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I circle the house and throw my bags in the truck bed, pulling open the door.

“Coen.”

Startled, I turn on my heel. Sabrina stands on the porch with a big leather duffel bag in her hand. She’s stunning, takes my damn breath away. Her hair is piled in a messy bun on her head, bangs hanging around her face that looks like she just scrubbed it. She’s in her boots, those jean shorts I can’t take my eyes off of, and a white t-shirt that says The Man in Black across it.

Does this mean what I think it does? My heart skips a beat.

“Yeah?” I manage.

Her lips part, eyes huge. “I’m coming.”

It takes a second to process that. Then, I can’t bite back my smile as I cross the driveway and reach for her bag. She hands it over, biting her lower lip.

“You mean that?” I ask.

She nods. “Yeah, but I haven’t told my dad, so we better get going before he sees us. He’ll take you out with the shotgun, famous or not.”

I laugh out loud, and she shushes me and darts down the steps. Excitement is palpable, almost contagious. A second ago, I was downright depressed, and now, I’m walking on air. I didn’t realize how badly I wanted this to happen.

I put her bag in the back seat. She’s already in the passenger side when I slide behind the wheel.

“One last time,” I say, the engine rumbling to life. “You sure?”

Her bright eyes snap to me. “Very sure. Let’s hit the road, cowboy. I’m ready to go.”

I laugh, spinning the truck around and hitting the gas a little too hard. Gravel spins out as we rumble down to the road, and then we’re speeding down black tar with yellow lines flying by. The sun crests the mountains. She flips her sun visor down and sets her purse on the ground, kicking off her boots and pulling her legs up to sit cross-legged. I glance over at her, at her bare thighs, the faint tanned strip of her belly.

God, she is beautiful.

My foot presses down. It’s warm enough to roll down the windows, so I do, and she lets her head fall back as she puts her arm out the side.

“Play something,” she says.

I hit the volume button, and the last song I was listening to starts playing. She turns her head to the side, smiling so wide, it’s giving her the prettiest creases around her eyes and mouth.

“Dancing in the Dark? Really?”

“It never gets old.”

“No country this time?”

“I’ll always have a special place for Springsteen.”

She shakes her hair back. “Would you be shocked to know I've never listened to this album? I only know a couple songs off it.”

I almost drive off the road. “Well, today is the day to start.”

Neither of us speak for a long time. After a while, she rolls up the window and turns to me, curling up one leg and letting the other hang. She’s got a little gold anklet around her leg, and it’s driving me up the wall. There’s no way we’re not getting through this road trip without fucking at least once.

I glance sideways.

More than once, I think I need to pull over.

“Can we get coffee?” She’s still ecstatic.

“Sure thing,” I say, hitting the map on the dash. “What kind you want?”

“Anything. I love shitty gas station coffee.”