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.
Chapter 12
Natalie
The expression on his face is all I need to know. I came here with a bag packed but my mind not one hundred percent made up. This whole thing still feels crazy and reckless and has high potential for being a disaster. But ever since Monroe dropped me off that morning after my birthday night, I haven’t been able to think of much else.
I told my mom that I’d visit her sometime this summer but that I won’t be moving back in. It felt liberating.
And when I’d gotten that obligation off my summer agenda, I’d tried to make other plans. I’d looked for apartments. I’d skimmed through job ads online. But over and over again, I found my mind drifting to eating cupcakes under strings of lights and making out by the lake and riding a motorcycle with my eyes wide open. And Monroe. Always back to Monroe with his pretty eyes and badass tattoos and pig parts T-shirt. The guy who wasn’t going to let life sail by without him. The guy who chased bluebirds.
And so last night, I’d found myself packing a bag, putting in things a girl needs for a long road trip and camping and long walks on the beach. I’d even bought a new bikini.
But still, I haven’t been sure until right this moment, looking up and seeing his smile—the genuine joy on that too-handsome face. He’s been waiting for me.
He strolls down the driveway, and I lose track of what the older Hawkins is saying. Monroe stops a few paces from us, tucking his hands in his back pockets. “Hey.”
I feel a goofy-ass smile lifting my lips, and I can’t stop it. “Hey.”
“You’re here.”
“Apparently, I’ve lost my mind.”
He laughs. “Perfect. Sanity is overrated.”
The brother’s eyebrows disappear beneath his hairline, and he jabs a thumb toward the house. “I, uh, will go lock up. Nice meeting you, Natalie.”
“Same here. Thanks again for the discount on the car stuff.”
“No problem.” He pats Monroe’s shoulder as he passes him, and there’s a look exchanged between the brothers.
I have a feeling I’ve been given some stamp of approval.
Monroe moves closer, his hands slipping out of his pockets. “So . . . you have a bag.”
“I do. Is this still an open invitation or did you pick up some other girl off the side of the road to replace me already?”
He smirks. “That invitation was only for you, princess. Of course, if there’s not a skimpy bikini in that bag, then the deal’s off.”
“Will you settle for slightly skimpy?”
“Done.” He wraps me into a bear hug and kisses me soundly. “I can’t believe you’re actually here. And I can’t believe you waited until five minutes to seven to show up. Way to make a guy sweat.”
I laugh, a weird giddiness rising in me, like I’m filled up with champagne bubbles. “My sane side put up a good fight.”
“And then your crazy side decided I’m just way too good in bed to pass up.”
“Exactly.”
“Damn, Nat, I’m so freaking happy you’re here.” He kisses me again. “I can’t even be cool about it.”
I grin. “I know exactly how you feel. But listen, if we’re really going to do this, we need to set some ground rules first.”
He sets me down and puts on a serious face. “Okay. You’re right. There are probably things we should know about each other since we’re going to be trapped in small spaces together for a long time.”
“Right. I’ll go first.” I step back a little but keep my hands on his chest because I have this need to touch him after denying myself the privilege the last few days. “For road trips, I require beef jerky and Twizzlers at all times. And I have very high standards for public bathrooms, so I get to make the call on where we make pit stops. And I have an affinity for weird tourist attractions so plan on National Lampoon’s Vacation–style detours.”
“Like the largest ball of twine and shit?”
I nod, my tone grave. “Exactly.”
“I can work with that. Now my turn. Let’s get the biggest bomb out of the way first. I am a relentless morning person.”
I grimace. Ugh, mornings. “I’ll take that into consideration as long as you don’t expect me to be a morning person.”
“And I’m a complete control freak about driving—worst backseat driver ever.”
“I happily cede my feminist right to be behind the wheel.”
“We will go to restaurants that look like dives, but I promise you I’ve done my research and it will be worth it. And I will sometimes be completely annoying with my opinion on the food.”
“Understandable.”
“Also, I have more than one pig T-shirt.”
“I have more than one Justin Timberlake concert T-shirt.”
He puts a fist over his heart like I’ve stabbed him. “I think I’m out.”
I shove his shoulder. “Shut up. But, seriously, we should probably cover that, too. Music could be a deal breaker. That’s a lot of hours on the road.”
He grabs my hands and laces his fingers with mine. “Yes, this is serious. Here goes. Our fate lies in this. I hate hip-hop, techno, and modern country. I can tolerate some pop and like hard rock. Old-school country is good sometimes.” He bows his head. “And I have a deep, completely un-ironic love for eighties metal.”
I snort. “Seriously?”
“Yes, it’s true. Even the hair bands. My dad raised me on that stuff. Are you cutting me loose now?”
I use our linked hands to pull him against me. “You’re really lucky you’re good in bed because that . . . that’s just appalling.”
“You will learn to love it. I promise.”
“I’ll make you a deal. For every one of those songs I have to listen to, I will subject you to Katy Perry or Taylor Swift.”
“I accept this deal.”
He guides my arms around his waist, and I bury my face in his T-shirt. “God, Monroe. This could turn into such a disaster.”
His hands slide into my hair and he tips my face upward. His blue eyes are clear and earnest. “This is going to be amazing.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because you’re so good in bed.”
I roll my eyes. “Right.”
“It’s going to be amazing”—he takes one of my hands and puts it over his heart, right where his tattoo is—“because we’re chasing our bluebirds, Nat. And nothing feels better than that.”