I was halfway there, until I met her.
I am looking forward to getting to know more about this beautiful and mysterious young lady as we traverse through the California highways and byways.
Quen
I nearly lost my mind back at that diner from standing in such close proximity to him. Not only is he breathtakingly gorgeous, but he smells so divine. And he’s so fucking wise—much beyond his youthful appearance. How old is he, by the way? It’s so not fair for one man to have all of that going for him.
I’m certain his girlfriend misses him.
If I were her, I would.
You better believe I was checking his hand for a wedding band. Still, when I didn’t find one, there was no cause for relief. No man this perfect is still unattached. Even the attractive but mediocre men are taken, for fuck’s sake. It’s going to take every bit of strength in me to maintain myself while being confined in a small car space with him for many hours. Maybe I can finally take that nap I’ve been longing for.
I meet Drew in the front of the diner with roller bag in tow. He immediately intercepts it from me. I sigh but decide not to argue. His mother obviously taught him well. He leads the way to a gorgeous gray two-seater classic car with a tan soft top.
“Nice wheels. A convertible?” I hum, beyond impressed.
“Thank you—yes.” He opens his trunk and places my roller bag inside. “It’s a 1961 Lancia Flaminia Cabriolet.”
A wha…? Whatever it is, this car is obviously a big deal for him.
“Believe it or not, it had less than a thousand miles when I bought it. The previous owner took especially good care of it, but he never drove it,” Drew brags.
I grin in amusement. Boys and their toys.
After shutting the trunk, Drew saunters over to the passenger side and opens the door for me. Before I can thank him, a sudden thought pops into my head.
“Wait a second—we didn’t get the check from our waitress.”
“I took care of it while you were in the ladies’ room.”
“Oh no,” I frown while reaching in my shoulder bag.
Drew places his hand over my arm to stop me from retrieving my wallet. “That’s not necessary.”
“What do you mean? You’re giving me a free ride to Carmel. The least I can do is pay for my own meal.”
“Like I said, it’s not necessary. You’re a cheap date.”
Cheap? I narrow my eyes at him.
“No—not like that.” He laughs.
I giggle. “That was low hanging fruit,” I tease.
“Yeah, it was.” He winks, making my knees buckle.
He’s too hot for his own good, I say to myself for the umpteenth time in less than two hours. I quickly climb inside before I swoon and fall flat on my face. He promptly shuts the door once I’m situated.
The interstate is such a time saver. You never really appreciate its convenience until some fuckhead Californian politician takes it away from you. I steal multiple glimpses of my ridiculously attractive and kind driver’s chiseled profile as we move along the state highways and major roads. The convertible top is down, so his naturally wild and thick dark hair blows in the wind, making it even more wild. Inside the dimly lit diner, his mane favored midnight. But kissed by sunlight, it now looks the same hue as creamy dark chocolate.
His allure abruptly makes me self-aware. Thank goodness I’m wearing a ponytail. Glancing at Drew once more, I am beyond grateful for the extended travel time. Take him all in, Quen. You’ll certainly never see the likes of him again.
As I wallow in my own self-pity, I ponder with certainty what type of boyfriend this Drew O’Brien guy is to the lucky gal back home. As far as I can tell, he appears to be the perfect gentleman based on the three hours I’ve known him.
No offense to Jake, but Drew’s manners are impeccable. Jake would open doors for me…when he remembered to do so. I think the issue with him was that we’d known each other for so long, most of that chivalrous shit eventually faded away. I think that happens with any relationship.
That’s why I was taken aback when Drew rose from his seat as I stood to head for the lavatory. He stood again when I returned to the table. When we left the café, he held both the restaurant and car door open for me. I wonder if he still does those chivalrous things for his girlfriend back home in San Francisco. I certainly hope so.
“Why are you so quiet?” he says, bringing my speculation to a grinding halt. I slowly turn my head in his direction. He flashes me an amused smile before shifting his focus back to the road ahead.
“No reason,” I say with a soft smile of my own. “Hey—San Francisco is south of here. Where were you traveling from before stopping in Weed?”
“Vancouver.”
“Vancouver, Washington,” I utter, more to myself than to him. My eyes flutter in surprise at the realization. He was just twenty miles east of my house. We probably left the area around the same time.
Kismet is such a hilarious bitch. I wonder if he drove past my Neon in Douglas County as it smoked up a storm on the interstate. It would’ve been nice if we’d known each other prior to today. Had I known he was driving to Cali…
“No, Canada.”
I suddenly feel like a dumbass. That’s right…silly me. There is more than one Vancouver, just like there’s more than one Ontario. How can I forget about our friendly neighbors in the north?
“Oh.” I’m now intrigued about the notion of him driving his car into a whole other country. I brave-up enough to ask. “What brought you there?”
He frowns and shrugs. “Just cruising.”
Just cruising? I don’t even try to hide my astonishment. A fifteen-hour drive one way is more than just cruising.
“You decided on a whim to hop in your nice little classic convertible and make the long ass drive from San Francisco to Vancouver, British Columbia…just to cruise?”
“I had an opportunity to meet with some potential business partners while I was there. And don’t forget, I plan on swinging by Salinas on the way home to meet with another partner.”
I laugh in amusement. “That’s thirty hours’ worth of driving—hell, even more now, due to the detour. What’s wrong? Couldn’t expense a flight?” I’m teasing. Of course, he can afford to fly. He founded his own company, if you believe what’s on his business card.
“Expense a flight?” he echoes with raised brows. There is no trace of humor evident on him. Perhaps he’s cheap, I think. My dad is a serious penny pincher. Maybe Drew is similar. Or maybe he’s just annoyed that I’m making assumptions without even knowing him. “No need for that,” he says. “I own two jets.”
My eyes bore into the side of his face.
He has a jet?! No—two?!
Well, McScuse me, Mr. Too-Hot-to-Trot.
Mr. Fuck Your Commercial Airlines.
What the hell do they do at DOB-Com, anyway? Whatever it is, they obviously do well enough to afford Drew O’Brien two planes.
Holy fucking shit!
Is he hiring?
I’m thunderstruck, but I pause my insane mental tirade to state the new question hovering over me.
“Why did you decide to make the long drive, when you have two jets?”