“You have got to be kidding me.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
The first rumble of thunder drowns out Hal’s voice on the other end of my cell phone.
“Hang on a second, Hal. Did that work?” I shout from the driver’s seat to Greg as he leans under the hood of the car, frowning. He shakes his head.
“Sure you don’t want me to drive out there?” Hal says.
“God, H, no. Thanks, but I can’t expect you to do that. The lady who owns the restaurant says the guys at the garage shut up shop early for the holiday weekend. First thing tomorrow we’ll be able to get a tow. There must be a motel here or something. We’ll be fine. Thank you so much for your help.”
I hear him sigh on the other end of the line. “You’re going to stay overnight with him?”
Now it’s my turn to exhale, and I lower my voice so Greg hopefully won’t hear. “Hal, come on. It’s cool, we’re … we’re good now.” Although the idea of sharing a room with Greg makes me break out in sweats and shiver simultaneously. Somehow it feels like there would be more pressure now, that I’d be more self-conscious about it all. “I’ll call you in the morning and let you know how we’re doing. Tell Maxi I’ll call her later, OK?”
“All right,” Hal says grudgingly. “Be safe, Cath.”
I smile at his concern. “I will be. Thanks, Hal. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
I end the call and get out to stand next to Greg as he folds his arms and shakes his head at the engine. I reach over and shut the hood, and then we both duck as a crackle of lightning illuminates the sky.
“Holy shit,” I chuckle nervously. “We need to get inside.” Just as the words leave my lips, a downpour erupts, and we both laugh and run back toward the restaurant steps. We drip in the foyer as Ana tries to insist we stay with her, but somehow I feel like we’d be stuffed like Thanksgiving turkeys and be unable to move, let alone get our tow in the morning.
“There’s no hotels in town, honey,” she says to Greg. “Come on, Gio can sleep on our couch, you two have the bed, it’s no problem—”
“Oh, Ana, we really don’t want to be any trouble,” I pipe up. “I think we passed a motel just before the turning for Colby. Could someone just give us a ride out there?”
She eventually agrees, getting her sixteen-year-old son, Gio, to help Greg and me push the Corvette under an awning so it doesn’t get completely soaked—unlike us. By the time we climb into Gio’s truck and he drives us gingerly down the road in the pouring rain to the motel, I feel like my white silk shirt is guaranteed to be heading for the trashcan.
“Thanks, man. Drive safe,” Greg calls as the kid pulls off in the dark, his headlights flashing at us as he turns the truck around, but the rain is easing at last. Greg and I look at each other as we stand in the parking lot, and can’t help laughing, though his eyes darken as he studies the clingy fabric of my shirt in the light from the streetlamp. I shiver again, even though I’m not really cold. He moves a step closer to me and puts an arm around my shoulder. “Let’s get inside,” he murmurs.
We push through the door and into the overwhelmingly brown motel lobby. A thin, dark-haired, unshaven guy looks up from what appears to be a trashy romance novel.
“Good evening,” he says languidly.
“Hey,” Greg says. “We need a room…” He glances down at me, suddenly looking a little flustered. “Um, I mean, is that OK?” he asks in a low voice. “We could get two, if—”
I shake my head. “No, of course. One room is fine,” I say, then bite my lip as he turns back to the desk clerk. Even though this place has none of the faded charm of the Fairview, I’m starting to get serious flashbacks of the last time Greg and I were in a hotel room together. But for some reason I’m not sure if that’s the route I want to go down this evening. Go down. I wince at my brain’s choice of words. The thing is, I do want to sleep with him. Badly. I’m just worried about rushing into things headlong and ruining—
“…the Aqua suite…” the desk clerk is saying, and I suddenly start paying attention again as he hands over the keys.
I look up at Greg and his eyes are doing that twinkle as he barely suppresses a grin. “Great. Thanks, uh, Richie, right?”
“That’s right, sir. You need anything else?”
Behind the desk I see some ancient-looking motel-branded T-shirts pinned to the wall in a display. “Actually—are those for sale?” I ask. I’m going to need some kind of change of clothes, and I draw the line at sitting around in my damp underwear. Somehow I doubt there are robes in the Aqua suite.
“Yes, ma’am. Nineteen ninety-nine each.”
It’s my turn to grin. “Great. I’ll take two.” Greg coughs as Richie hands over my merchandise, but if I’m wearing one, he’s wearing one. “My special gift to you,” I murmur, and he smiles.
We go back outside and cross the parking lot, heading up the stairs to the second floor and moving slowly along the walkway trying to find our room.
“Give me the rustic Fairview any day,” Greg says low in my ear as he walks next to me with his hand on the small of my back. He probably means it innocently, but I swallow, and open my mouth to start saying something about ground rules. But then he realizes we’ve passed the room, and we double-back and let ourselves inside.
It’s a symphony of faded blues and greens. There’s a mural of an ocean scene painted on one wall that looks like a scaled-up version of something Carl would have done in kindergarten, and we’d humor him by sticking it to the refrigerator.
“Um, wow,” I breathe. My eyes alight on the bed, and before any thoughts of what Greg and I might do on it can cross my mind, something else occurs to me. “Oh, hold on a second…” I rush toward it and leap. “Yes!”
The “mattress” gives way under me and undulates slowly, with a sloshing noise to accompany it. Both Greg and I burst out laughing, and he flops down beside me onto the waterbed.
“Hmm, matter of fact, we probably shouldn’t lie on top of this bedspread,” I say, wrinkling my nose. Greg turns to me as we lie on our backs, bobbing slightly.
“You want to get under the covers?” he asks, and although the twinkle in his eyes tells me he’s sort-of joking, the tone of his voice suggests he’s also sort-of serious.
I sit up, biting my lip, and he joins me on the edge of the bed. “Uh, listen, Greg, I’m just wondering… We’ve only just got things back on track, and if we leap into the waterbed and pick up where we left off at the last hotel, it could—maybe—be a little too soon? I don’t know.”
He looks at me for a while, his blue eyes seeming even brighter in the aquamarine sea surrounding us. He takes a breath and stands up, looking down at me and placing one hand over his heart, with a grin pulling at his lips. “Frankly, Ms. Johnson, I would never presume. If you don’t want to, then I promise you I can keep my hands to myself.” He leans down over me, jostling the water-mattress, and puts his mouth next to my ear. “Question is, can you?” He trails his tongue ever-so-lightly against the curve of my ear, and then stands back up, smirking sexily.
I wait until the shivers have finished running through my nerve endings before I stand up too and face him. “Hmm… We’ll see.” I pull his arms around me, reach up, and give him a kiss. I mean it to be a quick one, but that never seems to work when my lips connect with his. A good minute later I pull back and clear my throat. “OK, this could be harder than I thought.”
“You’re telling me,” Greg says with a rueful smile, and I blush.
I notice that I’m actually starting to get a little chilly for real with these damp clothes on, and I turn and walk over to the open bathroom door. I switch on the light and a fan clicks noisily into life. Someone has done one of the worst tile jobs I’ve ever seen, attempting to depict a wave going across the wall by the shallow bath. Still, the towels look clean, and a hot shower sounds pretty good right about now. I stroll back out and grab my motel tee.
“I think I might take a shower,” I say, and Greg nods, eyeing
me with obvious desire that makes me wonder how I’m going to take off all my clothes in the next room without jumping him. Maybe “too soon” could actually be “can’t be soon enough.” Still, I should at least attempt to hold back for now. “And I’m starting to feel the first little pangs of hunger,” I add. “How about you?”
He shrugs a little. “I don’t think this is the sort of place with a five-star restaurant. But we could order a pizza. Or I could go raid the vending machines?”
“Sounds good,” I say.
“OK. Any preferences?”
I walk over to him and lean up to kiss his cheek, because that seems safer. “Surprise me,” I reply, and he chuckles.
“Vending machine surprise, coming right up.” He grabs the key card and heads back out, and I head back to the bathroom and strip off. The shower is actually pretty good, but the weird little hairdryer attached to the wall does just about nothing to dry my hair. I root around in my purse and find a brush, so at least it won’t be a tangled, eggplant-colored mess once it dries. Then I slip on the motel tee, but my shorts are still damp. I leave them and my shirt spread out on the back of a chair to dry, and then almost jump out of my skin when I hear a pounding on the motel-room door, like someone’s kicking at it.
I head across the room to open it, and see Greg standing there, his arms laden down with pretty much everything the vending machine could possibly have contained. “Whoa,” I say, stepping aside as he stumbles over to the table and dumps it all.
“Whoa yourself,” he murmurs as he straightens up and turns around, looking me up and down. Guess the T-shirt’s coming up a little short. I smile slyly, feeling sexy in the way only he makes me feel, and decide I might play with him a bit.
“I’m testing your resolve,” I say breathily, spinning around and leaning over the table a little more than is necessary to inspect the goods. He’s lucky I put my still-slightly-damp underwear back on. “Looks delicious,” I say innocently, ignoring him staring and instead eyeing the cans of soda, chips, and candy bars with a grin.
“Yeah… Well, seeing as we ate so well earlier, I figured I should keep up that high bar,” he says wryly. “This all OK?”
I straighten up and pick up a Snickers, nodding. “Hell, yeah. Thank you.”
He leans over and kisses my damp head, and I worry I smell of motel shampoo, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He edges his body closer, his hand reaches up, warm fingertips tickling the back of my neck, edging under the hair hanging down my back. The other hand finds the curve of my ass, which isn’t difficult seeing as it’s barely covered by the shirt. “Hmmm…” I murmur. “Those hands are getting awfully close to myself, not keeping to yourself. Why don’t you go grab a nice shower too?” I whisper with a smile. I’m already starting to feel like I need another one.
“Huh. Are you saying I’m stinky?” Greg asks, one corner of his mouth lifting as he leans back to look down at me. I roll my eyes and give him a quick peck on the cheek. He pulls his hands away and shakes his head despairingly, but obliges me, heading into the bathroom while rolling his shoulders as though he’s trying to relieve some tension.
I squirm a little as well, pulling at my underwear, then grab some of the vending machine food, noticing with relief that Greg’s managed to get some toothbrushes and tiny tubes of toothpaste along with it. I head over to the bed, strip back the cover, and climb awkwardly onto the rolling surface to sit cross-legged. I find the remote for the TV and switch it on, flicking swiftly past the pay-per-view porn to some trashy reality TV show. I think watching a blue movie is a tease too far, but seeing as I’m eating Cheetos in bed, he shouldn’t feel too challenged in the sexiness department. For now, at least.
But a few minutes later the bathroom door opens and Greg appears, backlit from the light and steam in there, wearing only a towel around his waist. I stare, but he pretends not to notice, instead looking over at the television screen.
“I can’t believe you’re snarky about Bittersweet when you watch this shit,” he chuckles, but looks over at me when I don’t respond. “Oh, are you… Are you OK?” he asks, watching my eyes shamelessly sweeping over his torso. He hooks a finger into the top of his towel, pretending to be nonchalant.
“Hmm?” I reply, barely having heard him.
He reaches up and runs his other hand through his damp hair so that it’s slicked back away from his face. Stray drops of water drip down his slim, toned stomach. A dark trail of hair leads down tantalizingly from his navel and disappears into the towel. He’s never looked sexier, but I have a feeling that’s partly to do with the fact that he’s throwing my challenge back in my face. I start to find myself running through a list of reasons in my head about why it might be a good idea to take it slow. We’ve only just ironed out our issues, and there may still be one or two wrinkles. We don’t have any protection… Although if the vending machines had toothbrushes, chances are they’ll have condoms too. Or he might still have one in his wallet. But still, we shouldn’t because … um…
“Just came out to grab this,” Greg says, his eyes twinkling, his mouth twisted in a half-smile as he picks up his own motel tee. He turns and heads back into the bathroom, and I exhale loudly as he shuts the door. A couple of minutes later he re-emerges wearing it, and his jeans, which are rolled up a few inches to show his ankles and bare feet. His hair is still pushed back off his face and he comes over to me, smiling as he reaches into the bag of Cheetos and pulls a few out. I eye him warily as he walks around to the other side of the bed and then sits down next to me. I bob up and down gently as he does, and we smile at one another.
“Better?” I ask, and he shrugs.
“I don’t know,” he says quietly, his eyes roaming down my legs. I relent, slipping my legs under the sheet and hugging my knees up to my chest. We fall silent, staring at the television while a million thoughts whizz through my mind, and I try to decide which one to focus on. Restless, I get up to go grab a soda from the table.
“Want one?” I ask, but he shakes his head, his eyes whipping away from me as the shirt rides up a little again. I pop open the can and take a couple of sips, then go back over to the bed, and it’s his turn to bob.
Yeah, this could not be any more awkward.
I’m in bed, in a motel, with the hottest, most intriguing, funny, infuriating, all-around amazing guy I’ve pretty much ever met, and I’m staring at a TV and getting crumbs in the sheets.
We may need to rectify this…
Chapter Twenty-Five
We sit through an entire sitcom in silence, with both of us sneaking sideways glances when we think the other won’t notice. I’m almost aching with the need for Greg to touch me, but he really seems to be taking the “keeping his hands to himself” thing to heart. I pull my legs out from under the covers, seeing as they seem to be something of a weakness for him. He clears his throat, and I move the bag of Cheetos off the bed and set them on the nightstand, trying to dust some of the orange off my fingers. Hmm. Orange fingers and synthetic cheese smell. Not so sexy.
“Uh, I think I might go wash up,” I say, holding up my hands and then getting up and walking over to grab one of the toothbrushes and the toothpaste from the small table. Greg nods and looks down at his own stained fingers, smiling. His hair has dried now, and falls into his face adorably. “Why don’t you join me?” I say, and grab the other toothbrush, walking back over to the bed and reaching out to help him up.
Greg puts his hand in mine, and I lead him over to the bathroom. We stand side by side in front of the sink, looking at one another in the mirror for a moment. I lean down to wash my hands, then break my toothbrush out of its packaging and he does the same, dispensing toothpaste onto my brush before doing his own. We start to brush our teeth, all the while watching each other in the mirror and smiling, our shoulders touching.
For some reason, it’s in this moment that I know I’m really falling for him.
We take turns spitting and rinsing, then I straighten up and take a breath and t
urn to face him. Without saying anything, I raise up onto my tiptoes to brush my lips against his, then lightly flick the tip of my tongue against his teeth until they part. He tastes of mint and … Greg. I press my hands against his firm pecs for balance, but he pulls back a little.
“What about—”
“You win,” I say with a smile, and he grabs me around my waist.
“Thank god,” he says, then presses his mouth against mine, his tongue sweeping against mine hungrily. He lifts me up onto the sink and I part my legs so he can step in between them, never breaking the kiss. He moves one hand from where he’d been supporting my ass to pick me up, and instead slips it in between my legs, stroking me in slow circles over my panties.
“Mmmm,” I moan, and he smiles against my mouth. I pull away and start to kiss his neck, and he strokes me more firmly. I squirm, trying to get comfortable, but the faucet is digging into my lower back so it’s sort of hard to concentrate. I shuffle forward a little, and then push his hand away so I can reach for the button of his jeans. I undo it, and the fly, and he shoves them down his legs quickly. I reach down between us again, until my fingers find what they’re looking for. The heat of his hard cock radiating through the cotton of his boxer briefs. I tighten my grip and a low noise emanates from the back of his throat. He leans forward and pulls the neck of my T-shirt down, running his tongue along my collarbone, squeezing my ass with his free hand and pressing closer to me. The way my back pushes against the faucet even when he does that makes me think repeated thrusting here is not going to work.
“Greg,” I whisper hoarsely, and he leans back. “The bed…”
He nods, picking me up, and I wrap my legs around his waist as he pulls me off the sink and shuffles out of the bathroom with his jeans around his ankles.
Bittersweet Page 18
