Page 32 of UNAwere

‘Does yours go that far?’ I fumble across his lap to try to reach the buttons on the other side of his seat.

He jerks under me, letting out a gruff sound of protest, but I ignore him.

‘Red, don’t do that while I’m—Jesus fucking Christ.’

His seat starts to recline under him, and I’m laughing, sprawled across his lap as I watch it go back, and as he pitches forward, snarling.

‘Sit up,’ he says.

‘It goes all the way, too!’ I yell. ‘That’s so dangerous!’

‘You don’t fucking say!’

I grin, getting off him, watching as he mutters under his breath, fixing his seat.

‘I can’t believe yours goes back that far. Surely that breaches safety protocols.’

He grunts, his mouth screwed up. ‘You shouldn’t have done that, Red.’

‘What?’

‘Just… Sit still.’

‘It was funny.’

He huffs.

I raise my seat into an upright position again and glance into the back. My bags are there, sitting with his. He didn’t pack much, from what I can see. Just some changes of clothes and toiletries in a black knapsack.

‘You should sleep in the car,’ I say, eyeing him.

‘What?’

‘Instead of on all the uncomfortable-looking chairs you sleep in at the motels. You could easily fit lying in one of these recliner chairs.’

He rubs a hand across his beard. ‘The reason why I’m in those uncomfortable-looking chairs is that I’ve been tasked to not take my eyes off you. To sleep in the car would defeat the purpose.’

‘Well, we could both fit in here,’ I say.

‘I can’t be in here with you.’

I raise my brows. ‘Gee, thanks.’

He grunts. ‘I didn’t mean it like that, I just…’

‘No, it’s fine. I know I probably snore. Or hog the blankets. Or smell terrible.’

He snorts. ‘Terrible.’

I falter and then slowly lift one of my arms to smell my armpit. But Briggs isn’t looking at me, his attention on the road. I thought I showered enough, but maybe being in a car twenty-four-seven takes its toll. Maybe I need to shower twice a day instead.

I make a mental note.

It’s another two hours until Briggs pulls off into a service station by the edge of the highway. He’s allowed me to put on the radio, on the condition that it’s only for half an hour, and I can’t play any talk shows.

A country song is droning out through the speakers when he pulls up beside the diesel pump, and he switches the engine off, cutting off the singer’s voice telling a story about the desert and coyotes.

I sigh. ‘I was enjoying that one.’