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My mind immediately starts tallying up the measly contents of my bank account. Unless this place accepts Monopoly money, I can't afford it.
And I'll be damned if I'm letting Jett cover for me.
I open my mouth, ready to protest, but he cuts me off with a knowing look.
“Don't even think about arguing, darlin'. My treat. Call it gas money for the stimulating conversation.”
I want to wipe that smug grin off his too-handsome face, but I'm too tired to muster up a snappy comeback.
I settle for dramatically rolling my eyes as I slump back in my seat, watching the flat expanse of highway stretch on and on into the horizon.
I slide my sunglasses down off my head and onto my nose. “That's nice of you but unnecessary. I can sleep in the car.”
Jett's lips quirk. “My tour bus is luxury compared to the Mustang. Don't worry about it, Scar. I've got us covered.”
Swallowing my pride, I give a reluctant nod. “Fine. But I'm paying you back as soon as my new card arrives, got it?”
The corner of his mouth quirks up in a half-smile that does something funny to my insides. “You got it. I'll even let you cover the snacks for the drive.”
I huff out a breath, folding my arms. “Gee, thanks. You're all heart.”
Jett's half-smile does something funny to my insides. I turn to gaze out the window, a part of me not minding him handling this.
The car slows as he pulls into a gas station. He parks at a pump and kills the engine. “Need to make a call. Be right back.”
I absently watch the numbers tick higher on the pump. Eighty-seven bucks and climbing. A drop in the bucket for him. He strides toward the store, leaving me with my thoughts.
Minutes later, he reemerges, a plastic bag dangling from one hand. And is that...? Oh my god.
Jett's got a trucker hat pulled low over his shaggy hair and aviator shades obscuring his face. I bite my lip not to laugh.
“What the hell is that?” I wheeze out between giggles. “Afraid the paparazzi will catch you pumping your own gas?”
He lifts the brim and flashes me a crooked grin, looking utterly ridiculous yet adorable. Sauntering to my side of the car, he produces an identical hat. “Here, figured you could use one too.”
“Gee, thanks,” I say dryly, slipping the cap onto my head and adjusting it.
“Hey, I gotta lay low. I'm kind of in some deep shit right now and the last thing I need is our pictures plastered all over the tabloids.”
“Scandal? What scandal?”
He starts the engine, pointing us toward the highway. “Nothing I want to burden you with. Just a bunch of media garbage, as usual.”
Famous or not, he's just a guy navigating through the mess of his life. And for some reason, that makes him more real than before.
I smile, trying to lighten the mood. “Truckstop chic suits you.”
He chuckles, the sound easing some of the tension. “Thanks. Let's get back on the road.”
Guess there are worse things than being stuck in a car with Jett Silver. Even if he is annoyingly charming. And gorgeous. Nope, not going there. I'll blame the road trip delirium.
I peer out the window. We're passing through a small town, quaint storefronts and houses flickering by. Finally, Jett eases into a motel parking lot off the beaten path.
The motel looks simple but welcoming, with flower boxes under the windows and a cozy, old-fashioned feel to it. Definitely not the five-star digs I'd expect from a rock star. Color me surprised.
“Didn't peg you for the bed-and-breakfast type,” I reply, raising an eyebrow.
He shrugs, a half-smile playing at his lips. “I'm a simple man, Scarlett. Give me a bed and a shower, I'm good to go.”
