I move around a little and mutter, “God, you’re bigger than I remember.”
There’s a choked sound that comes from the driver’s seat, and I whip my head over to see Gage dragging his palm over his chin with a little shake of his head.
“Are you okay?”
“He’s fine,” Cruz says, amusement dancing in those two words. “And I’m fuckin’ great too, thanks for asking.”
Confusion weighs down my brows. “I don’t…oh.” My cheeks heat as I realize in real time how that sounded. I’m not that embarrassed though. “In my defense, I meant yourlap.”
“My lap, what’sinmy lap—I’ll take it.” I can practically hear the ego dripping off his words like fresh honey.
My accidental double entendre effectively cut any of the lingering tension in the car, so I’ll take it as a small victory. I settle back against Cruz as Gage pulls out of the gas station and back onto one of those never-ending desert roads.
Cruz’s hand shifts, a tiny swipe that tunnels the tips of his fingers underneath the hem of my tank top. I inhale quickly, sitting very still to see what he does.
“Comfortable?” Cruz whispers in my ear.
I watch the road. “Always.”
In the driver’s seat, Gage’s hand moves from the gearshift to my knee and stays there, easy and unhurried, like he’s done it a thousand times.
Maybe he has.
TWENTY-ONE
BELLAMY
Gage slowsthe car as we pull into the lot, gravel crunching under the tires, and something in my chest tightens before I even register why.
I turn toward him. “We’re at a motel?”
He glances over, completely unbothered. “You said our next sleepover shouldn’t be at Coco’s.”
I stare at him for half a second, then huff out a laugh. “This isnotwhat I meant.”
Cruz shifts underneath me, his breath warming my neck as he says, “You sure? It looks real… cozy.”
Gage ignores him, easing the car into a spot with a clean line of sight across the street to a small strip center. A laundromat anchors one end, fluorescent lights humming behind plate glass, a row of machines visible through the window. A tax prep office sits dark beside it. Hand-lettered signs. A parking lot with two cars in it.
Gage throws the car in park but doesn’t turn it off.
I lean back against Cruz, lifting one leg to tuck my ankle underneath my knee. He grunts as I shift around, but I don’t take it as a protest about me moving on his lap. His hand findsthe outside of my knee for just a second before he seems to think better of it and lets it drop.
“Alright,” I say after a second. “What are we doing out here?”
“I have a plan.” Gage leans forward over the wheel, scanning the strip center across the street.
I follow his cue and look around too, but nothing is really jumping out at me, so I don’t know what’s going on.
“Is the motel the adventure?” Cruz asks. His fingertips move along the seat in that unhurried way, grazing my thigh with every pass. I feel the shift in his attention before I turn my head—the way he goes still, just slightly, waiting.
Gage jerks his chin toward the motel. “Found this place about nine months ago.”
“How?” Cruz asks.
“Remember when Coco had us scouting properties last year?”
“Hm.” Cruz’s fingers go still for a second. “Yeah.”
