JT’s jaw drops open.
“What?”
I know he heard me just fine, even if he isn’t sure he did. I decide to keep my tone very matter-of-fact when I reply, maybe that will help make what I’m doing right now sound rational and reasonable, instead of completely insane.
“I’d like to be with a man tonight. I don’t happen to be someone who has a friend with benefits I can text, and I’m not on any of those hookup apps. You’re hot, and when we are talking inside, it felt like there was something there. So if you’re straight, not married, not crazy, and interested in what I’m offering, then say yes and we can go back to my hotel room. I’m staying right across the street.”
I tip my head in the direction of the hotel where I’ve been staying until the house-sitting gig starts. The Desert Flower’s most positive online reviews include the words run-down and basic. Its worst reviews say it seems like the kind of place that rents rooms by the hour. I agree with both, but for fifty bucks a night, I don’t expect much.
JT cuts a glance toward the hotel, then slowly shifts his attention back to me, narrowing his eyes like he’s waiting for the punch line. When I just stand there like this totally normal, he cocks his head a little, looking even more confused.
“You’re serious.”
I nod. “I’m serious.”
JT waits a beat, then looks skyward for moment. Finally, he runs a hand through his dark brown hair and sighs.
“At the risk of sounding like a judgmental asshole, I have to ask you something. I’m sure once I do, this will be over because your answer will potentially involve you sprinting across the parking lot. Either that or you’re going to tell me to go fuck myself.”
I widen my eyes, telling him to ask away, without actually saying the words. He crosses his arms over his chest and I try not to stare, but his stance—all imposing and determined—makes that difficult.
“I’m assuming you saw my jacket. I’m also assuming you saw me reach for my holster when you came up behind me. But just in case you didn’t notice either of those things, then let me be upfront: I’m a US Marshal.” His tone turns harsh. “And even though I’m not picking up on any indications you’re a sex worker, I’ve been wrong before. But if that is your game, I’ll remind you that hustling is fucking dangerous and give you the phone number for a nonprofit group that can help you transition off the streets when you’re ready. Tonight, I’ll pretend I didn’t hear you just try to set up a trick. You can turn around and walk away, no questions asked. That saves us both a trip down to the sheriff’s office.”
It takes me a second to process what he’s saying, but when I do, it’s my turn to let my jaw drop.
He thinks I’m a prostitute? For real? I don’t know even know what to say because everything I know about prostitution is based on what I’ve seen on Cops, so all I have to go on is the stereotype of a woman in revealing clothing who’s loitering on a street corner. Since I’ve been standing in this parking lot for less than five minutes, that eliminates any potential loitering. And as for my dress, it isn’t that short.
A wave of indignation sweeps over me. I’m actually assessing my own hemline, as if how much thigh I show should matter. Unbelievable.
I shoot JT a withering look. Immediately, he raises his hands up, palms out in surrender.
“Your face tells me everything, so I’ll save you cussing me out. I’m sorry. It’s just that I’m a cop. I’ve seen too much to take anything at face value anymore. And this”—JT waves a hand between us—“doesn’t happen to me.”
I roll my eyes.
“Oh, please. The first part was bad enough, but don’t make it worse by pretending you’re so shocked by a woman coming on to you. You’re gorgeous. Your jawline alone would make a sculptor weep. You have all those tattoos and you smolder like nobody’s business. So do not act like you’re all dumbfounded here. It detracts from your overall hotness and makes me question my previous decision to unleash my feminine wiles on you.”
One side of JT’s mouth twitches before he shoves his hands in his pockets.
“Look, I’m just saying I’ve never had this happen, exactly. I’ve never had a woman approach me who’s so… ”
“Suave? Charming? Smooth like butter?”
He lets out a sharp laugh, almost like he’s been caught off guard by his own reaction.
“That must be it. All that buttery-smoothness.” He blows out breath. “But that still doesn’t explain what’s going on here. We just met ten minutes ago, over a deep fried onion. And neither of us had enough to drink in there to claim this is the alcohol talking. So you’re gonna have to explain to me how we went from talking about D.B. Cooper to talking about fucking each other.”
Inside, I groan a little. I’m not all that interested in sharing, but I guess a US Marshal probably isn’t the best choice if I want a no-questions-asked sort of guy. I blow out an exasperated breath.
“Two weeks ago, I went into work and was told my job was being eliminated due to budget cuts. After I boxed up my belongings, I went home and walked in on my boyfriend giving his new teaching assistant a ‘work evaluation’ that involved him bending her over on my work table in my studio space. I moved out and I’ve been crashing at a hotel since then. All of this is shorthand for: my life currently sucks. I found a house-sitting gig that starts in the next few days, but tonight I just want to blow off some steam. I want to feel good, even if it’s just for a few hours. It’s that simple.”
Somewhere in the midst of my speech, JT’s demeanor changes. At first, I’m not sure what to make of his expression because there isn’t one, at least not one that I can read. Overall, he just looks uncomfortable and… oh, hell.
I get it now.
The man isn’t interested. I laid out my case, offering myself up and propositioning him, all while he stood there and probably tried not to cringe on my behalf. Maybe he isn’t sure how to say it, but what he’s thinking is obvious. He doesn’t want anything to do with this. Or with me.
Jesus. Could this get any worse? I immediately begin to backpedal.
“If you… I mean, if you don’t… ” My words falter and I try to save face by slapping a hand over my eyes. “I get it, okay? This doesn’t have to be weird. You aren’t interested, and that’s fine, I’ll just—”
“I’m interested.”
His voice comes out so gravelly I can feel it in my toes. I draw my hand slowly away from my face and peek at him hesitantly. His eyes are taking me in—all of me. From every inch of my bare legs, up to the swell of my breasts above the low neckline on my dress.
“I’m interested,” he says again, even more roughly this time. I feel my skin start to heat at the intensity in his voice. Then he reaches for the car door handle and tips his head toward the passenger side. “You ready?”
I stand there motionless for moment, letting it all sink in. One night, that’s all this is. One night to feel good and to find my muse. Tomorrow I’ll work on fixing all the ways my life is a mess. Tomorrow I’ll paint. But tonight?
Tonight I’m going to put everything else aside.