And that’s when Vern opened the driver’s side door to find Dalton holding his hands up like pretend hooves and me rolling side to side in the back seat laughing and trying not to pee my pants.
“You two,” Vern said, shaking his head like an embarrassed dad.
“Peaches brings out my crazy side,” Dalton explained.
Vern asked gruffly, “What are you doing up here in the front?”
“Well… there’s no privacy glass between the seats in this truck, and if I’m back there with Peaches, she’ll do something CRAZY like stick her hand down my pants—”
“Never!” I shouted.
Vern held his hand up to quiet both of us. “I’ve heard enough, Mr. Deangelo. Shall we proceed to the first location on the itinerary?”
“Yeah, hit the gas, man. Drive it like you stole it.”
Vern started the engine and turned to face Dalton, a questioning look on his face.
“What? It’s an expression,” Dalton said. “I did not steal this truck, honest.”
“Then why is there no tag on the keychain? No rental brand?”
“Because I rented from the cool place, for cool people.”
“There’s nothing cool about car rental agencies, sir.”
“But we’re in San Francisco, where everything is rainbows and unicorns and cool stuff.”
“That would be an excellent slogan for the postcards, sir.”
“Sarcasm!” Dalton turned and peered back at me, his eyes wide. “Vern, you’re being so sassy today. Peaches has been a bad influence on you.”
Vern steered the truck over to a security checkpoint, and then on to another road that looked like it would lead us to a freeway.
The two of them continued to argue lightheartedly about whether or not Vern was usually sarcastic, and how much I could be to blame for anyone’s behavior. I got my phone out and sent some photos and a text report back to Shayla, who was just getting out of bed.
She didn’t know about the engagement, and I felt bad not telling her.
Shayla: Why San Francisco? Has he told you why?
Me: I’ll let you know when I figure him out.
Shayla: He’s a really good actor. I don’t think you’ll ever get anything out of him that he doesn’t want you to know.
Me: I have my own methods and plans.
Shayla: Do tell!
Me: He’s pretending we’re just casual friends with benefits, but Vern told me he has real feelings for me, and I’m going to make him admit it.
Shayla: LOL! Good luck with that.
Me: We could have a moment. I just have to shut up and look pretty. Maybe by candlelight?
Shayla: He’s never going to give you what you crave. You know I’m Team Adrian now. Unless Keith Raven comes back from Italy.
Me: Adrian is really great.
Shayla: I’m going for brunch with him and Golden. Doesn’t that make you jealous? Don’t you want to fly back here and claim that tall freak as your personal pleasure partner?
Me: If Dalton doesn’t give me a little piece of his heart this weekend, maybe I will.
Shayla: Piece of his heart? Excuse me while I barf.
Me: Any advice?
Shayla: Got any unexplored holes to offer?
Me: You know I don’t.
Shayla: Fuck. I guess you’ll have to talk to him or whatever.
Me: We could talk about our feelings. I can’t believe I just wrote that.
Shayla: You could tell him about the you-know-what.
(I knew she meant my pregnancy, and how I almost died when I went into labor at a very stupid fifteen.)
Me: I want him to open up, not run away screaming.
Shayla: Honesty is a two-way street, sweetie.
Me: Stop making the I’m-right face. I can tell.
Shayla: I’m also doing your I’m-right dance.
We exchanged a few more messages saying goodbye, and I put away the phone. Vern and Dalton were busy figuring out driving directions and the vehicle’s navigation system.
The conversation with Shayla could have gone better. I didn’t like the idea of her having brunch with Golden and Adrian, and I didn’t care for her suggestion to tell Dalton my secret.
I pulled out my compact and freshened my makeup. One thing I felt good about was my new plan. No matter what it took, I would get Dalton to admit the engagement was about more than saving his career.
CHAPTER 17
Our first stop in San Francisco was at Pier 39, where we got to see the sea lions hanging out near the wharfs. They were actually a noisy group, grunting and barking at each other.
Dalton was feeling the chill in the air, so we went looking for a souvenir shop.
“No wonder you’re cold,” I said, poking at his shirt. “You’ve got holes all through here, and this fabric is crazy thin. Did you get this shirt off a hobo?”
“Maybe.”