Rough and Tumble (17 page)

The impetuous streak that had taken her over lately reared through her now, and she blurted, “I'm not ready to leave, Cash.”

He hadn't written any more on her since they'd started talking, and the pen dipped to the side in his hand.

His gaze . . . She was seeing the truth there, too, wasn't she? A bare confession of how much he wasn't ready to let her go yet, either?

Then he laughed softly, giving her that side-swipe smile she'd grown so used to. “Princess, I'm not staying around this vacation paradise. I'm hitting the road, remember?”

“I remember.” And the notion made her pulse quicken.

“Then what're you saying?”

Just let it out, Molly!

She forced herself to say it before she lost her courage. “Take me with you, wherever you're going.”

Usually, it was
her
mouth that fell open after
he
said something crazy. This time, it was his.

She blazed ahead. “I'm not talking about an extended road trip. Just a few days, because I have a job interview Monday. We could take in some sights, hang out until we got sick of each other, then I'd find my own way home. It's what I need—a few days away from everything. A few days of real freedom.”

When he sat up, she thought she'd overplayed her hand. And when he tensed, every muscle immovable, it was only confirmation of her fear.

But, dammit, he still had that look in his eyes—a yearning that had to be for her. She'd never been as sure about anything as this.

He glanced away. “You know I don't take baggage on my trips, Molly P.”

So
full of shit, and that actually encouraged her. “I travel light, Beauregard.” Now she sat up, boldly grabbing his chin and making him look at her. “Four days, that's all. It'd give me enough time to settle in at home before my interview. On Saturday, you can even just dump me off at the nearest travel hub, but until then?” She smiled. “Goddamn, we could have some fun.”

A laden second passed, and a tick of the hope that'd been gathering in her chest seeped out of her. Why had she even opened her mouth? She felt like a loser, the girl on the playground in the ugly clothes who everyone stared at and mocked.

But then . . .

Then he smiled, too, getting off the bed, going to her purse on the nightstand, and taking her cell out.

The half word he'd written on her belly beat on her skin as she got up to call her friends.

Freed
.

Hell yes, she was.

***

Sofia and Arden were surrounded by pink, orange, and white trimmings at Serendipity in the Caesars Palace courtyard. Roman columns were lit up nearby, the whir of traffic on the Strip accompanying the very satisfying decadence of pigging out on hot-fudge sundaes.

This was totally going in the blog.

When Molly's Mozart ringtone went off, Sofia dropped her spoon into her dish and sprang to her cell.

“Molly?”

Arden leaned over the table and loudly whispered, “Speakerphone!”

Sofia obliged since Arden had been such a good, nongambling girl, and since they were the only ones out on the patio, enjoying the misters floating relief into the waning day.

Molly's voice came through loud and clear. “Hey. Are you ready for the show?”

Arden said, “Yup. We're heading over in a few minutes.” Then she performed some whacked-out, good-spirited Frankie Valli dance move.

Sofia cracked up. No matter what Arden's faults were, this was why they'd be friends forever. Major fun. “Wish you could be here, Mol.”

No response from the other end. Sofia gave Arden an
okay . . .
look. Arden returned it.

“Are you ready to come back this early?” Sofia asked.

“Well . . . that's why I'm calling.”

Sofia slumped in her chair while Arden clamped down on a laugh. She shook her finger.

Told you so
. She'd been telling Sofia that Molly wouldn't be back before dawn this time.

“Can you please repeat that?” Sofia asked Molly sweetly—but not really so sweetly. “I don't think my phone is working right.”

Molly sighed. “You heard me. There's been a little change of plans.”

On a roll, Arden made a knocking gesture, and Sofia thought it might have something to do with two people who'd just had sex in a seedy motel room. Had Molly really . . . ? Jeez, yes, she had, and for the past couple hours, Arden had been extremely happy-happy-joy-joy about it.

Molly's getting her mojo
, she'd said after Molly had left them.
Molly's got her mojo by now
, she'd said not long after. But Sofia hadn't fully accepted it until this moment.

“Did you do it with him?” she asked.

“Duh,” Arden whispered. “They totally did it last night, too!”

On the other end of the line, Molly cleared her throat, but Sofia was pretty sure she heard male laughter right along with it. They were on speakerphone, too, weren't they?

Then Molly went on. “I've decided to take a break for a few days, see the sights around here.”

Arden crowed. “Some tour guide! Go, Cash.”

Sofia controlled her frustration. “I see Cash's newly formed pep squad over here isn't going to be any help.” She glared at Arden for good measure. “But it looks like I'll have to be the one who reminds you that you've gone whack-a-doodle.”

“Hardly, Sof.”

“You have a job interview soon, Molly! Do you remember wanting a job so you can . . . I don't know . . . live a decent life?”

“My interview's Monday. I'll be back before then.”

That male voice—damn Cash—sounded in the background, a mutter. Then Molly came back on.

“He said he'd even drive me back to San Diego.”

Arden did another joyful dance move in her seat.

Dork.
Yes, they'd both wanted Molly to shed her constricted skin, but like this? Taking a “trip” with a nearly unknown man?

The world had tilted on its axis, and Sofia didn't know what to make of it. All along, Molly had been like
her
—organized, levelheaded, reserved. Okay, there'd been moments of Arden-wildness in Molly, but what had happened on this trip? She'd become freakin' Lindsay Lohan.

Molly was speaking again. “I know you want to get back to San Diego ASAP, so could you do me a favor? Take my luggage with you and I'll get it when I'm in town again. And I'll make this up to you in a big way when I get back.”

Sofia brought the phone closer to her mouth to yell in it, but Arden grabbed it.

“We've got you covered, Mol. Are you sure you have everything you need?”

What kind of question was that? Molly even carried her birth control pills in her purse, “just in case.” The girl also hauled around a compact toothbrush and paste, extra undies, and cold cream, for heaven's sake.

“I'm good,” Molly said.

And . . . more low words from the Cash Campbell peanut gallery. Sofia still couldn't make them out.

Molly added, “We'll grab a few things from the store downstairs. No worries.”

“Who's worried?” Sofia said. “Molly, please think about this. Take the whole night to mess around if you want, and Arden and I will stay at the hotel until tomorrow. After you've had all your fun, we'll all go home together.”

“Sof,” Molly said, “thanks for the offer, but I'm all set. I love you. Same with you, Arden.”

“Me, too!” Arden said, even though Molly was obviously blowing them off. “Can you call every day, though? Morning, noon, and night?”

“You bet.”

“If you don't, we
will
get worried.”

“I promise, Ard.”

Sofia reached over to Arden and captured the phone, clicking it off without a good-bye and immediately regretting that she hadn't answered Molly with a “ditto.” What if she ended up dead in a ditch tomorrow? What if Cash kidnapped her and sold her into the sex trade?

What if Sofia never saw her again?

She almost called back to apologize, but Arden put her hand over Sofia's.

“Let it go,” she said.

She seemed so calm. How?

“Arden, what if—?”

“Every day is a what-if, Sof.” She tilted her head, sympathetic. “Molly said this is only for a few days, and she's a smart girl, right? We trust her judgment?”

“I used to.”

“Sof.” Arden gripped her wrist. “Let. This. Go. Trust her.”

Like I trusted you?
Sofia thought. But she didn't say it. She and Arden would have a lot to talk about on a five-hour drive home, so she saved all her questions about why she'd hidden her gambling issues and what else she might be hiding from everyone.

Arden added, “Haven't
you
ever gotten a wild hair?”

“No.”

Arden raised her hands. “Exactly! And that's because you're too busy holding on to guys like Roberto.”

Huh?
“What's that supposed to mean?”

Arden picked the spoon out of her sundae. “It means that no matter how many times he texts you, he's not interested.”

Sofia gaped. It was like Arden knew that Roberto had texted again an hour ago.
Wish you'd been at the concert
. What did that even mean?

But even more cryptically, what was Arden getting at?

After eating a bite of sundae, Arden pointed the spoon at her. “Roberto's playing with you. And you tend to get into those kinds of relationships anyway.”

“What kind?”

“The kind you can't let go of, no matter how shitty the boyfriend.” She dipped her spoon in the sundae again. “Learn to let go, my friend, whether it's with the Robertos of the world or with letting Molly go off on her own for a while.”

It was on the tip of Sofia's tongue to say,
Oh, just like
you
let go of your money in poker?
But no. Not productive.

Arden suddenly sat up in her seat, a new thought attacking her. “You know what tonight should be? Mission: Mojo for Sofia.”

“Because the mission for Molly worked out so well.”

“It did! Well, it will. Molly has that pepper spray and, let's face it—Cash ultimately came through for us. We can trust him, too.”

Was there a note of doubt in Arden's voice?

As Sofia stared at her, Arden broke down, letting her spoon clang into her dish.

“All right,” she said. “We're going to keep major tabs on Molly. And if she misses a call, we'll . . . Okay, then we'll take action. But we'll for sure trust her until then. Got it?”

Sofia stirred her ice cream, not answering, because
trust
wasn't exactly the first word that came to mind with her friends these days.

Molly had always wanted to have the window wide-open while zooming down the road, so she gave in to a whim—sticking out her hand to surf the air with it, cutting the breeze like a dolphin playing in waves.

Whenever she'd attempted to do this as a kid, her parents told her how dangerous it was, that there'd be a tree or another car or a pole in the road and—chop! That'd be the end of the hand.

But there was nothing but pure desert stopping her now as the Thunderbird roared up the blacktop on Highway 375—the Extraterrestrial Highway—where Cash had driven just because he said a road trip shouldn't have a true destination.

After a while, she pulled her hand back inside, rolling up the window so a Chris Isaak song about a blue hotel beat out clearly from the stereo. She knew her hair would be all over the place from the wind, but that was okay, because where she and Cash were, there was no plan, no future, only a present where neat hair didn't matter.

She turned on the air-conditioning, cuddling into the seat, angling toward him, and he winked at her in that sexy way of his, driving steadily toward mountains that were so far off in the distance that they seemed to be on another planet. The car passed Joshua trees, darting rabbits, and the occasional cattle grate that slowed their speed.

Molly sighed, barefoot and happy, her sandals on the floor. Her limbs felt stretched, well worked, since Cash had put them into positions unknown to her before last night. She and he hadn't even gotten a full hour of sleep with all the action in the hotel.

Skin burn from his kisses. Mouth bruised. Body sore.

Loving it.

She'd woken up alone, though, and at first she'd thought Cash had ditched her. But then she'd found a note, saying that she could lounge around until he got back from, of all places, a nearby mall, where he was buying her clothes. Molly couldn't believe it, and she was fairly certain that he wouldn't know her size. So she'd put on her dress, gone down to the gift shop for makeup, other essentials, a
Vegas, Baby!
T-shirt, and a wraparound skirt meant for the pool. Then she'd showered and gotten ready until he'd returned.

He'd unceremoniously dumped the contents from one out of two bags onto the bed: a new pair of jeans for him and more of the white Ts he favored.

“Gotta spruce up what I've got every once in a while,” he'd said before spilling out the final bag.

A couple of new sundresses, the filmy, summery kind she liked. And he'd gotten the size close to right, too. He'd also bought some pink, lacy underwear that must've caught his fancy, and she'd modeled it for him.

It hadn't stayed on for long.

Then they'd hit the road, ending up two-and-a-half hours out of Vegas now. At first, they'd traded quips about their favorite movies, music, and TV programs, which he didn't watch much. When he'd put on the stereo, Molly didn't protest—she wasn't about to irritate him by drowning him in questions about his life. She was good just being with him, listening to the twangy, smokey-room, alternative tunes, knowing that the boring Molly was miles away for the time being.

Cash was slowing down near a green highway sign on the desolate side of the road near some dry trees. As they came closer, she saw the words
Extraterrestrial Highway
nearly covered by stickers.

Clicking off the music, he pulled to a complete stop, cutting the engine, then looking at her. “Wondering why I brought you here yet?”

“It's a road trip. You said the point was to go where the flow takes you.”

He seemed pleased that she understood his no-suitcase way of looking at the world . . . and that she hadn't insisted on blabbing the whole way here.

But she had the feeling Cash wasn't the talky type unless he wanted to be, and she wasn't going to push it.

She hopped out of the car, saving him the trouble of opening her door for her, then went to the sign. The weather was hot, but not as bad as Vegas because of the elevation, and she brushed the hair off her neck. Out of nowhere, two jets flew overhead, screaming through the sky, only to leave white clouds behind along with a silence so pervasive that it was like sound didn't exist here in the backroads.

“Where'd those come from?” she asked.

“Nellis Air Force Base.”

“Makes sense that the Air Force would be near an extraterrestrial highway.” Then it hit her. She'd once read something about Nellis. “Are we near Area Fifty-One?”

“Yup.” He sauntered over to the highway sign, looking up at all the stickers, the barren breeze playing with his hair. “Know anything about it?”

“Just the basics. Government conspiracies, aliens, big secrets kept from the good people of the United States . . .”

“Area Fifty-One's a top secret government research, development, and testing facility. You can even drive near the gates, but the guards don't generally like to have looky-loos around.”

“What're they going to do—shoot us?” She laughed.

Cash didn't.

Molly widened her eyes. “Really?”

“Well, they wouldn't hold out their arms in welcome. But I don't trust the government in general, so I might not be the best person to sing their praises unless they come in the form of someone like Jesse Navarro.”

“Why do you trust him and not the rest of ‘the man'?” She used air quotes. Such a nerd.

Cash grinned. “Jesse fought on the front lines overseas and isn't a bureaucrat. Big difference.”

“The guards in front of gates aren't bureaucrats, either.”

He paused. “I suppose it's more about what the guards are keeping from us.”

“All those secrets in Area Fifty-One, right?”

Smiling, he shrugged, point made.

Mr. Anarchy. The Clyde to her Bonnie on this freewheeling road trip . . . except for the bloodshed.

She peered up at the sign, reading the rock ‘n' roll and surfboard and tourism stickers, a hash of things and places that made the sign a melting pot, kind of like Cash himself. Neither of them had rhyme or reason.

“Why're you such a rebel?” she finally asked.

“I'm not big on rules. Never have been. And this country's been coming with too many rules for a while now. That's not how it's supposed to be, and Jesse would agree.”

There was certainly a lot more to him than she'd ever predicted. “Did someone in authority put you in jail once?”

“Do I look like I belong in jail?”

She smiled innocently at him.

He chuffed, that breeze threading through his hair, the sun bringing it to an even lighter shade of brown. “I've been to juvie, but that was a long time ago. Just a bunch of kid trouble, raising hell, doing some shoplifting to impress a girl once. But I try to keep my nose clean nowadays.”

She wasn't very surprised. “Based on what happened at the Pink Ladies and then the Rough and Tumble yesterday, I'd say trouble seems to find
you
.”

“If you're referring to Leighton in particular, he's not trouble. He's just an inconvenience.”

He was so casual about knife-wielding greaseballs. “What're you going to do if he finds you?”

“He won't. Not unless he's way luckier than he is at the tables.” He lifted one eyebrow. “Leighton was just lucky this time that I left when he brought out that knife he carries. I wasn't about to keep you around for that.”

Protecting her again. A thrill danced through her.

“But if he does find you?” she asked.

Cash's gaze went dark. “Then he'd better hope I'm in a good mood.”

They went quiet, the wind whistling around them, stirring up dust at their feet, and Molly inspected the sign again, even though she wasn't really reading it now. Why did she get the general impression that Leighton wasn't the only reason Cash was on the road, that he left a lot of places for a different reason in life altogether?

She felt him watching her, and she snuck a glance right back at him. There it was again—that quiver-inducing longing she saw in him sometimes. And as soon as he realized she'd caught it, he fisted his hands, breaking eye contact.

Another feeling overcame her: the sense that he was somehow her guardian, that he was thinking about what might happen if Leighton did miraculously catch them when she was with him. Would he defend her as violently as he had at the Pink Ladies with that drunk?

She had no doubt, and the notion got her hot, like it always did.

But did she mean anything to him besides being a sex toy to guard until he was tired of the games?

In the midst of her thoughts, a loud bang sounded from the sky, and Molly startled, then held a hand to her heart.

“What was
that
?”

Cash grinned at her. “Sonic boom. They say those come from air pressure waves from supersonic jets.”

“Or maybe the aliens are landing.” She waved her fingers,
Ooo-ooo-ooo
, lightening the mood. “How do you know about sonic booms anyway? Did you read about them in the
Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy
or are they part of your Thunderbird's operation manual?”

“Cute. I've just heard the information in passing.”

“Damn, and here I was, hoping that your car could do cool things like fly and turn into a submarine.”

“Don't tease about my baby,” he said, glancing back at the Thunderbird sitting like chrome-and-cruel royalty in the sun. “She's sensitive.”

Oh, brother. Men and their cars.
“It must've cost you a pretty penny.”

“‘It'? Surely you mean ‘she'?”

“Jeez, yeah, ‘she,' then.” Should Molly be getting jealous about the other woman in his life?

Scratch that—his car was the
only
woman in his life, not Molly. She was as temporary as they came.

Cash was smiling at his car. “I won her in a game six years ago. Some collector was going to Vegas, and it was the first time I hit it big at the Rough and Tumble. I could've been gambling at one of the casino tables, since I'd recently turned twenty-one, but I found out that day the games were much more lucrative in the private back rooms.”

Six years ago?
Molly had already done the math, and she pushed the hair back from her forehead. “You're not even thirty, like me?”

“I won't be for a few years.”

Oh my God, she was robbing the cradle. She felt old and cougarish.

“Shit, Molly,” he said. “You only have three years on me.”

“Three years is like dog years to a woman!” She wasn't sure why it even mattered—maybe because she'd never gone for younger men. But Cash had a lot of mileage on him, and sometimes it seemed like he'd lived a lot longer than she had.

Just one more thing she hadn't known about him.

He laughed, walking back to the car, opening it and reaching in for her purse. Bringing it back to her, he said, “If you don't mind a suggestion from a whippersnapper, this might be a good picture to text Arden and Sofia for proof of life. That way, they won't worry that I've taken you someplace dangerous.”

“Like an alien battleground? The Rough and Tumble is child's play compared to this.”

She'd called Sofia and Arden this morning, and she was due for an afternoon touch-base message. Her friends had decided to stay an extra day in Nevada, booking a room in Green Valley, a suburb with some run-of-the mill hotels that didn't emphasize gambling for Arden, and Molly was sure they'd lingered because they thought she'd be coming to her senses about this trip sooner rather than later.

She dug in her purse, finding her phone, and handed it to Cash. “Would you do the honors?”

He obviously knew how to work the photo app because, after she posed under the high sign with a see-I'm-totally-okay! smile, he snapped a picture, then walked over and brought it up on her screen so she could see it.

“Aw,” she said at the sight of her saying
Cheese
beneath the sign and stickers. “But you know what would be even better?”

“A pic by the Area Fifty-One gate with you sticking your tongue in a guard's ear.”

“No.” She pushed at his chest, all solid muscle under her palm.
Mmm.
“A selfie with both of us in front of the sign.”

She'd never seen a tanned man blanch so fast.

“Cash,” she said, “it's not as if we'd be taking an engagement announcement photo.”

“I don't do pictures.”

He meant he didn't do smiley photo ops with women, wish-you-were-here encapsulations of happy moments.

Did he ever have happy, carefree moments with anyone he slept with?

She must have looked disappointed, because he cursed under his breath, got next to her, then bent down and put an arm around her while he helped her tip up the camera so the sign would be in the frame.

Snap
.

He didn't stick around to look at the result, merely going back to his car, the only “she” in Cash's life that had a permanent place.

***

After a strange early dinner at the Little A'Le'Inn Bar, Restaurant, and Motel, where it seemed the locals in attendance had eavesdropped on every word Cash and Molly said while eating their Alien Burgers, he was due for a smoke. Or maybe it was more appropriate to say he was due some time to himself.

He left Molly in the gift shop to investigate the alien baseball caps, alien dolls, and alien tequila and stood outside in the sun. But just as he fished out his cigarette pack and lighter, he hesitated.

He'd bought new Ts and jeans this morning, telling himself that it was about time to replace the old ratty ones. But the thought had crossed his mind that Molly might like the smell of the new duds since she didn't exactly dig his ciggie vice. So he put Bettie Page and the smokes away, getting out his phone instead.

Cigarettes only kept him busy, and he wasn't exactly bored now.

Dialing Jesse Navarro's number, he strolled around until he came into view of the mobile trailers that served as motel rooms for the Little A'Le'Inn. He'd already checked in to one, deciding that if Molly wanted the road experience, she was going to get it, even if the accommodations weren't exactly poolside, room-service, marble-and-gold-plate Vegas Strip quality.