On the bright side, we can’t do anything stupid enough to make a baby again.
Shit. Babies. My mind still hasn’t wrapped around that.
Dallas plays with the room key in his hand, circling it around his thick fingers, while we stand in front of room 206.
“What are you thinking?” he asks.
This seems to be our go-to question.
“That we have no other choice,” I answer, signaling to the door in a hurry-it-up gesture. “This is our only option unless we decide to be a pain in the ass and have someone pick us up, and then they’ll have to drive you back tomorrow to get your truck.” I scowl at the door like it’s my worst enemy. “Open sesame. Let’s do this.”
He obliges in what seems like slow motion while I look around. It’s not exactly the Ritz, but I don’t see any vermin running about, so that’s a plus.
As Harriet pointed out with her stupid, smug smile, which I wanted to slap off, there’s only one bed. What she failed to mention was that she’s a liar because the bed is not a queen. It’s a full, which means I have even less room to build my cockblocking fort. I briefly wonder if Dallas would be opposed to sleeping in the bathtub.
It’s a standard room with a fake-wood-paneled bed topped with a generic comforter, a desk complete with a Bible and phone, and an older flat screen TV. I shuffle into the room, as if I were on my way to lethal injection, and Dallas stands in the doorway, his hypnotic eyes trained on me.
I sit on the edge of the bed and chew on my nails. “Oh, shit,” I say. “Where’s, uh … Maven?”
This is only now hitting me. Jesus, am I going to be one of those mothers who forgets her kids at the supermarket?
He chuckles while stepping into the room, and I tense at the sound of the door clicking shut. It’s official. We’re slumber-partying it up.
“I didn’t forget about my daughter, if that’s what you’re thinking. She’s spending the week at summer camp,” he answers.
“Camp? Like on The Parent Trap? That’s a real thing?”
“It looked real when I dropped her off.” He tosses the key on the desk.
What hotel still uses actual keys these days?
“Which side of the bed do you want?” he asks.
“It doesn’t matter.”
He points his chin at where I’m sitting. “I’ll take that side. It’s closer to the door, and you’ll be closer to the bathroom.”
He opens up the desk drawer, shuffles a few papers around, and shuts it. His next destination is the nightstand. He does the same thing and drags out a piece of paper ripped on both sides.
He blows out a breath. “Room service menu is tempting.”
My stomach growls at the mention of food. I’m eating for three, and my appetite hasn’t done anything to make me doubt it.
“I’m apologizing in advance for not feeding you quality tacos, but you have some superior choices here.”
I bet. “And what would those be?”
He starts to read them off while fighting to keep a straight face. “Ramen noodles—”
“There’s no way it says that,” I interrupt.
“I’m not shitting you.” He holds out the wrinkled piece of paper for me to read. Sure enough, ramen noodles is on there. “The other world-class options include grilled cheese, corn dogs, tomato soup, and sloppy joes.” He frowns. “I’m not a picky person, but none of these sound exactly appetizing.”
I agree. “So many options, such a small stomach.” That’s not exactly true.
The bed descends when he sits next to me. “Again, I’m sorry about this.”
“Don’t be. This will be a good story to tell our kids one day.”
He smacks the paper. “So, what’ll it be?”
“A corn dog might be my safest option.”
“I owe you plenty of taco nights after this,” he mutters, shaking his head. “Fucking corn dogs.”
“Hey now, I have nothing against corn dogs.”
He doesn’t need to feel guilty about this. Shit happens that’s out of your control sometimes. It’s not like he planned to get a flat in the middle of nowhere.
He hands me the paper. “Anything else you want?”
I skim my finger down the page. “Might as well add some French fries while you’re at it.”
“Got it.” He gets up from the bed and picks up the phone connected to the wall with a cord. “Room service, please.” He orders my food and throws in ramen noodles for himself.
My stomach grumbles again, and I throw a pillow to get his attention, smacking him in the head. “I’ll take some of those, too!”
He nods, rubbing his head. “Make that two ramen noodles.” He hangs up. “Dinner is ordered. Get comfortable. I’ll grab some drinks from the vending machine I spotted on our way in.”
He snatches the keys from the desk, and I pull my phone out of my purse to see three missed calls and texts from Stella, asking how things are going and when I’ll be back in town.
Me: Not until tomorrow. This is me officially calling in late. We’re stranded because of a flat.
My phone beeps seconds later.
Stella: Stranded where?
Me: Neverland, for all I know. I’d say thirty minutes from the auction. Doubt it’s on a map.
Stella: You need us to pick you up?
Me: No. Dallas got us to a motel. We’re okay for the night.
My phone abruptly rings.
“Hello?”
“You’re staying the night together?” she shrieks. “This is the best day ever.”
“You damn liar!” I hear Hudson yell in the background. “You told me the same thing last night when I made you orgasm four times in a row.”
“Ignore him,” she mutters. “Sooo … what are you guys doing?”
“Dallas is raiding the vending machine, and I’m sitting on the bed. No excitement over here.” My response is along the lines of pathetic.
“You can always make it exciting.”
I sigh. “I’m hanging up now.”
“Call us if you change your mind and need a ride.”
“I will. See you tomorrow.”
“Damn straight you will. I’ll be sitting on your doorstep, waiting to drag every detail out of you.”
As I’m ending the call, Dallas walks in with drinks in his hand and a duffel bag draped over his shoulder. He sets the cans on the desk to hold up the bag on display.
“You didn’t take me up on my clothes offer earlier, but I keep my gym bag in my truck. You need something to sleep in?”
“Are they dirty or clean gym clothes?” Not that it matters. I’ll gladly sleep in anything that smells like him—dirty, bloody, stained, you name it.
“Filthy. Dirty. Sweaty.” He chuckles, and I fake a horrified look. “I’m kidding.”
I blush at the thoughts running through my head. “I know.”
He drops the bag next to me on the bed and starts to rummage through it. “What’s your preference? Pants? Shorts?”