Lula climbed out of the car as I slammed my head back against the rest and sighed hard.
There was a knock at my window, making me jolt.
“You coming, or not?” she asked, waving toward the hotel.
Oh, I was coming.
I’d follow her into the damn depths of hell if she asked. No matter how hot the flames. No matter how much it burned.
“Yep,” I said, climbing out.
And I’d swear the fading Tucson sun felt a little bit like those flames I’d been worried about.
CHAPTER TEN
Lula
He’d reserved me a single king suite with a mountain view. Which, judging by what I knew about the prices of rundown little motels I’d stayed at along the way, had to be around two hundred a night.
Not crazy money. But more than I felt comfortable letting him spend on me. Again.
I waited until he did a sweep of my room to make sure there were no creeps (or creepy crawlers) hiding in the closet or shower stall, then made his way down the hall to his own room to pull out my phone. I opened a new note and labeled itWhat I Owe Raff.
Then I spent a few minutes looking up room prices and jotting them down, along with my share for the restaurants, take-away, and gas station snacks.
When I was back on my feet, I would pay him back for all of this.
I’d barely gotten a chance to tour my room before there was a knock at my door.
And there was Raff.
In a fluffy white hotel bathrobe and shower shoes.
“What are you still doing with your clothes on?”
“Excuse me?”
He frowned at that and glanced behind me. “Didn’t you see your itinerary?”
“My itinerary? No. What itinerary?”
“I asked them to put it on your nightstand,” he said, moving into my room. “They promised—yep, there it is. They framed it and everything. Fancy.” He held the picture frame out to me.
In a fancy little font was a list of spa treatments: back massage, foot massage, facial, mud bath, lash lift, body wrap, and manicure. Next to each were times.
“Raff, what the hell is this?”
“Your spa package. And you’re cutting it close to missing your massage.”
“You bought me a spa package?”
“I got one too. Well, not the lash lift or manicure. And I’d never make someone rub my feet. But I’m getting a back massage. And I’ve always been curious about the mud stuff.”
The only reason he booked himself anything was that he knew I’d try to turn him down if he didn’t and would insist he go in my place.
And there was no refusing this. You paid up front, whether you actually went or not. If I didn’t take advantage of it, he was pissing the money away.
“You knew exactly what you were doing,” I grumbled, even as a little part of me started happy dancing at the idea of a little pampering.
