"I'm sure I'll be fine for a few minutes."
"Look," Cade clipped, "If I'm going to keep you safe, you need to listen and do what I say."
"You're bossy."
"And you're argumentative."
They stared at each other for a few heartbeats, tension bouncing between them like a ping-pong ball. Tristan could make out the lines of Cade's face in the harsh neon lights. He looked stern and unrelenting.
Tristan broke first. "Fine," he hissed, getting out of the car and storming toward the motel's office.
When they were just outside the door, Cade grabbed his hand, and Tristan's brain stuttered. Cade's hands were big and warm and clenched his tightly, as if ensuring he wouldn't run.
Which Tristan had half a mind to do.
The smell of smoke assaulted them as soon as they breached the doorway. There was a skinny old guy behind the desk, taking a long drag from a cigarette. He sat on a stool, fixated on the television as talking heads ranted about taxes.
When they approached, his wary eyes slanted towards them, then flicked down to their joined hands, then back to their faces before his lip ticked up in disgust.
Oh, great. A homophobe.
"Hi," Cade said casually, "We were hoping to get a room for the night."
The old man stared at them for a moment, and Tristan could almost see the gears churning as he debated if he wanted their money more than he loathed their sexuality. He slowly slid off the stool.
"Seventy-nine fifty after tax."
"That's fine," Cade said, unclasping their hands to pull cash out of his pocket. He tossed four twenties onto the counter, and when he was done, put his arm around Tristan's shoulder and pulled him close. His body was rock solid, and the closeness did strange things to Tristan's insides.
The clerk pointedly avoided looking at them as he took out an ancient paper registry and pen. "Name?"
"Tommy John."
Tristan's head snapped to Cade, but he was watching the old man, who looked up suspiciously.
"Like the baseball player?"
"Yep."
The guy shook his head but entered the name in the book.
"Only open rooms have one bed. That okay?"
"Yes, that's fine."
Eyes bulging, Tristan looked up at Cade again, but he just squeezed his shoulder tighter, warning him to stay silent.
The man hmphed and made another entry in the book, then shuffled to the key rack and snatched a key. He returned and placed it on the counter, deliberately not handing it to Cade.
Jerk.
"Room Five. Out the door and to your left. Checkout is eleven."
"Thanks. Do you have any toothbrushes and toothpaste?"
The clerk practically sneered back, "What does this look like? The Four Seasons?"
"No problem. Have a good night," Cade said politely.
