’ve been talking about this trip nonstop for the last few months and now you look like you’re on the way to a funeral.”

I shrug. But the move feels stiff, forced. “I’m fine. Just didn’t get a lot of sleep. I’ll be good once I get some caffeine.”

His eyes narrow, but he doesn’t push me on it. “I’ll take care of hitching up the trailer. You go inside and make sure you didn’t forget anything.”

I tuck my phone in my pocket and go back into the house, knowing I need to get my head out of my ass. I have three months ahead of me. No obligations. No work. And a different view every day. Being in a shitty mood because a girl isn’t as insane as I am is pointless. I know what I’m doing is out there. And the fact that I asked a near stranger to come with me probably makes me certifiable. So why should I be surprised that she isn’t on board?

God. I’ve turned into one of those
Hey, Girl
memes everyone’s always posting on Facebook.
Hey, Girl. Get in my van. I’ll show you the country while I feed you delicacies from greasy spoons.

Lame.

No wonder Natalie bailed.

I wander through each room, checking and double-checking everything, then grab my backpack. Enough of this crap mood. I just need to get on the road and put all this drama in my rearview. Hanging around is only making it worse.

I step outside, closing the door behind me, and am happy to see the trailer all hooked up and my bike already on it. Excellent. Time to roll.

I look for Will, but he’s no longer in the garage. Voices drift from behind me, and I turn around. My brother is laughing about something. I set my backpack down and step around the front of the van. At the end of the driveway I see my brother. And a girl.

My
girl.

Something inside me loosens.

She came.