Josh shivers, and I notice goosebumps on his pale arms. He rubs his palms on his jeans.
“Here.” I shrug off my jacket and drape it over his shoulders.
“Th—thank you.”
“Motel 66 okay?”
“Yeah.”
I rest my hand at the small of his back, guiding him toward the motel I usemore often than I like to think.
The room is dim and familiar, with ugly furniture and cheap sheets.
Josh stands near the bed, my jacket still on, fingers worrying the hem.
I take it from him and fold it on a chair.
“Come here.”
I pull him close and kiss him, enjoying how pliantly his body pressesagainst mine. When I tease his mouth open with my tongue, he sighs, a small, happy sound that shoots straight through me.
As soon as I pull back, his gaze drops. I tilt his chin up, meeting his eyes.
“Are you nervous?”
“A little,” he whispers, his throat working.
“You don’t need to be,” I promise, dropping my voice. “Not with me.”
“Thank you.”
My chest tightens with recognition. I know what lives underneath that breathless stutter—what hides behind his downcast eyes. It’s a dynamic I cangive him as long as he knows where we stand.
“This is just tonight. I don’t do more. Are you okay with that?”
“I know.”
His voice cracks mid-word and he takes a breath.
“They call you Jackpot,” he says, the words tumbling out.
“Do they now?”
It isn’t the first time I’ve heard it. I don’t like what it turns me into, but Ialso don’t correct it. This—motel rooms, strangers, the rules I’ve set a longtime ago—is what I allow myself. The name fits well enough.
Josh shifts his weight from foot to foot before he risks a glance.
“You’re—I mean they say you’re, um, good? But it’s always a one-off.”
He covers his face.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—it was a stupid thing to bring up.”
“Look at me.”
He does.
I brush my thumb along his cheek, and his lips part.
