“—Woah, I got a room with two beds, Brayden.”
My hope and heart plummets to the deepest part of my stomach at his words. Why would he get two beds?
Brayden hits a few keys and places his baseball cap on his head backward. “Ah, sorry Mr. Whistler. Looks like we were all sold out. I only had the King left.”
“Can you give us one minute?” Whistler holds up a finger and circles my arm gently to tug me off to the side. Even his grip is soft with me where Kenneth’s was tight and painful. He always left a bruise.
“Sure thing, my man. I’m just going to watch some Baywatch. Pamela in that tight red bikini just does it for me, ya know?”
“Good lord, how much does that kid smoke?” Whistler mumbles to me out of the side of his mouth.
“He’s nice,” I say in his defense.
“I didn’t say he wasn’t, Cupcake.”
“Why are you so mad that we have to share a bed?” I tug my arm free of his hold. “Do you not want to be close to me? I thought we had something but was it just…nothing?” I get more confused the more I think about it. He kisses me, he holds me, he shows me affection, he’s kind, so what’s the big deal about a bed?
“Mad?” His onyx eyebrows bend together so much, they almost look like a unibrow. Whistler relaxes. “Ah, shit. Cupcake, no. That’s not it. I asked for two beds because I didn’t want you to feel any pressure. It’s the last thing I want. Being alone in a small space, at night, I know how it feels and not for a moment did I want to make you feel like we had to be together.”
He only ever has the best intentions. I fist the front of his shirt. “I should have known you’d be so sweet.”
“Believe me, just because I asked for two beds didn’t mean I wanted them. I still had my dirty thoughts and wants but I knew what was right and that was respecting your space until you say otherwise.”
I press up on my tiptoes and smile against his lips. “Otherwise.”
“You make it impossible for a man to behave.” He nips at my bottom lip, and I open my mouth to give him entrance when the motel phone rings.
“Pink Penguin Motel where the quacks come to stay. Brayden at your surf-ice.” He chuckles at himself. “Get it? Service? But surf-ice? I’m so smart.”
Whistler sighs at the joke, but I find it endearing.
“Hey, Mr. Whistler? You still want the room? I have someone who needs it and it’s the only room left.”
Whistler stomps over in two strides and steals the key from the counter. “Fuck yes I want it.” He snags my hand and drags me away from the front desk before Brayden can say anything to stop us. “Room 3A. Awesome. Main level.” Whistler stops in front of the motorcycle and gets out the rest of the bags. I barely have time to catch my breath before he is dragging me to room 3A.
He fumbles with the key and while I wait for him to get the door open, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I peer over my shoulder, placing my chin along the curve to look around, but don’t see anyone. There’s a couple walking across the parking lot, their skin like leather from being in the sun for most of their lives, but they don’t seem threatening.
Must be my nerves or paranoia.
The door finally opens, and I shiver as soon as I step inside. The air conditioning is freezing. “It’s so cold in here,” I say, rubbing my arms up and down.
“Yeah, it is. Damn, they are going to freeze us out.” Whistler fiddles with the AC unit and the air finally kicks off. “There. It should warm up soon.” The plastic bags crunch together when he places them on the small table next to the bed.
“I’m going to wash up.” Whistler takes off his boots and they hit the floor with a solid thud one after the other. “And then a nap? Because I can barely keep my eyes open.”
“Sounds good to me.” Even though the room is cold, my palms are sweating. I rub them against my dress and explore the small room.
When I hear the faint hiss of the shower turn on, a filthy image of Whistler soaping up his body has me falling over and catching myself on the circular table made for two. I grip the edge and my nails dig into the fake wood.
It’s when he starts singing…badly, that I’m yanked out of my lust-induced haze. I stare at the wall the shower hides behind and muffle my laughter as his voice cracks as he sings offkey.
Well, I guess no one can be perfect, but Whistler is pretty damn close.
I chuckle to myself and sit on the edge of the bed. It’s soft and the comforter seems kind of itchy and cheap, but I think that adds to the wonderful appeal of it all. To the left, there’s a picture of the beach hanging above the lamp. It’s tilted. I try to straighten it and stick out my tongue as I adjust it.
I nod my head when it’s straight but a second later the frame grinds against the wall as it turns, hanging crooked again.
Damn, that’s going to drive me nuts.
The shower turns off and I panic. I throw myself under the covers, press my head against the pillow, and shut my eyes, pretending I’m asleep. Now that I’m here in this bed, I am scared. There’s no pressure, but there is.
From me.
What if I’m bad at having him hold me? What if I’m bad at sex?
“Charlie?” His deep tone has a shard of guilt stabbing me in the heart as I lie here. The mattress squeaks from his weight. He scoots closer to me.
And closer.
Until I can feel the warmth radiating from his chest against my back. It’s soothing and relieves the guilt I feel, but not the pressure.
All I want to do is move on with my life, enjoy, feel what’s good, and I can’t.
I’m frozen.
“Sleep well, Cupcake.” He kisses my shoulder in the same place Kenneth used to, but Whistler’s kiss is different. His lips linger, he rubs his fingers over my shoulder, and when he releases the kiss, he groans.
I wait for the snap, the anger, the random reason for hate to have him choke me or hit me, but it doesn’t come.
He hits me in another way.
“I’m falling in love with you, Charlie. So hard. So fast. I promise I’ll never hurt you. Give me the chance to show it,” he whispers, dragging his lips back and forth across my shoulder blade.
Tears spring to my eyes, but I keep them closed, afraid I’ll say something like, ‘I’m falling in love with you too.’ Because the last time I loved…
I ended up not being loved at all.
Love can be a form of abuse within itself. It’s either used against you or used to strengthen you, and I’ve only ever received one.
I hope my self-induced paralysis doesn’t last long because I want to show him how much I want to give him a chance.
Five days of torture. Five long, painful, never-ending days of torment.
I’ve seen her in every swimsuit. I’ve seen her tits bounce as she plays in the water and runs up the shore. I’ve put sunblock on her back, the ties of her swimsuit undone so she doesn’t have tan lines, I’ve watched her ass as she bends down to dry off. The sun has kissed her body in ways I want to, and the water has slid down her the way I want to drag my tongue down her. The breeze has sifted through her hair the way I want to run my fingers through it while I’m clutching onto the strands tight and diving into her depths.