Standing outside the car is Miguel Garcia in a black hoodie and running shorts that show off his lean and muscular legs. And his leg tattoo. My eyes fixate on the lion encompassing his knee and upper thigh. It’s like the lion is staring at me, I almost feel compelled to talk to it.
Hello friend.
"Laney, my eyes are up here." He (Miguel, not his lion tattoo) says. My cheeks heat and I turn my gaze up to him. "Better. Now, open the door."
"Why?" I ask. Less to be bratty but more to buy me some time to let my blush fade.
"Because I think you're trying to sleep in your car and that's unacceptable."
"According to who?"
"Me." He pauses. "And society."
"But is it actually against the law?"
"Somewhere, I'm sure it is." He grumbles and then he tries the door.
The split second before it opens, I realize I forgot to lock it when I got into my backseat bedroom.
My arms are still wrapped in the blanket so I can't catch myself and my body goes tumbling out. I squeeze my eyes shut bracingfor the impact of my face on the asphalt, when instead my nose meets man-thigh.
Hi Mr. Lion. Nice to meet you, I’m Laney.
"Jesus." Miguel curses under his breath as he leans down and lifts me back into the seat. "Unlocked door and unable to defend yourself? Do you have a death wish?"
"Not particularly, no."
He looks around the backseat of the car. The entire desolate state of my life on display. The box of Nature Valley granola bars that Dee made me swear I wouldn't eat in her car. The gas station banana peels next to them. The box of rice krispie treats I’m saving for breakfast. And the duffel full of my race day gear with a piece of duct tape holding the strap together.
And sure, the fact I'm sleeping in the back of a car says plenty on its own.
"Let's go."
"Go where?" I ask him as he steps back, seemingly to give me room to get out.
"To the hotel. You need a room. With a locking door."
"The car door locks, I just forgot to do it."
"Comforting." He deadpans. "But the backseat of a car in the hotel parking lot is not the same thing as a room."
I roll my lips between my teeth as I try to figure out how to tell him I can't afford a room without admitting I can't afford a room. I might feel perfectly adequate with the money management skills I’ve developed but there’s no telling how someone else might interpret the current state of my bank account.
For the record, it’s pretty dire.
His dark eyes search mine and the spark of whatever I felt as we raced against each other on the path is there. The teasing, the competitive fire, the desire to win. The challenge of conquering an unknown opponent.
"The hotel's sold out." I come up with, not knowing if it's actually true, but wouldn't that be convenient? I wouldn't have to admit I can't afford the hotel room that is normally $130 a night but with the race in town they upped it to $330 a night.
"Fine, then you're staying with me." He says as he reaches across to pull my duffel out. His body covers mine and his spicy scent fills the car. His lean, firm, body barely touches mine in the confined space but I feel his presence like a pressure on my chest regardless.
I blink to process my surprise as he slings my bag over his shoulder and holds out a hand like a fucking prince helping a princess out of her carriage.
If only.
My wits return as I look at his outstretched hand.
"I can't stay with you."
