Chasing Stardust: A Novel By Erica Lucke Dean - 20

The Man Who Sold the World

After fulfilling my purpose in New York, sliding into the Tesla’s warm leather seats at the end of the day feels like greeting an old friend. As much as I would love to explore the rest of the Big Apple, the open road calls to me, and I’m eager to see what Mom has in store for us next.

“You really don’t mind leaving without seeing more sights?” Dash turns to me, stress lining his face. “Staying at my dad’s place would save money, but—”

His muscles flex as I coil my fingers around his forearm.

“I promise, I don’t mind. To be honest, your sisters freaked me out a little. It was like waking up in The Shining .”

His laughter fills the car. “Margo, Dad’s wife, insists on dressing the girls like that, and it’s definitely creepy.”

“So creepy.”

“I guess we’re heading to Boston.” He taps the address into the GPS.

With his dad’s building still looming behind us, a low hum vibrates through the quiet car.

“What is that?” I dig through my tote for the source, but it’s not coming from inside my bag. It sounds like it’s coming from the back seat, and I realize this isn’t the first time I’ve heard it today. “Is that your phone?”

“Maybe.” He glances at me as he fiddles with the satellite radio.

“You’ve been ignoring calls all day, haven’t you?”

“Have I?” He stares into the traffic, avoiding my gaze. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“You know what I’ve noticed?” I poke his denim-covered thigh. “ You don’t get calls. Like the whole time we were in Tennessee, all the way to New York, you didn’t get a single call. Other than dialing Mack’s for me back at the diner and talking to your dad this morning, I don’t think I’ve seen you so much as open your phone since I’ve known you. Don’t you have any friends? Should that worry me?”

“I have friends.” He glares at me, as if mildly offended. “They just don’t have this number. I didn’t want anyone trying to influence my decision.”

“If you say so.” Narrowing my eyes, I attempt to uncover his secrets through telepathy. “For a guy who supposedly didn’t give out his number, you’ve gotten a lot of calls in the span of an hour. Come on, Dash, what gives?”

His shoulders stiffen. “Probably a robo-dialer.”

“A robo-dialer?” I glare at him and cross my arms.

“You know, a computer that dials a bunch of numbers and—”

“I know what it means. I just don’t believe you.” A twinge of something resembling jealousy flares in my gut. What if he won’t tell me because it’s the girl he mentioned before . . . the soulless creature?

Dash squirms in his seat, and his nervousness coils around my insides like snakes.

“It’s whatever.” I shrug. Two can play this game. “You don’t owe me anything. We kissed a few times, big deal. I just didn’t think we’d resorted to lying to each other already.”

“I wasn’t lying!” He blows out a breath. “Not exactly.”

I arch an eyebrow and stare him down.

He lets out a low chuckle. “When you lay on a guilt trip, you lay it on thick.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I told my dad I’d call him back, and I never did. Now he has his assistant calling me every fifteen minutes. She may as well be a robo-dialer.”

The tightness in my chest loosens, but I’m not ready to let him off the hook. “What’s so urgent?”

“He’s . . .” Dash’s jaw tightens. “Super intense. And he doesn’t like to be ignored.”

“Nobody likes to be ignored.”

“Oh, it’s worse than that.” The iciness in his tone gives me chills. “He really doesn’t like to be ignored.”

“Why is he suddenly trying to get you on the phone?”

“Remember when we first met, I told you I was on a soul-searching trip?”

I nod.

“The minute I graduated—” He releases the wheel and rakes a hand through his hair. “Hell, probably since I spoke my first word, my dad has had a position ready for me at his firm.”

“And let me guess, you don’t want to work there.”

He glances at me, then back to the road, his expression dour. “The summer between sophomore and junior years, I tried to change my major from economics to journalism. He hit the roof. He’s never considered journalism a legitimate career. He’d much rather I follow his footsteps than forge my own path.”

“You said he works in Washington. What does he do?”

“He’s, uh . . .” Dash taps out a rhythm on the steering wheel and watches me from the corner of his brown eye. “One of the K Street bandits.”

I stare at him, confused.

He blows out a deep sigh. “A political consultant. A lobbyist, if you will.”

Everything I know about the inner workings of Washington comes from binge-watching political thrillers on Netflix, but I seriously doubt Dash’s father is anything like Miss Sloane . “I’ve heard of them, but I don’t really know what they do.”

“A lot of things. From taking on the oil and gas companies for environmental protections to helping roll back those protections to keep the coal mines in business. Some lobbyists are actually out there fighting the good fight.” Dash wipes a bead of sweat from his temple.

A series of red flags pop up in my head like gophers on a golf course, but instead of tiptoeing around the subject, I ask, “But not your dad?”

“Dad’s a heavy hitter. Goes where the money is. Big pharma. Tobacco. Health insurance.” He stares straight ahead, his knuckles paling as he tightens his grip on the wheel. “And he’s not afraid to play dirty.”

Despite the little voice in my head begging me to change the subject, curiosity gets the best of me. “I’m guessing you have a problem with that.”

“Hell yeah, I do.” Dash shoots me another glare. “He’s been instrumental in getting potentially lifesaving procedures pulled from insurance coverage.”

My brain scrambles to understand what he’s saying. “Like my mom’s cancer treatments?”

He nods once. “It’s likely he, or someone like him, was responsible for her blowing through her savings. Possibly even prevented her from being treated at all.”

“Oh.” My stomach rolls, and I swallow back nausea. “That’s . . . horrible. Why would anyone do that? Don’t they realize those treatments help people?”

“It’s all about the money. It’s Dad’s job to make sure the insurance companies get to keep it. And tobacco companies get to keep peddling their cancer-causing products. And whatever he does for the hundreds of other shitty industries he keeps in business.”

“I see.” Rage bubbles in my chest, but I’m not sure where to direct it. “I guess my mom spent her life’s savings so your dad could buy you a Tesla?”

Dash throws me a panicked glance. “Zoey, I—”

“I’m not mad at you.” Anger coils around my insides as I take in his John Varvatos shirt and his Gucci glasses. “Or maybe I am. For as morally outraged as you say you are, you sure don’t seem to mind spending his money.”

His jaw spasms. “I’m sure that’s how it looks from the outside. Anything I say will probably sound like a shitty excuse, but I didn’t know what he really did until I interned for him. Once I found out, I promised myself I would be better than he is. And I’m trying. I don’t have everything figured out yet, but trust me when I say that’s not the life I want.”

“And yet, you let Daddy bankroll your summer trip?” I hiss, bitterness coloring my tone.

Dash flinches as if I slapped him, and the color drains from his face. “I earned every penny I’ve spent, busting my ass doing grunt work in Dad’s office every day after class for the past two years. Running away may not seem like the mature thing to do, but staying under his thumb wasn’t an option, either. I needed to figure things out without him—or anyone else—breathing down my neck. I only accepted the Tesla because I didn’t want to get stranded driving some old beater.”

His eyes dart to mine, and I snort out a laugh.

“So all the phone calls . . . I gather that means your dad is pressuring you to make your choice?”

He shakes his head, exhaling through his nose. “Remember what I said about strings? As far as he’s concerned, choice is an illusion. No matter what decision I make, he’ll expect me to come back ready to start work at the end of summer—to dive into his life with both feet.”

“What do you want?”

“I’d like to travel and write about what makes people tick. You know? Tell the stories no one wants to tell.”

“To be a writer? Like your mom?”

He nods.

Warmth blooms in my belly, and if we weren’t sitting in the front seat of his car in rush hour traffic, I’d climb into his lap and kiss him. “You really are Superman, aren’t you?”

“I’m far from super,” he says softly. “But I’m definitely trying to be a better man.”

“I wish I was as sure about my future as you.”

“You don’t know what you want to do?”

“I thought I did. I mean, I didn’t plan out my whole life like Jeanie. She got her degree in engineering. I used to think she’d end up working in a pot dispensary somewhere, but she’s starting this great job at a software company making six figures right out of the gate. But me? I always figured I’d end up becoming a teacher like Mom. Now . . .” My heart pounds as I get lost in his eyes. “I’m not so sure anymore.”

For what must be the hundredth time, Dash’s phone vibrates from the back seat.

“Maybe you should answer that. You can’t keep dodging him forever. What if he reports you as missing?” The thought worries me more than I let on. From what Dash has told me, his father is capable of almost anything.

He laughs and my stomach flutters at the dark sound. “And risk the negative press when someone leaks the story? I highly doubt it.”

“Well, I’m tired of hearing it buzz all day.” Shoving his battered copy of On the Road aside, I grab his phone from the back seat. How hard is it to switch the stupid thing off?

“Zoey, no!” Dash tries to grab the open clamshell, accidentally answering the call.

“Hello?” A woman’s voice plays through the car speakers, catching me completely off guard. My imagination runs wild, and the as-of-yet unseen “soulless creature” plagues my thoughts. “Dash?”

Panic flashes in his eyes as he reaches for the phone again, knocking it out of my hand in the process. He holds his breath as the device bounces off the leather, slides between my legs, and disappears under my seat.

He melts into his seat and closes his eyes. “Hi, Mom.”

“Do you know why your father is calling me? I’m not exactly his favorite person. Hell, I don’t even think I’m his favorite ex-wife.”

He sighs. “I’ve been dodging his calls.”

Her musical laugh trills down the line. “And you think avoiding him will solve anything? Surely you know better than that by now.”

“He’s pressuring me to come back, but . . .” He watches me from the corner of his eye as I fumble between my legs for the missing phone. “I can’t. Not yet. I made a promise.”

“Okay.” All traces of humor disappear from her voice. “Who is she, Clark?”

With the phone finally in my grasp, I lock my gaze on Dash and mouth the word, “Clark?”

His horrified expression sends me into a fit of hysterics.

“Is that her?” she asks. “Is she with you now?”

He curses under his breath, snatching the phone from my hand and disconnecting it from the Bluetooth before pressing it to his ear. The heated glare he levels my way could melt steel. A furious Dash is a sexy Dash.

Sinfully sexy.

“Yes. She’s right beside me.” He flushes crimson to the tips of his ears, then whispers into the phone. “I really don’t want to get into that right now. Can I call you later? Yes. I promise. Love you, too.”

He doesn’t say anything else for a long time, choosing, instead, to shoot searing glances at me as if he can’t decide where to bury my body.

“So, uh . . .” I bite the inside of my cheek, fighting a grin. “Your mom calls you—”

“Do not go there.” Fire dances in his eyes, but his gaze drops to my lips.

Heat flares in my belly, and I’m struck with the sudden desire to take him up on his unspoken invitation. “Dash, pull over.”

He groans. “You can’t have to go again. We just stopped—”

“Pull. Over.” I arch a brow and drag my bottom lip through my teeth.

He cocks his head, and I can see the gears turning as his thoughts catch up to mine. His eyes widen, his lips parting a fraction before his tongue darts out to wet them. Without warning, he changes lanes and accelerates, taking the next exit a little too sharply.

After a few exhilarating turns, he pulls into an all-night diner, parks as far away from the door as possible, then quietly studies me in the glow of the streetlight before reaching over and unbuckling my seatbelt.

His gaze heats, the air crackling between us. “Come here.”

“Thought you’d never ask.” I crawl over the center console and straddle his lap.

“You are . . .” He slides his palms up my arms and over my shoulders. “So . . .” He sweeps back my hair. “Maddening.” His eyes lock on my lips. “And yet . . .” He drags his gaze back to my eyes. “I still want to kiss you every damn minute of the day.”

My insides swoop, warmth flooding my belly. “Then kiss me, Clark.”

Before I get the words all the way out, he crashes his mouth against mine, gripping my hips and sliding my center over the bulge in his jeans, drawing a groan out of both of us. Our kiss grows frantic as I wrap both arms around his neck. His tongue delves in, mapping the inside of my mouth.

My phone wails from my bag, cutting through the sound of our heavy breathing. “Nooo . . . go away.”

“It’s probably your sister,” Dash says between kisses. “Making sure I haven’t buried you in the woods somewhere.”

I suck on his bottom lip. “She’ll figure it out eventually.”

He nods, his mouth hot and insistent on mine.

The ringing starts all over again, and I let out a frustrated cry.

Dash pulls back, breathing heavy as he rests his forehead against mine. “Answer it. Tell her you’re alive.”

I reach for my phone and flinch at Damian’s image on the screen.

Dash stiffens beneath me. “What does he want?”

“The same thing he’s wanted since I ended things.” I silence my phone and toss it into my seat. “He’s having a hard time taking no for an answer.”

“Are you sure?” He lifts his hands from my body and shifts as far away as possible with me still in his lap.

Unsettled by the sudden distance between us, I search the depths of his irises. “Sure about what, Dash?”

He draws in an uneven breath.

Is he jealous?

I lift my brows. “Am I sure I made the right decision dumping him?”

His throat works as he nods.

“I’m sure I should’ve ended it a long time ago. I thought . . .” I splay my fingers across his chest, over his heart. “I used to think he was the kind of guy I was supposed to be with.”

His gaze meets mine. “And what kind of guy is that?”

“The complete opposite of you.” I chuckle, bringing our bodies closer. “You’re the guy who offers to give up his summer for a total stranger just because she needs a ride. The guy who would carry that same stranger through the streets of Memphis knowing her bladder could burst at any moment, then cut her out of her medieval torture underwear in a parking garage to rescue her from herself.”

His loud laugh vibrates through me, and I shift closer, making sure he doesn’t miss a single point I’m trying to make.

“And you’re the guy who doesn’t kiss girls with unresolved relationship issues. But since I don’t kiss every guy I hitchhike across the country with, I guess that makes us perfect for each other.”

Grinning, Dash glides his hands up my thighs and rests them on my hips. “As long as we’re on the same page.” He drags me closer, bringing his lips to mine again, stealing my breath with a searing kiss.

Definitely on the same page.