“My promises don’t mean shit, remember?”
“Make them mean something.”
I slam the door shut and let out a sigh before jogging back to the field. I ignore the rain as I hurry back to the same spot and dial the number as fast as I can, hoping that not only the service stays connected, but also that Willow keeps her ass planted in the truck.
I make it through and give the tow company our location. Then, I shove my phone into my pocket. I stop to search the dark sky and twist my wedding ring while rain drips from the tips of my fingers to the mud underneath my boots.
I don’t move. I only think.
My mind hasn’t been fighting back the painful thoughts of missing Lucy today. I haven’t felt like a failure of a husband since I knocked on Willow’s door this morning. I haven’t cursed the world for my loss. The constant guilt and anger didn’t seep through me when I saw the happy family in the booth across from us at the small diner we ate lunch in.
The presence of Willow blocks out that dark tunnel in my brain and gives me a way toward the light and out of my hole.
I open the back door when I get back to the truck, toss my mud-covered boots in the backseat, grab my tennis shoes from the floorboard, and slide into the driver’s side.
My attention shoots straight to Willow. She’s still in her wet clothes and slipping her fingers through the strands of her dripping hair. She sighs, grabs her purse, and digs through it until she scores a hair tie.
I gulp as she lifts her hair up, exposing her long, sleek neck.
Fuck, she’s breathtaking.
“You good?” I finally ask.
She bashfully runs a hand along her pale cheek. “Sorry about that. Minor freak-outs tend to be my thing during stressful situations.”
Her answer is a shot of relief. Relief of not scaring her away. Relief she’s not broaching the conversation she started outside.
“Don’t worry about it. Tow truck will be here in ten to fifteen minutes.”
“They’ll take us back to Blue Beech or fix the flat?”
“Depends. If he can change it in the rain, he will. If not, he’ll take us to the closest repair shop. Flats typically are a quick fix.”
Minutes of silence pass through the cab until Willow says something. “We missed you when you left, you know.” She snorts, and I’m unsure of where she’s going with this conversation. “The temps they sent when you left were terrible, and Hudson was a total asshole for the first month.”
I perk up in my seat. She’s talking about when I quit working for Stella. I didn’t give much notice. I left a day after Lucy told me the diagnosis.
“He was mending a broken heart,” I say, sticking up for my brother.
“Hmm, so is that what happens when men are mending a broken heart? It justifies them acting like assholes?” Her face is playful, but her tone isn’t. It’s built up in hurt, betrayal, and also confusion.
Fuck. Where is this tow truck? I should’ve offered more money to get it here sooner.
“You trying to insinuate something?” I brace myself for the impact she’s about to give me.
“Damn straight I am.”
I swallow down my guilt. “Care to elaborate?”
“People get their hearts broken. People lose people. No offense, but it happens every day. Every minute. That’s no excuse to act like a dick. You were a dick to me. Hell, all men are dicks if you’re not letting them give you theirs. That’s when they’re nice and comforting.”
“I’ll apologize again for my dickdom. Hurt people don’t always intend to hurt other people. That’s not my intention. Trust me, I’d never want anyone to go through the hell I’m going through.”
Her attention moves to the back window as headlights pull up behind us. Perfect timing to end this conversation. Intimate conversations with Willow are high risk for me. I’m a man of few words, and it seems I always choose the worst ones with her.
I grip the door handle. “Don’t get out of this truck, headlight-chaser.”
I meet the man in the middle of our trucks. He’s sporting a parka and black boots.
“Nice day out here, huh?” he asks, thrusting his hand my way.
“For a duck,” I mutter back, shaking his hand.
“It’s about to get worse for ya.”
Of course. The day goes more to shit.
Instead of asking why, I wait for him to elaborate.
“I can’t work in this weather,” he says. “It’s dangerous, and they’re talking about possible tornados.” He whistles. “Half of the town’s power is out due to the storm. Our mechanic went home to his family ’cause of it, but I’ll ask him to come in first thing in the morning to fix this.”
“Fuck. You’ve got to be kidding me.”
He takes a step closer while chewing on a toothpick. “Wish I were. If it helps, I can give you a ride to the motel a few blocks down from the shop.”
I slap him on the shoulder. “Appreciate it.” I nod toward his truck. “You happen to have an umbrella in there?”
“Sure do.”
“Thanks, man.”
I jump back into my truck with the umbrella in my hand, ready to hear Willow rip my head off when I tell her we’ll be having a sleepover tonight. I open my mouth when reality cuts through me. How am I going to handle a sleepover? I grind my teeth. This is a small town. They’ll no doubt have more than one room available. I jumped the gun with the thought that we’d be sharing.
She’s relaxed in the leather seat with her bare feet resting on the dashboard. I can’t stop myself from giving her a once-over. Her soaking T-shirt has been replaced with a rose-colored lace tank top that showcases her cleavage. Her breasts are small, but that doesn’t mean they don’t excite my dick. They fit perfectly in my hands that night.
“Everything okay?” she asks.
I jerk my chin up, my throat tight. “He’s giving us a ride into town.”
“Perfect. How long will it take them to fix it?”
“Till tomorrow.”
Her legs drop from the dashboard faster than Maven comes running when I mention ice cream. “What?” she shrieks. “Where are we supposed to sleep?”
“There’s a motel a few blocks down from the repair shop.”
“Can’t we take an Uber back home and then pick it up in the morning?”
I smirk. “Ubers don’t go to Blue Beech, babe.”
“Sorry, but we only have one room available.”
Go fucking figure.
Stranded. Check.
Having to share a room. Check.
What else can happen that’s not going to make Willow wish she’d never stepped foot into my truck?
“We’re always booked up on auction days. It’s even worse today,” the woman with steel-gray hair says in a hoarse, cracked voice while shaking her head at us like we’re in the principal’s office. “People don’t want to travel in this mess. Here’s a piece of advice for next time: book in advance.”
“Thanks for the tip.” I don’t give two shits about her advice. She’s our last resort. “We’ll take it.”
I grunt when Willow edges into my side to push herself in front of me. She faces the woman with a Harriet name tag.
“That’s a room with two beds, right?” she asks.
“Sorry, honey. All we have is one queen.” Harriet releases a bland smile. “Again, book in advance next time.”
Sharing a bed. Fucking check.
Willow shoots me an innocent smile. “This will be interesting.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Willow
If Dallas believes I’m calm, I’ll be asking Stella for a job tomorrow because I deserve an Emmy.
I’m doing everything in my power not to freak out right now.
We’ve shared a bed before.
Granted, we fucked each other, but no alcohol will be present tonight. We’ll keep our hands to ourselves and build a pillow wall to separate us, and everything will be okay.
No touchin
g. No sex. Fingers crossed he won’t freak out tomorrow morning and leave me stranded.
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?”
“Shorts, please.”
He holds up a pair of blue shorts with a red stripes down the sides. “These okay?” He pulls out a T-shirt next.
“They’ll work.” I play with the fabric in my hand when he hands them to me. “I’ll go, uh … change in the bathroom.”
I’m getting my pervert on when I shut the door behind me and smell his shorts. Fresh linen. I never knew what that smell was until my mom bought me the scented candle for Christmas. It was my favorite scent until I got a whiff of Dallas’s fresh linen.
Even with my growing stomach, I have to tie the drawstring tight around my waist to keep the shorts from falling to my ankles. I grab the shirt and contemplate taking off my bra. It’s usually the first thing I dispose of when I walk through the front door, but I’m not alone.
I unsnap it, snap it back, hesitate, and decide to leave it on. I pull the shirt over my head and pause to take in my reflection
in the mirror before going back out. I grimace and smooth my hands over my hair. Rain turns it into a frizzy mess.
“Dinner is served,” Dallas announces when I walk out. “It didn’t take them long to microwave it.”
I laugh. “Gourmet ramen at its finest.”
He scoots out the desk chair, so I can sit down, and he places the corn dog, French fries, and the Styrofoam bowl of noodles in front of me.
“I lived off this stuff when I moved to LA and was looking for a job. Hell, even after I found a job, I ate it more than I should have because I was lazy.” I grin and kick his foot when he sits down on the bed. “Meanwhile, your lucky ass got to live in Stella’s guest suite that was complete with a gourmet chef.”
He hooks his thumb toward his bowl. “This might be giving him some competition, and don’t act like Stella didn’t invite you to move in every month.”
“That’s true, but I wanted my own place, you know? My own space. Believe it or not, I’m an introvert at heart.”
Stella also despised Brett, and they couldn’t be in the same room for five seconds without wanting to rip each other apart.
“Makes two of us. Lucy was the extrovert to my introvert. She could make conversation with anyone in the room. Me? I was cool with standing to the side and people-watching.”
I stiffen in my seat. Lucy. Her name always sends a bolt of mixed emotions through me.
Guilt from sleeping with Dallas. Jealousy that she was the one he adored, the woman he loved and shared a bed with without freaking out in the morning.
I nod and slurp a noodle into my mouth, attempting to appear relaxed. Dallas sets his bowl on the nightstand and slides to the edge of the bed until he’s only inches from me. I slurp my noodles louder and faster, sounding obnoxious, and act like I don’t notice how close he is.
He stays quiet until I swallow down my bite. “I was in a dark place then.”
I drop my spoon into the bowl. “What?” Why is he bringing this up? Abort mission. Please.
“That morning. Hell, for months.”
I fish the spoon out of the bowl, and my heart sinks at the pained expression on his face.
Just One Night Page 12
