I look down and put my hand over the bird on his chest. “So this is for her?”

“Yeah. And a reminder for me that dreams don’t wait for us. You have to chase them. Take your chances at happiness when you have them or you may not get more.”

I wrap my arms around him and lay my head against his chest, this melancholy feeling sweeping over me. “Your mom would approve of your summer road trip.”

He kisses the top of my head. “Well, all except the motorcycle part. If she was still around, she’d kick my ass if she knew I rode one of those ‘death traps’ and would be ticked that my brother is so obsessed with them, he opened his own shop.”

“You mom sounds very smart.”

He sniffs. “Yeah, you two would’ve gotten along well.”

I sigh and lift my head. The room is already brighter than it was a few minutes ago. “The sun is up. Time for things to start turning back into pumpkins.”

He tucks my hair behind my ears and cups my face. “Is the princess calling last night a fairy tale? I don’t think I’ve ever gotten to star in one of those.”

“So you usually just stick with starring in porn, then?”

He laughs and kisses me. “Well, there was some of that, too.”

“True. But seriously, thank you. I had an amazing night.”

“Back at ya, gorgeous. But before you give me my send-off, how about some breakfast? I cook a kickass French omelet.”

“You don’t have to—”

“Shut up,” he says and plants another kiss on me. “I’m cooking for you. No way you can trust the food at your place. The Evil Roommate probably sprinkled it all with rat poison.”

“You just want to show off your mad cooking skills.”

“True that,” he says, herding me into the kitchen. “My ego needs feeding. Prepare to be stunned and amazed.”

I smile. Because I’m already there. Stunned. And amazed. And a little sad now.

Because he’s not mine.

And this is good-bye.

At least it’s a really good omelet.

Chapter 9

Monroe

There’s a BMW in the driveway when I pull in front of Natalie’s house. She lets loose a slew of colorful language from behind me. And I know immediately whose car it is. I want to cruise away and take her back to my house. Keep her from this. Keep her with me.

But, of course, I can’t. I’m leaving in a few days, and she has her own life to live. I’m not supposed to want to keep her. That’s not what this is about. And she made that clear when I asked her to spend the day with me today. I could already feel her shutting me out, closing that chapter of her life where my name appears on the pages. I was her wild-night adventure. Now it’s done.

I park at the curb. “Do you want me to go in with you?”

She releases a breath and presses her forehead against the back of my shoulder. “No, that’ll just make it worse. Maybe he just slept here with Rebecca to rub it in my face. As if I give a shit.”

“You don’t have to go in there, you know. You can hang at my place until he’s gone,” I say, hating that I’m probably coming off as clingy. What the fuck is wrong with me? I don’t cling.

“Thanks. You’re sweet¸ but I’m going to have to face this eventually. And I need to start packing. I’ve only got a few days to figure out if I’m finding a new place or heading home.” She gets off the bike and hands me the helmet.

“What do you think you’ll do?”

She gives me a half-smile and slips out of her heels on the sidewalk. “I have no idea. Maybe I need to be like you and say fuck it all and find a beach somewhere.”

“Or you can just come to mine.” The words are out before I realize it.

She stares at me for a second, looking a little dumbfounded, then seems to shake free of it with a quiet laugh. “Right. And interrupt the slew of bikini-clad girls that will be lined up for your entertainment? Even I’m not that mean.”

“Well, you’d be required to stay in a bikini for at least fifty percent of the day. So I wouldn’t need that line.” I don’t even know what I’m saying. A summer of half-dressed women is exactly what I’d had in mind for my vacation. But suddenly, that fantasy seems completely lame and . . . boring.

Natalie reaches out and touches my jaw. “You don’t have to do this, you know? Make me feel better. I’m all right. I know what last night was.”

I grab her hand and decide what the hell, why not be honest? What do I have to lose? Bluebird on the loose. Give chase. “I’m not trying to make you feel better. I’m being serious. If you’ve got no one counting on you for the summer, you could come with me. Creative writing is your thing, right? Instead of being stuck in one place trying to get inspired, why not go out and see the country? Imagine all the stories waiting out there for you.”

She’s watching me with this kind of wonder. “You’re being serious.”

“I am.” And I realize that’s the damn truth. I want to take her with me.

“You don’t even know me.”

“I know enough.”

She puts her forehead to mine. “You’re crazy.”

“Yep. Totally. Want to be crazy with me?”

“Monroe, God, I can’t just—I don’t know, flit off with someone I just met for the whole summer.”

“You can. If that’s what you want,” I say, and tip her face toward me to kiss her. “But I’m not asking for an answer now. I’m giving you an open invitation. I’ll have your car fixed and delivered to you by Tuesday. I leave on Thursday at seven in the morning. I want you to come. If you want that, too, meet me at my place. If not, I’m glad we had last night. I won’t forget it. Or you.”

Her eyes shine a bit at that and I’m worried I’ve made her cry, but she blinks it away and smiles. “You’re trying to wreck me, Monroe Hawkins.”

“No, I follow all traffic laws.”

She smacks my chest, and I catch her hand and kiss it.

“I’ll see you around, princess.”

She backs up onto the sidewalk, and her hand slips from mine. I pull away before I can hear her say good-bye.

Chapter 10

Natalie

I must be delirious from no sleep and great sex because as Monroe rides away, I kind of want to cry. And call him back. And tell him yes. But even though I know I’m going to make some changes in my life, I can’t imagine that going on a three-month road trip with a guy I met less than twenty-four hours ago is a wise idea.

What if, by week two, we hate each other?

What if last night was a fluke?

What if . . . it’s amazing?

I put my hand over my eyes at the last thought. Shut up, Nat. Get some sleep and get it together. This is not an option. Maybe I can just tell Monroe to look me up when he gets back in town, and we can see if our chemistry really means something more than a one-nighter.

I dig my keys out of my purse and head toward the front door, praying that the asshole formerly known as my boyfriend is curled up with the skank. I can’t handle him right now. But, of course, when I walk in, he’s on the couch in the living room like some overbearing parent waiting on the rebellious teenager to come home.

He gives me the up-and-down look, taking in my wrinkled dress and bare feet. “Seriously?”

For some reason, I find this comical. I want to laugh. I want to sing that P!nk song about the walk of shame. Something about looking like a hot-ass mess and wearing last night’s dress. I’m walking, I’m walking. I snort.