Boone spears his fingers through my hair and cups the back of my head. His blue eyes flash before he lowers his mouth to mine.
My brain is telling my body to pull away. To stop him before the reporters get more ammunition to use against me. But my body flips my brain the bird and curls into Boone and his kiss.
When he finally pulls back, he studies my face again. “I’ve been wanting to do that all night. Let’s get you in the car so we can get out of here.”
Boone maneuvers me into the front seat and shuts the door. The questions from the press are muted now that I’m inside the car, and I can almost forget they’re out there.Almost.
When Boone finally climbs inside and fires up the engine, the security guards move the metal barriers to make room for the car to fit through. They do a good enough job keeping the press corralled so we can get by. Boone snags Hope’s keys from my hand and rolls down the window to toss them to a bald security guy.
“Take these to the head bartender inside. Thanks, man.”
Once we’re on the road, Boone revs the engine and hauls ass down the street.
That’s when it occurs to me that I have no clue where we’re going.
37
Boone
The lyricsto my new single stream through my head with Ripley sitting in the front seat.
I’mgonna take a ride with you
in my 442.
Rolling down the same old roads
like we always do.
Other things may change,
my love remains the same.
With you by my side
in my new old ride,
in my 442.
I’d writtenthat song thinking that it would be Amber rolling down the back roads with me, but she’s never even been inside this car. It was delivered the night before I planned to propose. The night she married someone else.
The burn might still be fresh, but tonight it’s not causing me any pain at all.
“Where are we going?” Ripley asks.
I shake off the thoughts of Amber, not wanting tonight polluted with her.
“First, to the ER so you can get that ankle looked at.”
Ripley’s expression turns panicked. “No, we’re not. I can’t afford it. Besides, I don’t need a doctor to tell me I sprained my ankle and I need to stay off it for a day, put some ice on it, and keep it elevated.”
Despite her protests, I turn toward the hospital.
“You’re stubborn enough to lose an arm and tell me you only need a Band-Aid, so I don’t care what you think you need. I’m telling you you’re gettin’ it x-rayed. We don’t know how bad it really is yet.”
Ripley shoots me a glare. “If I lost an arm, I’d be begging to go to a hospital. I’m not an idiot.” Her tone is snappish, but I figure that’s better than the panic I saw on her face before.
“I didn’t say you were. I said you were stubborn. But guess what? So am I.”