My Killer Vacation

“You’re not getting knifed. You’re getting wifed.”

I wring my hands on the steering wheel. “He changed his mind too fast. If he came and stayed with me, he would regret it eventually.”

“You know him better than I do, but he doesn’t strike me as fickle.”

“No. He’s not.” I chew my lip, my eyes continually straying to his giant, helmeted figure. “But he still has all these unresolved issues with his family.”

“Everyone on this highway has unresolved issues with their family,” he responds without a second’s hesitation. “Didn’t you say he called his brother?”

“Yes. Because I reminded him…because…”

“You reminded him what love feels like.”

“That was the adrenaline talking.”

Jude clearly wants to argue with me, but we spend the next few minutes in silence—save the rumble of the motorcycle engine behind us. “Look, I’m with you, T,” my brother says, finally. “Whatever you want to do, I’ll back you up. If you want to pull over and tell him to get lost, that’s what we’ll do.”

I swallow hard. “That’s what I want to do. It’s for his own good. He has a sense of misplaced responsibility for me and I’m going to set him free.”

“Okay, cool. Let’s do it.” He squints at the approaching highway sign. “Pull over somewhere I can get coffee.”

After driving another three exits, I spot some golden arches and take the off-ramp. Waiting to see if Myles will follow, my throat turns dry and my pulse moves at a breakneck pace. There is no mistaking the relief that washes over me when he guides his bike off the highway after us.

Okay. I can do this. I can be strong, rip off the Band-Aid and do what’s best for myself, as well as Myles. I’m definitely not going to get even more attached to this man, just so he can blaze off into the sunset in a month or two, tired of my crying jags and thrifty habits. That would absolutely kill me. I’ve only known him for five days and the prospect of never seeing him again was nearly unbearable. What would it be like after weeks? Months?

No. I’m not going to find out.

When I pull into the McDonald’s parking lot, Jude turns to me. “Do you want me here when you give the speech?”

“No. I can do it alone.” I take a deep breath. “Get me an iced coffee, please. I’m going to need it.”

“That’s probably an understatement.”

I don’t get a chance to ask my brother what he means by that ominous statement, because Myles rumbles into the spot beside me, switches off his engine…

And then he takes off his helmet, tossing back his mane of sweaty hair, biceps flexing as he hangs it over the handlebar. He grabs the hem of his shirt and lifts it, swiping sweat from his brow and briefly exposing his thick, muscle-packed stomach. Those sharp ridges shift with his movements, covered in a light sheen of perspiration. Oh my.

When my view of Myles is obscured, I realize my breath is fogging the window.

Shaking myself, I exit the car on suddenly gelatinous legs. I clasp my hands together at my waist and straighten my spine, as if I’m getting ready to address the parents on back-to-school night. “Myles, this is simply not necessary—”

A big hand settles on my hip, cutting me off. Scorching me through my dress.

“Come here,” he says in a low voice, drawing me forward. “I like what you’re wearing.”

“Oh.” My right hip meets his inner thigh and a hot shiver wracks me, blazing a path through my belly and straight down to my toes. “I…um. Thanks, but—”

“These aren’t vacation clothes, are they? They’re regular life clothes.”

“Correct.”

He leans in to peer at my neckline, so close I can taste the salt of his sweat on my tongue. My nipples tighten in response. Quickly. Painfully. And so, when he says, “Are those little pearls sewn into the collar?” in that guttural tone of voice, I almost climb up on that very large, very sinewy thigh and scandalize the McDonald’s parking lot.

“I…yes. I suppose they are.”

“Mmm.” He fists the material of my dress and tugs gently until my breasts are a mere inch away from his chest. “Should I expect you in prim and proper dresses like this year-round?”

I don’t understand the question.

I’m too busy counting the grains of his stubble. Even his ears are attractive. Why have I never taken the time to notice his ears before? Heat rolls off his big shoulders in my direction, making it necessary to curl my fingers into my palms before I do something unwise like trace the swell of his pectorals or brush back his long hair.

“What you’re thinking is in no way showing on your face, Taylor,” he says gruffly.

“Good,” I respond briskly. Until those words actually penetrate. “I mean…what?”

He uses his grip on my dress to tug me close, laying his mouth against my ear. “You’re beautiful, sweetheart. You’re so fucking beautiful.”