That gets a reaction. His eyelids flutter, slow and stubborn, and he turns his head just enough to blink blearily at me.
“Darlin’,” he mumbles, like it’s a greeting and a complaint all at once. “Why’s it so… loud in here.”
“It’s not. You’re just dramatic.”
He squints around the dark parking lot as if he’s trying to figure out where he is. “We home?”
“This is The Ridge Motel. You’re staying here so you don’t end up asleep on the sidewalk again.”
He frowns like he’s trying to argue. Then he stares down at his hand like he’s just discovered the cookie. He lifts it slightly toward me, solemn. “I saved this for you.”
“Oh my God.” I’m laughing.
I open my door and step out, cold air biting through my clothes. Quickly, I walk around to his side and open the passenger door, and he sits there for a second, swaying a little, blinking at me like I’m a concept.
“All right,” I say, holding out a hand. “Up you get.”
He takes my hand, and his grip is warm and heavy. He stands too fast and wobbles immediately, knees going soft, shoulders tipping toward me like he’s about to fold. I catch him by instinct, one hand on his forearm, the other bracing his chest.
“Easy,” I warn.
He makes a pleased noise at that, as though he likes being a problem.
Inside the office, the front desk attendant is a bored-looking kid who barely glances up from his phone when we walk in. Pete has already arranged everything, so in moments, I get the key and head to room 107.
The room is… exactly what I expected. Two beds with floral comforters, a TV that’s probably older than me, and a bathroom. The carpet has a suspicious stain near the dresser that I choose not to examine too closely.
Seth doesn’t seem to mind. He stumbles through the door, takes one look at the nearest bed, and collapses onto it face-first with a groan of pure relief.
I hover in the doorway for a second, making sure he’s not about to roll off the mattress and take out the nightstand with his skull. When he stays put—muffled, boneless, breathing like he’s just fought a war—I step fully inside, and the door clicks shut behind me with that automatic motel latch that always sounds louder than it should.
“All right,” I mutter, more to myself than to him. “You’re alive. You’re horizontal. No more crimes tonight. Fantastic.”
The blinds are still open, which means anyone wandering past the window could get a free show of the rodeo star passedout in a floral hellscape. I cross the room and start tugging them down, slats clacking as they lower. They fight me, and I tug several times to get them loose.
Behind me, Seth shifts. The bed creaks. I hear fabric rustle, then a soft, satisfied sound like a man making peace with the universe.
“Interesting meetin’ you,” he says, voice thick and lazy. “But?—”
I turn, ready to tell him good night and leave before he decides to confess his life story again. And I nearly swallow my tongue.
Seth is standing there.
Naked.
Like he’s stepped right out of a sinful calendar I absolutely did not order.
For a full second, my brain does that blue-screen thing where everything freezes and the only thought left isOh, hell!
My gaze drops because apparently my eyes are traitors.
He is… insane. Not turned on, not doing anything, just existing, yet his package is so huge, not to mention all the muscles, broad shoulders, that stupid V at his hips, and solid thighs. And I’m staring at that trunk between his legs again.
God!
June. Stop. Immediately.
Seth sways a little, blinks like he’s trying to find the floor again, then flops onto the bed on his stomach. “Ohhh, glorious bed,” he mumbles into the pillow like he’s proposing to it.
