I stand there in the middle of the room, cheeks on fire, clutching the cord on the blinds like it’s a weapon. “Seth.”
“Mmh?”
“You can’t just… take your clothes off in front of people.”
He rolls his head on the pillow, cheek pressed into the floral comforter, voice muffled and smug. “It’s my room.”
“I’m still in here.”
“Mmh.” A pause. Then, very clearly: “I know you’re checkin’ me out.”
I make a sound somewhere between a cough and a strangled laugh, staring at his butt. “Am not.”
“Darlin’,” he murmurs, like he’s smiling into the bedding, “you were starin’ so hard I could feel it.”
“I was ensuring you weren’t going to injure yourself,” I snap, which would sound more convincing if my voice weren’t slightly squeaky. “You’re drunk. People fall. People… forget… gravity.”
Seth hums again, low and pleased. “Sure.”
I drag a hand down my face and turn toward the door before my eyes betray me a second time. “Good night, Seth.”
I get two steps.
“June.”
I pause with my hand on the handle. Because of course my body listens when he says my name like that—quiet, rough, not teasing.
“Yeah?” I ask, trying for annoyed and getting something softer.
There’s a beat of silence behind me. The bed creaks like he shifted, maybe rolled onto his side. “I meant what I said earlier,” he murmurs. “You’re my scent match.”
I close my eyes. Of all the things that should not squeeze my chest right now, that is at the top of the list.
“It’s highly doubtful,” I say, forcing a lightness I don’t fully feel. “Tomorrow you won’t remember a single thing from tonight.”
“I’m gonna remember,” he admits, stubborn even through the pillow.
“Mm-hmm.” I twist the handle and pull the door open. “Get some sleep. And for the love of God, put pants on if you decide to wander outside.”
His laugh is quiet, warm, and it follows me out into the cold motel walkway like a hand at my back.
I step out, letting the door click shut, and then I stand there for a second too long with my face on fire.
Because the worst part is…
For one terrifying moment, I almost wanted him to be right.
3
SETH
The phone won’t stop ringing.
I crack one eye open and immediately regret it. Sunlight is stabbing through some gap in the blinds, and my head feels like someone stuffed it with cotton and then set it on fire.
The phone keeps ringing. Loud. Obnoxious. Relentless.
I groan and fumble for it on the nightstand, knocking over something—a lamp, maybe, or a glass—and finally get my hand around the damn thing.
