Another shiver moves through me and I curse the sun for setting so soon. Then I curse myself for not living in a place where the sun stays out all day and night during the summer. Like northern Russia. Or Alaska. Yeah, that’s how upset I am with the damn sun. I’m wishing I lived in frigid Alaska.
“You seem antsy,” Jack says.
From the way he reclined his seat when we crossed the Arizona / New Mexico border, I was hoping he’d fall asleep by sunset. No such luck.
I force my shoulders to relax as I roll my neck. “I’m not antsy. Just tired.” That’s not true at all, but explaining to Jack that his mere presence makes me think of sex would just make the descending darkness hotter.
“Perfect timing, then.” He moves his seat back up and stretches his neck. “Since it’s my turn to drive.”
I glance at him. “Seriously? I thought you were joking about that.”
“I never joke about blind people driving.”
The comfort I drew from his silence these past few hours instantly dissipates. “I am not blind.”
“Oh, really,” he says, pointing out the windshield. “Then why don’t you read that neon-green sign way up there?”
I squint at the freeway lights, all of which seem to be glowing. “I don’t see any green sign.”
“My point exactly,” he says. “Pull over.”
I continue searching and frown. “Knowing you, there probably isn’t a green sign at all. Don’t mess with me, Jack. I’m totally fine to drive.”
“There absolutely is a green sign and you are not fine to drive.” When I don’t respond he adds, “Please don’t be stubborn about this. I know your vision gets soft at night, like every light has a halo around it, and I know that makes it difficult to drive.”
Now that I think about it, it does look like there are halos surrounding every light on the freeway. But damn him, I’m still totally fine to drive!
All the blurry halos start to bleed into one another.
Ah, crap.
He sighs. “I know you’re used to doing things on your own, but this is one of those circumstances where having someone with you is actually beneficial. You don’t have to drive at night. It’s safer if you don’t, actually. But if you let me drive, we can cover more ground each day. Why don’t you take the next off-ramp and we’ll stop for some dinner. Then I’ll drive us for a few hours before we stop for the night.”
He’s right. I know it. And honestly, the bleeding halos are starting to freak me out.
“Okay.” I nod then veer right onto the off-ramp, cruising past a neon-green sign as I do.
Dammit.
I take the single exit road to a small strip mall of eating establishments, gas stations, and retail stores then park in front of a burger place. Getting out, we stretch our legs from the long drive.
Jack nods at the trunk. “Where are your glasses?”
I wrinkle my nose. “If you’re driving then I don’t need them.”
“Yeah, well I don’t feel like watching you squint at dinner just so you can see a menu, or your hand in front of your face.” He grins, fully aware that my vision isn’t that bad.
I smile sweetly. “Yeah. It would be a real shame if I mistook you for a salad and accidentally stabbed you with my fork.”
“A crying shame. Now get your glasses.”
“Oh, I’ll get my glasses,” I bite out, popping the trunk. “Not because you told me to but because I don’t feel like trying to decipher a glowing menu.”
“Right. Of course.”
Digging through one of my bags, I search for my glasses, expecting Jack to make some comment about the amount of luggage I have jammed in the trunk. He says nothing, however, and soon I find my glasses and slam the trunk closed, and we enter the restaurant.
It’s smells like onions and ranch dressing as we walk inside, which should gross me out but instead has me salivating. Apparently, lunch is a meal I should take seriously while on the road. We slide into the nearest booth and my skinny jeans squeak against the sticky red vinyl as I situate myself.
The waitress comes, takes our drink orders, then hurries away as I slip on my glasses. They’re horn-rimmed, hot pink, and studded with rhinestones at the corners—clearly the coolest glasses ever worn—but I still squirm as I move them over my face.
Jack watches me in amusement and I eye him sharply. “What?”
He cocks his head. “What’s your deal with wearing glasses? If you hate them so much why don’t you just get contacts?”
I push the pink frames up my nose with all the sass one can muster when wearing bedazzled glasses. “Oh, I have contacts. Purple ones, neon-green ones, copper ones that make me look like a hungry vampire… But those are for recreational purposes only.”