I just grunt and open the door to the truck, hopping out. Talking to him is too dangerous. He seems to be just fine with that and follows me into the diner. I’m not all that hungry, but it’s clear Jasper is when he orders a chicken fried steak bigger than the actual plate they bring it out on, smothered in gravy, with corn, mashed potatoes, and a huge dinner roll.
It’s kind of remarkable he has the body he does. I order a salad with grilled chicken and get the world’s strangest look from the waitress, but she reluctantly brings it out to me.
“I think you broke her brain,” Jasper says, cutting into his dinner.
“I think all your arteries will be clogged when you finish that,” I say, pointing to his dinner.
And then Jasper does something totally unexpected. Something I wouldn’t have thought I’d get to see in a million years. He chuckles. Like a full-on bright smile accompanied by a hearty laughing sound. And it hits me directly in the chest.
“I’ll work it off tomorrow. Don’t worry.”
“I wasn’t worried,” I say, angry that his laugh could have such a sudden impact on me. It stole my breath away.
I choke down dinner, and Jasper pays with the money given to him by Kelly and John, and then we’re back on the road.
“How much longer?” I complain, my ass starting to hurt from sitting in this truck for so long.
“About an hour. You’ll make it,” Jasper states matter-of-factly.
I huff but otherwise keep quiet. I manage to keep my mouth shut all the way till we go into the front office of the town’s one motel, which has also seen better days, judging by the worn paint. But it’s when the motel manager tells us the rooms have only one bed in them that I lose my shit. “No,” I say. “That’s... no. I’m not sharing a bed with him.”
“Well, you can sleep on the floor,” the older man says, eyeing me. “Or pay for two rooms.”
I don’t have any money because Kelly has paid me with checks, and I haven’t been to the bank. And I don’t have a card to pay with because my mother is a sociopath. I look to Jasper, my eyes pleading with him. But it’s all shot to hell when he plops down enough money for only one room. “It’s one night.” He smiles at the old man who hands him a key—not a key card but an actual key—for the room.
We head out to the truck so we can park in front of our room, which has only outside access. I’ve seen motels like this, driving by, but never in my life have I experienced staying in one. It’s straight out of a horror movie with the light outside the door flickering.
The sun is nearly all the way down, and it’s getting dark. I’m not sure if we’re safer out here or in that room.
“Relax,” Jasper says, his bag swung over his shoulder as he uses the key to open the door and pushes it open.
Relax, he says. Has he lost his mind? I follow him into the room as he flicks on the one light in the room. The floor is some sort of orange tile, and sure enough, there’s only one bed. A bed with a brown quilt I don’t even want to think about touching my body. And it’s not even a king-sized bed. It’s a queen, at best.
The bathroom is even worse, somehow, with a shower stall that has tile matching the floor, a rickety, holy curtain, and an orange toilet that matches a small sink that doesn’t even have a vanity.
“Jesus. Fuck,” I say, dropping my bag to the floor and then quickly worrying about my things touching that floor. Though the bed wouldn’t be much better.
“Relax,” he repeats himself, dropping his bag on the floor next to mine and kicking his boots off by the door. I notice him sliding the chain lock in place, and I feel like I might puke.
“Is that the only thing keeping us from murderers?”
He laughs again, his whole face lighting up when he does it, and my heart nearly stops as I watch him. “No one wants to murder you more than me, and I’m locked inside.”
“You can’t possibly be fine staying here,” I say, considering sleeping out in the truck.
He removes his flannel shirt, leaving him only in that white tank top that clings to every muscle of his and drops it on his bag before flopping down on the bed. I swear I see dust flying everywhere when he does it. “It’s not that bad.” His long legs stretch out as he puts one ankle on top of the other and tucks an arm behind his head, leaning against the wooden headboard.
I take in the sight of his long body lounging on the bed. His bicep is flexed, and I notice the dark blond hair in his armpit, neatly trimmed and masculine as hell. And for a moment, I ponder sticking my face there and breathing him in.
Jesus, I really need to get a grip.
“We should go to bed anyway. Don’t worry, when you wake up, this will all seem like a dream.”
“A nightmare,” I correct. “A horrible, horrible nightmare.”
He snickers again, and I huff irritably. “You’re so damn spoiled.”
“I think wanting a clean bed and a place to rest my head, where I don’t have to worry about being murdered, is the bare minimum.
