Driving Her Crazy (5 page)

“Oh. No, thank you. I couldn’t…”

“Yes, you can. It’s…” He glanced down at her perk and alert breasts. “Distracting…”

She gasped and slapped her hands over her chest. He chuckled and took the offensive gag-gift shirt, raising his arms to slip it on. She got another quick glimpse of washboard abs and a trail to what she was sure was a very ample treasure disappearing into the band of his jeans. Then the shirt he’d removed hit her in the face, enveloping her in the warmth leftover from his body and the scent of some strong, pine-based soap, along with a hint of motor oil. And damn, if that wasn’t the manliest thing she’d ever smelled in her life.

“Thank you…but how am I supposed to…I mean…”

“Just switch them out real quick. There’s no one here but me. And I promise I won’t look.”

Sure. She’d heard that one before. Well, she hadn’t, but still… Cherice muttered a quick curse under her breath and looked out the window to make sure no one was about.

“Turn your head,” she ordered him.

He rolled his eyes but did as she asked. She whipped her wet tank over her head and pulled his shirt on as fast as she could. She nearly groaned in pleasure as the material settled over her. The shirt drowned her, but she snuggled into it, thankful to be dry again.

“Good to go?”

She nodded and put her seat belt on.

He grabbed his hot dog—at least she thought it was a hot dog. It was covered in too many condiments to tell for sure. Sausage, maybe. Meatballs? Whatever it was, he sank his teeth into it with a moan of pleasure that put more naughty thoughts into her head until she focused on the oozing pile of vinegary slop on top of it. He chewed, oblivious to her revulsion, pulling out of the gas station and back onto the road.

“That is so disgusting. I don’t know how you can eat that.”

“It’s delicious. Didn’t you get any snacks?”

“No, I wasn’t hungry.”

“You sure? Unless you want to get some lunch somewhere it might be a while before we stop again.”

“I’m sure.”

“Okay.” He leaned over and rummaged through his bag. “Here.” He handed her a water bottle and a granola bar. “Just in case.”

“Thanks.” She was a little hungry, but the thought of eating anywhere within a fifty-mile radius of the cesspit of a gas station made her stomach curl into the fetal position.

“You sure you don’t want a bite?” he asked, waving the mystery meat in her face again.

“No,” she said, firmly shoving it back at him. “Thank you. It’s revolting.”

“Ah, how do you know if you won’t try it?” He shoved it at her again. “You haven’t eaten all day. You’ve got to be hungry.” He waved it under her nose. The vinegar stench of the ketchup, and whatever else was mixed in, made her stomach turn. Since it didn’t seem to be raining so hard right now, she rolled down the window, hoping the fresh air would help.

“Do you have to wave it in my face?”

“I don’t have to…”

“Are you amusing yourself?”

“A little bit, yeah,” he said, aiming for her nose again.

The smell hit her again and she grimaced. She batted at his hand and a huge dollop of ketchup landed with a plop right on her chest.

Nathaniel froze for a second, then smiled with sheepish vindication. Like he was happy she’d gotten smeared but felt bad about being happy. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to spill on you.”

Cherice closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the headrest. She wondered what Nathaniel would do if she opened the door and just jumped out. It might be preferable to riding the rest of the way to New York in the same car with him. It was definitely preferable to what she’d deal with once she got to New York.

“That’s okay,” she said, perking up a bit. “It’s
your
shirt.”

“Ah damn.”

Cherice had the almost overwhelming urge to stick her tongue out and say “nee-ner nee-ner,” but she managed to keep it to a smug grin.

“Here,” he said, handing her a travel pack of baby wipes.

“Where did you get those?”

“I grabbed some at the gas station. I always carry some with me. Very handy.”

Her heart fluttered a little. He carried baby wipes with him. That was ridiculously cute. And the reason he carried them was probably for his son and she had no right to be fluttering over anything Nathaniel related.

She cleaned herself up as best she could. Good thing the shirt wasn’t hers because there was no saving it. Something mixed into the condiments was greasy and lingering. A more pressing issue was the faint leftover vinegar smell that was mixing with the baby-powder scent of the wipes into a noxious cocktail of fumes that made her already wobbly stomach balk. The icky squishiness in her shoe wasn’t helping. She took it off, wiped it down with a baby wipe until it was as clean as she could get it, and then hung it out the window.

“What are you doing?”

“Drying my shoe. It got soaked in parking-lot water.”

“It’s going to start raining again.”

“So I’ll bring it back in when it starts.”

“You’re going to drop it.”

“No, I won’t.”

Nathaniel shrugged. Cher leaned her head back against the head rest and closed her eyes.

“Are we there yet?” she muttered.

Nathaniel’s laugh turned to a curse and the car jerked to the side and then bounced over a pot hole. Cher’s hand smacked against the door of the car, knocking her heel out of her hand. She shrieked and brought her hand back inside the car, sans shoe.

“You did that on purpose!”

“I didn’t, I swear. I didn’t even see the pot hole.”

“Yeah, right.”

“I told you you were going to drop it.”

“And then you made sure I did!”

“I didn’t tell you to hang your shoe out the window. In fact, if you’ll recall, I told you
not
to do that.”

“You…I…
grrrr
.” She sat back and crossed her arms over her chest, wondering how much prison time she’d get if she took the other shoe and clubbed him with it. “Don’t talk to me.”

Nathaniel’s lips twitched. If he laughed she was going to do it, and to hell with the consequences. She doubted any judge would convict her.

“Suit yourself,” he said.

She ignored him and turned around in her seat to dig into her suitcase for her spare pair of shoes. Her specially ordered wedding shoes, dyed to match her dress, and adorned with a rhinestone peacock feather, still sat nestled in her luggage. But dig as she might, she could only locate one of her other shoes. She closed her eyes with a groan.

“You didn’t happen to pick up another shoe that looks like this one when we were repacking my bag, did you?”

Oz glanced at it. “Nope. I only picked up clothes. No shoes.”

Cherice focused on drawing long, slow breaths into her lungs. No way did she just pull a Cinderella at some godforsaken gas station in the middle of nowhere.

“What’s the problem?” Oz asked. “You didn’t grab it, either?”

“No. What am I supposed to do without shoes?”

“Don’t you have more in your suitcase?”

“Just the shoes for the wedding. And there’s no way I’m wearing those. My mother had to special order them to match the bridesmaid’s dresses. If they get ruined, she’ll kill me. So all I’ve got is the one heel I’ve got on and this,” she said, holding up a black patent-leather ballet flat.

“So just wear one of each.”

“Seriously?”

“What?” he asked, his face a total blank. Either he was an incredible poker player, or he really had no clue why his suggestion was ridiculous.

“I could probably overlook the fact that they are different colors, but since you obviously didn’t notice,
this
one,” she said holding up her foot as best she could, “has a four-inch heel and
this
one is a flat!”

“And?”

“Nathaniel!”

“Oz.”

She gripped the shoe to keep from throwing it at his head. It wouldn’t be good to bean the guy driving the car. “Don’t start with that again!”

Nathaniel grinned at her and reached back to rummage in his magic bag again. “Here.”

He tossed a pair of men’s size-fourteen flip flops on her lap.

“You’ve got to be joking.”

He shrugged. “Better than nothing.”

“Why do you even have these?”

“I always wear flip flops in hotel showers. Don’t you?”

Cherice released a long, slow breath and cracked open the water bottle, wishing it was something a lot stronger. She only took just enough of a sip to wet her mouth. Better ration it. The last thing in the world she needed was another bathroom break.

Chapter Six

Oz threw his snack trash into the bag from the gas station and took a swig of his water. Cherice hadn’t said a word since the untimely demise of her shoe. But she had managed to nearly pick a hole in his shirt before giving up and going back to sleep. He tried to shy away from thoughts of clothing. The quick glimpse of lace-covered breast he’d seen was a sight he wouldn’t forget any time soon. And she looked downright adorable swimming in his shirt. Too bad that adorable package was wrapped around a seriously annoying woman who smelled like a diaper-changing station at a ballpark. Ketchup and baby powder…not a great combo.

He didn’t know what this woman’s deal was but something was eating her up in the worst way. Maybe that was why she was so prickly. The only time she didn’t look like she was about to vomit from stress was when she was firing off barbs at him. Except when she was staring out the window trying to ignore the fact that he existed. Or pretending like she hadn’t enjoyed the glimpses she’d seen of his body. He had half a mind to make the rest of the trip shirtless¸ just to watch her squirm. It was certainly muggy enough to justify a bit of stripping.

She finally sat up, blinking her eyes at him.

“Hey,” he said.

She gave him a faint smile, then turned her head and wiped at her mouth.

He laughed. “No drool this time.”

Her cheeks blushed but she ignored that comment. “Where are we now?”

“Almost to West Virginia.”

“Ah, finally. I didn’t think it would take so long to get across Virginia.”

Oz snorted. “Yeah, it’s bigger than it looks on the map.”

“Yeah,” she said, turning her attention back to the same scenery they’d been seeing for the last six or so hours. Lush green interspersed with towns, homes, and shopping centers, all seen through a hazy, watery filter.

Cher didn’t seem inclined to continue their conversation. He didn’t know if she was still pissed over her shoe or what, but he had no intention of sitting silent for the rest of the trip. Hell, one of the reasons he’d wanted her along in the first place was so he didn’t have to drive alone with nothing but the radio to keep him company.

“So what have you been doing since the med-school plan didn’t work out?”

She let a little sigh go and turned to him. “You don’t have to make conversation with me, you know. I’m fine just sitting here.”

“Well, I’m not. It’s a long way to New York and talking will help keep me awake and alert. Unless you want to take a turn.”

She looked out the window at the cars whizzing by in the rain and shook her head. That’s what he thought.

She sighed. “Fine.”

“Did you even want to be a doctor?”

“It’s kind of the family business. It seemed like a good idea to follow in their footsteps,” she answered quietly.

“What about nursing?”

Cherice gave a short laugh. “Not prestigious enough for a Debusshere. My father and grandfather are plastic surgeons. My sister is a—”

“Plastic surgeon?”

She shook her head. “Cardiologist.”

“Ah. Mother?”

“Lawyer. A very successful one. Until she married my father. She now runs the Debusshere family. Very successfully.”

“Tough crew to live up to.”

“Yes,” she said quietly.

“So, what are you doing now?”

Her chin went up a few notches. Ah, she was gearing up for battle. This should be good then.

“I…sort of help people shop.”

“What? Like one of those personal shoppers?”

“Something like that.”

“Is that something that a lot of people need?” He tried not to sound too condescending, but seriously? She shopped for other people for a living?

“Yes, it is something that some people need. I started doing this kind of thing back in high school through our Key Club. One day, during my sophomore year at Duke, I got lost driving around and sort of stumbled across a similar organization to the one I’d volunteered for back then. They were looking for help and it had always been something I’d enjoyed and was good at. I mostly work with women who are trying to reenter the workforce. It’s not always easy knowing how to dress, what to buy. I help them do that. I also do a little freelance work—shopping for whatever my clients need.”

Oz wasn’t sure what to say for a second. That had to be the most frivolous, ridiculous occupation for a grown woman he’d ever heard of.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she said.

“I didn’t say a word.”

She huffed, her lips pulling into a frown. “You didn’t have to. I’ve heard it all from my parents, believe me.”

“You can’t get mad at me for something I didn’t even say.”

“Just because someone like you wouldn’t understand my line of work doesn’t mean I don’t provide a valuable service.”

“Someone like me?”

Her cheeks flushed, the heat spreading clear down her neck. “I just meant…I mean, I didn’t mean anything bad. I just meant that you…you’re not…I mean as a man…I wasn’t referring to your…to anything…”

“You know you’re talking out loud right now, right?”

“Oh, shut up. Ox.”

“Nag.”

She glared at him and Oz gave her his innocent “what?” face.

“Let me get this straight…there are people out there so rich that they can’t even bother to shop for themselves? They have to actually hire people to
shop
for them?”

“No. It’s not like that at all,” she said, glaring at him.

“It’s exactly like that. You shop for a living. For people too lazy to shop for themselves.”

“No. You’ve misunderstood. I offer a valuable service for people who need advice.”

“Really? Like what?”

“Like…okay. For instance, I had a lady come in a couple months ago. She’d gotten her first office job and needed a new wardrobe to go with it. I had already helped her pick out her initial interview outfit and then we worked on stocking her closet with everything she’d need once she got the job. We set her up completely. Those are the clients I really love. I do have a few on the freelance side who are what you’d call frivolous, but I think they’re fun. Like the ones who need furniture or some exotic birthday gift or something. I don’t get too many of those in North Carolina, though.”

Oz shrugged. “Well, it still sounds hokey to me, but if that’s what you want to do with your life…”

“I didn’t say it’s what I wanted to do with my life. But I don’t want to sit around doing nothing, either, and I’m good at it.”

“I don’t doubt that,” he muttered, hurrying on before she could give voice to the outrage on her face. “So what does your family think?”

She turned her gaze back to the rain drenched trees that seemed to be flying by. “I told you what they all do. I’m sure you can imagine.”

“It can’t be that bad.”

“Every member of my family is at the top of their field. Every one of them. Except me.”

“Ah, come on. Don’t sell yourself short. I bet you are a world-class shopper.”

She rolled her eyes and folded her arms across her chest. “And you wonder why I don’t want to talk to you.”

Oz grinned, having a lot more fun than he probably should be, considering the topic of conversation.

“Yeah, okay, I get that it sucks to not live up to your family’s expectations, but come on. It’s not like you’re slinging newspapers in the middle of the night.”

Cherice snorted. “No. I haven’t sunk that low yet. But I might as well have in my family’s eyes.”

Oz’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. He wasn’t sure what had made him use newspapers as an example. It’s not like he didn’t already know how she’d feel about that. And he wasn’t ashamed of what he did. He made good money with his route. Enough to pay several bills. And it was honest work that he could do at night that didn’t mess with his other jobs. Still, it stung to hear her dismiss it so harshly.

“So why do you care what they think? It sounds like you only aimed for med school to please your family. Did you even want to go?”

“Of course. Being a physician is an honorable profession,” she said, her voice completely monotone like she was repeating something she’d memorized from birth.

Oz snorted. “Yeah. Say that a few more times and I might actually believe you.”

Cher’s full lips twisted into a petulant pout. “I’m not trying to convince you of anything. It’s my life. I don’t know why you care so much, anyway.”

Oz’s hands tightened on the steering wheel with the effort to hold on to his temper. “Because you’ve got everything and you’re sitting there all depressed, acting like you’ve got no options. I mean, come on! You’ve probably got more money than most people will see in a lifetime. You don’t have to worry about bills or keeping a roof over your head or food on your table. You could go anywhere, do anything you want. So why don’t you?”

“That is so typical!” Her mouth snapped shut and she dragged a deep breath in through her nose. When she spoke again, her voice was a bit calmer, but her face was still flushed. “Just because my family has money, people always think my life is so easy. You would never understand the kind of pressure I’m under all the time. You have no idea what it’s like to be the only one in your family who has failed at becoming their ideal offspring. To be the only one who hasn’t done anything to build up the family name. I’d give up every dime they’ve ever given me to have the freedom you have, to do what I really want to do.”

His jaw clenched. Only people who had never been without money talked so causally about throwing it all away. She might think she really meant it, but she didn’t know what it felt like to worry about whether or not you could pay the rent that month. She’d never had to function on three hours of sleep because she’d spent every waking second working whatever jobs she could find to keep food on the table. Despite what she obviously believed, someone like her would never understand what it felt like to want something with all your heart and not be able to go for it.

He kept his gaze glued to the road. “That’s just the thing, Cher. You
do
have the freedom to do what you really want to do. Yeah, your family might be disappointed in you. They might even be pissed as hell. But they won’t really be hurt by it. They won’t lose anything that really matters.”

She looked back out the window at the overcast skies. “You don’t get it.”

“No. I don’t. And neither do you. I don’t have any freedom. I do what I have to do to take care of my family. I gave up my dreams a long time ago so I could do something more important. There was a good reason for me to do what I did. But it wasn’t really a choice. If I didn’t do what I do, my family would be starving on the streets. That’s not the case with you. There’s just no good reason for you to do it.”

“Just because it’s not a good reason to you doesn’t mean it isn’t one to me,” she said, plucking at the hem of her shirt again.

Damn. She had him there. He still disagreed with her. She was being ridiculous letting her family dictate how she lived her life. His family did the same to a certain extent, he supposed. But because they needed him. Not because they had some screwed up priorities about what really mattered.

“Touché,” he said with a small smile.

“You know, we really aren’t so different. We’re both just regular people, wanting to make our families happy.” Her lips echoed his smile.

He completely disagreed on the whole “regular people” bit. There was nothing regular about her. She’d break out in hives if she had to be around regular people for more than two minutes. But he didn’t feel like ruining the tenuous, and probably temporary, peace in the car to point that out. At least not with that line of discussion.

He needed to change the subject. “I’m hungry. Let’s find someplace to eat.”

A few miles down the road, they passed an exit sign with a bunch of symbols for food joints. He pointed to it. “Any preference?”

She grimaced. “Isn’t there any place where we can get something that doesn’t come with a plastic toy?”

Oz spied a place just off the road and turned his head so she wouldn’t see his smile. She thought she was regular,
hmm
? Let’s see how she did around real
regular
folk.

“Looks like there’s a place down the street a ways.”

“Anything is fine with me.”

Yeah. They’d just see about that. He pulled into the parking lot of the Roadkill Roadhouse and shut off the car.

“What are we doing here?” Cherice asked, looking out the window with a frown.

“We’re getting something to eat. You said you wanted something that came without plastic toys. They’ve probably got waitresses and everything.”

She didn’t look convinced.

“Come on, Cher. You might be able to live off granola bars and water but I need something a little more substantial than rabbit food.”

“And this is the best place you thought we could find?”

For food? Hell no, not by a long shot. But it would serve his other purposes just fine.

“It’ll do. Come on, I’m melting out here. It’s gotta be air conditioned, at least.”

“So’s the car,” she muttered.

She climbed out and glanced down at herself. His shirt hung halfway down her thighs and was big enough for two of her, and the flip flops…he didn’t bother hiding his grin when he caught sight of her toes, painted red with black and white dots which made each nail look like a ladybug sitting on her toes. Surprisingly playful. She could have easily put both feet in one flip flop but at least they provided some protection.

Oz held the door open for her and tried not to smile as he looked around the run-down diner. He couldn’t have picked a better place to make her squirm than if he’d spent a month researching locations. It would do perfectly to prove to the princess, once and for all, that he was right. They were from two different worlds and she could spout that
we’re the same regular people wanting the same things
nonsense all she wanted. People like her were nothing like people like him, and her attempts to say otherwise weren’t fooling him at all.

Her repeated comments against, for the lack of a better phrase, his social class, made his butt pucker and he was in the mood to yank her chain a little. The fact she didn’t even realize how insulting she was made it even worse. So. A little harmless revenge might be just the ticket to improve his mood a bit. Let’s see how she did in a real dive.