“Big socks?” I finish it for her.
She nods hurriedly but doesn’t say anything else, too nervous to offend us. Charlie isn’t offended, I’m sure she’s overwhelmed though. Her mind went straight to sex, which there is no pressure about at all, but I can understand her wanting to run away from anyone that brings it up.
Charlie comes back with black flip-flops for me and bright blue flip-flops for her with small cupcakes on the plastic.
“She’ll wear these out,” I say, snapping off the price tag and handing it over.
Charlie’s old sneakers are plain, a brand that reminds me of Keds, but they aren’t. She slips off the wet shoes and slides on her flip-flops, sighing in content when her feet are no longer trapped in wetness.
I hold all of the bags as we walk out of the store. The sun is higher now, brighter and hotter. I catch Charlie aiming her face toward the warmth and she yawns, closing her eyes as she basks in the sun.
“You want to go back and take a nap before we tackle the rest of the day?”
“Yes, that sounds great.”
I stuff as much of our new purchases in the saddlebags as I can, and her arms wrap around me when my hands are free. “You’re going to have to carry the rest of it in the backpack.”
“Thank you so much. You have no idea how much this means to me, Whistler.”
If it’s anywhere as close as how much she means to me, then I have an idea.
I’m starting to get nervous.
The only man I’ve ever spent the night with before is Kenneth and he didn’t exactly pave a positive path for what men expect at night. Granted, Kenneth stopped wanting me years ago, and I’m thankful for that.
I know what mindset I should be in.
I’ve been in a relationship where I was abused. I need time to adjust to my new reality, but what I want more than anything is to be wanted. Truly wanted.
And maybe I’m crazy for that. Maybe I’m twisted in the head after so many hits from Kenneth that I’m hoping something happens between me and Whistler.
On the flip side of things, I haven’t loved Kenneth in a long time or even respected him. He traumatized me and sent me to my breaking point. I’ve been done and over Kenneth for a while now and I didn’t realize how ready I was to move on until Whistler said I was never married.
Talk about a chain being broken and my cage being opened. I couldn’t get that ring off fast enough.
The kiss with Whistler on the beach was everything I missed in life, and I want more of it, more of him. When I dared to dream about my life and I pictured someone I wanted to be with, Whistler fit the description.
I hate that I met him when I’m so broken and jaded, learning how to trust and love all over again. He deserves more than that with how amazing and beautiful he is to me.
If he were anyone else, there’s no way I would be on the back of their bike holding them tight. Whistler is different.
Whistler has me seeing all the things I will miss in life if I continue to be afraid. And I don’t want to be afraid anymore.
“Come on, Cupcake. Let’s get checked in.” He holds out his hand, and I take it as he helps me down from the bike.
I set down my helmet and smooth out my dress. He reaches into his saddle bag and plops the hat he got me on top of my head. I strike a pose and pucker my lips. He wraps one arm around me and dips me across his knee. My hand holds the hat on, so it doesn’t blow away. His lips crush mine in a kiss that shows ownership, a claim. I whimper when he sets me back on my feet, lips swollen, breathe stolen, and my heart racing with desire.
Heck, my entire body is thrumming with it. And I’m going to be alone in a room with a man who truly wants me? Yeah, my control doesn’t stand a chance.
“Couldn’t help myself.” He hums while brushing his thumb along my bottom lip, something I’ve noticed he likes to do. He likes touching me.
And I like his touch, which is odd considering I promised myself to avoid anyone touching me ever again if anything should have happened to Kenneth.
Whistler had to go and prove himself trustworthy, and now he’s wiggled his way into my heart. I thought I had hardened it to iron, but Whistler has proved it’s made of quicksand with how fast he has sunk inside it.
“Help yourself more often,” I reply and a serious expression drapes over his face.
He cages me in his arms, blocking me in a tight space with the bike behind me. One of his hands grips the handlebar while the other lies flat on the seat.
I have nowhere to go.
“Don’t temp me. I know what’s not under that dress and it’s already hard for me to concentrate.” He drops his gaze to my chest and his thumb brushes along the side of my knee. A soft growl escapes his throat before he pushes himself away. “Come on. Before you drive me out of my mind with lust.”
Why does that make me feel so good?
I take his hand and I follow behind him while we head to the door that has a piece of wood hanging on it that says ‘Front Office’ painted in flamingo pink.
It’s a beachy motel, meant for just sleeping, and I adore it. There’s sand everywhere and salt lingers in the air since all the doors and windows are open. The waves crash in the distance and the seagulls sing. I close my eyes and lean against the counter, smiling when another dream comes true.
“I’m sorry it isn’t nicer. I should have gotten us a condo; I was looking for the closest place after riding for so long.”
Why does he sound disappointed? I grip his arm tight. “Whistler, this is more than I could have asked for. It’s perfect. I wouldn’t want anything else.”
“You sure? I feel like you deserve more.”
“I have everything I’ve ever wanted.” I skim my fingers up and down his hairy arms. There are a few pale scares hiding under the dark hairs, but they’re hardly noticeable unless you’re really looking like I am. And if another woman starts staring that hard, we’re going to have a problem.
“If you’re sure,” he trails off and dings the bell.
A guy pops up from the floor, and I gasp jumping back. I didn’t expect him there.
“Hey, welcome to The Pink Penguin Motel, my dudes.” His red eyes widen when he sees me, and he smiles. “Sorry. Dude and dudette. My name is Brayden.” He points his thumbs at his nametag and runs his hands through his long blonde hair. He’s the California surfer cliché. The voice, the hair, the tan, and I’m pretty positive he is high. “Anyway, my bro and bro-ette. You see what I did there?” he laughs, and it reminds me of Bevis and Butthead. “How can the Brayden help you out today?”
Oh god, he just spoke about himself in the third person.
“Well, Brayden. I have a reservation under Whistler.”
“Whistler. I feel that. That’s a cool name, man. Can you like, whistle really well?”
Huh, why haven’t I ever asked?
Whistler smirks and leans forward, placing his elbows on the counter. He gestures at Brayden to come closer, and the eager surfer leans in as if he’s about to learn a secret. “If I tell you, I’d have to kill you, Brayden. And I like you, so killing you would suck.”
Brayden is wide-eyed for a minute before he doubles over laughing then points at Whistler before slapping his hand on the countertop. “Ah, you’re a funny dude. I like that, man. I get it. Secrets and stuff. It’s cool, bro.” Brayden snags a key from a row of hooks and the keychain is a pink penguin with a silver key dangling from it. “One king size—”