by Ella Fox
Yanking the phone back, he jams it into his pocket as he takes a step back from the desk. “I’ve got shit to do. Wanna hand over my mail, Shortstack?” he asks, his tone brisk.
The loss of that brief burst of warmth from him is devastating. I know I’m blushing as I nod. Pulling out the desk drawer where Margie keeps the mail, I grab the small rubber band bound stack that has a post-it note with Donovan’s name on it.
Closing the drawer, I hold the bundle out to Donovan. His jaw tics as he pointedly looks from my hand down to the counter. I’m not surprised that he won’t risk touching me again, so I say nothing as I set the mail down. Picking it up, he spins on his heel and strides toward the exit.
“I’ll let you know when I find something,” he says without looking back at me.
I don’t look away from his retreating form until he’s out of my line of vision. When I do, I cup my face with my shaky hands and let out a whoosh of breath. Donovan Beckett is a tidal force and for a second there he let me ride the wave. For reasons I can’t readily identify, that feels like a victory.
8
Eden
My cell phone rings as I’m walking to my room after finishing my workday. Seeing Julie’s name on the display, I slide my finger across the screen and answer. “Wassup?”
“Knock, knock!”
The girl loves her jokes. Playing along I answer, “Who’s there?”
“Ivana.”
“Ivana who?”
“Ivana go out tonight. You in?” she laughs.
I want to go out—but only if a certain someone won’t be there. “Depends. Is Sammi going?”
“It’s our lucky day. She’s in Philly for the weekend to hang with her cousins which means we’re Sammi freeeeee,” Julie sings.
I breathe out a sigh of relief. “It’s the best way to be, anndddd since she’s not coming, I’m all over it,” I say as I slide my key into the lock. “I assume we’re going to Frank’s, right?”
As I ask, Donovan’s door opens. Stepping out into the breezeway, he jerks his head in acknowledment when he sees me. It’s only been two days since I’ve seen him, but the way my body reacts you’d think it’d been a year. And although he talked to me at the front desk when he announced he was going to look into finding my dad, the fact that he’s apparently fine with consistently acknowledging my presence on earth now is a shock. Several seconds pass as we stare at each other. Just like the other night, the air around us feels charged with energy. I only realize I’ve been staring at him in silence when I hear Julie saying my name.
“Eden. Eden! Did I lose you? Damn this stupid phone,” she mutters.
Clearing my throat, I turn away from Donovan and finish unlocking the door. “I’m here,” I assure her. I know I’m blushing as I give him a little finger wave without meeting his eyes again as I push my door open.
“Oh, good. Yes, we’re going to Frank’s. You good for me to pick you up around eight?”
“Eight is good,” I answer as I walk into my room and close the door behind me. Leaning against it, I let out a breath.
“Sweet—I’ll see you then. Obvi make sure to wear your Lucite heels,” she giggles.
I let out a dry laugh as I push off the door and head toward my room. “Already wearing them. I think they gave me a real height advantage at the front desk today,” I deadpan.
“I knew you had it in you, you sexy bitch,” she snickers. “Ooh, I almost forgot. Great news—Morrow is going to drive so we can drink tonight! It’s hammered time.”
“I think you mean hammer time.”
“No, I definitely mean hammered. We’re getting wasted—I think we more than earned it this week.”
“Oh hell, Julie. Now I’m thinking about room twelve again!”
What happened in room twelve this week is the stuff of a clean freak’s nightmares. The guest tried to flush four poo-stained washcloths down the toilet—which was, of course, full of number two. Naturally, the flush didn’t work and the whole thing overflowed everywhere. To make matters worse, they didn’t notify the front desk, which means we only found out about it when the cleaning crew went in to turn the room. The good days far outweigh the bad in hospitality but damn, the bad days can be rough as hell.
After hanging up with Julie, I plug my phone into the charger on my nightstand before I drop back onto my bed, starfish style. Setting my hand against my stomach, I let out a long sigh. I need some kind of Donovan vaccine because even seeing him for thirty seconds is enough to make my stomach get fluttery. Deciding that I need to redirect my thoughts I stand and head for the bathroom. Closing the drain in the tub, I turn the hot water on and start filling it. After squeezing in some of my favorite Suave sweet pea and violet body wash in,, I walk back into my bedroom and take my clothes off before tossing them into the laundry bag I keep in my closet.
Back in the bathroom, I waste no time getting into the tub. Setting my head back on the waterproof tub pillow I bought in town last week, I inhale the delicious scent of my body wash. Closing my eyes, I do some deep breathing exercises that my mom was always big on. Whenever I was confused or needed to focus, she’d remind me to breathe and let all the unimportant stuff go. I can remember the way my dad would laugh when he’d find us laying on the living room floor doing breath work—back when he was still normal. Forcing those thoughts aside, I let everything go and allow my mind to wander. Shocker, my thoughts stay close to home, meaning I’m now thinking about room thirty—specifically Donovan Beckett.
Groaning, I huff out a breath as I sit up. So much for relaxing. Annoyed, I grab my body puff, load it up with body wash, and get to work scrubbing myself from neck to toe. This bath thing didn’t work at all—I’m more keyed up than I was when I got in. Here’s hoping a few drinks and some dancing will help me blow off steam.
Without Sammi around, being out with Julie’s friends is great. I’m sure my consumption of a vodka gimlet and three lemon drop shots haven’t hurt my mood either. I’m definitely buzzed, but not sloppy drunk so it’s okay.
I laugh like an idiot as Julie grabs my hands and starts dancing with me to AFI’s “Miss Murder”. Fortunately the music is loud, which means no one around me is being subjected to how badly I butcher the lyrics as we sing along. One song passes into another as I take turns dancing with Julie and Morrow, Camreigh, Jack, Kyle, and Chip. It seems like only a small amount of time has passed when the DJ announces he’s playing the song of the night. I took one more shot, but I’m just sober enough to remember to pull my floaty, stomach-baring top down when Julie spins me around as we dance to Louis Tomlinson’s “Miss You”.
When the song is over the lights come on. Looking around, I snicker when I realize we’re among the only people left. We’re a little loud and a lot drunk as we stumble up the stairs. Morrow’s sober, but everyone else is shitfaced. We’re lucky that he’s playing taxi tonight and luckier still that he drives an old Chevy Suburban so there’s plenty of room for all of us in there.
Everyone else heads to the bathroom, but since I’ve already gone several times tonight, I skip it. After a few minutes of waiting by the door, I decide I should use this opportunity to get some air as a pre-emptive measure. I’m not looking forward to being cooped up in the car again. Because I’m the smallest, it was a no-brainer for me to sit in between Jack and Chip on the way here. They’re both well over six feet and both are built like professional football players so it wasn’t the most comfortable thing ever. Also, Jack wears a lot of cologne and I felt like I was choking on it. Exiting the bar, I take a deep breath of the cool fall air and chuckle as I stumble over to the concrete bench against the wall. I’m singing my heart out to my current favorite song, Imagine Dragons’ “Whatever It Takes” as I make my way there.
Only when I plop down on said bench do I realize someone is seated on the other end. My senses know who it is by the charge in the air and the scent of the cologne that makes me weak in the knees. Turning, I suck in a breath when I come face to face with Donovan.
Ass on the bench, back resting against the exterior wall and legs kicked out in front of him, he’s a bad boy fantasy come to life. No surprise that he’s in all black, but in a nod to the chillier weather, he’s got on a motorcycle jacket. Unfortunately, this makes him look even sexier than usual and the fluttering in my belly is twice as intense as it normally is.
He raises a brow and watches me silently as he takes a drag of his cigarette. When he says nothing, I stick out my tongue and blow a raspberry at him. “You need to talk more,” I grumble.
Cocking his head, he gives me a wry look. “I distinctly remember telling you I don’t like talking.”
I’m going to blame the booze on the fact that I give him the finger. “Talking isn’t something to dislike. Didn’t anyone ever tell you that people are more interesting when they speak?”
He lets out a dismissive sound as he turns and stubs his cigarette out in the big trashcan ashtray thing next to the bench.
“Not everyone is more interesting when they talk, Shortstack. Some people are boring as hell and others are just assholes.”
I roll my eyes as I cross my arms over my chest. “I’m not talking about some people, Stretch. I’m talking about you.”
I’m just finished speaking when the door to the bar swings open and Julie bursts out. Turning, she makes a dramatic sound when she sees me. “Bitch, I panicked. I thought you’d been taken, like in that movie, Taken? And just so you know, I have a particular skill set, but the only things I’m good at finding are shoe sales and old lip balms, so this would’ve ended badly. Anyway, you need to come back inside to get out of the cold because Camreigh’s in the bathroom yacking up a lung. Frank’s tight with Mom and Dad so he’s pulling the responsible card. He says we have to stay and hang out while the staff cleans the bar. She should be fine—normally when she pukes, it goes on for about half an hour and then she stops. I’d toss her ass in the car now but with all of us crammed in there, I’m pretty sure someone would get puked on. No one wants—”
She abruptly stops speaking when she sees Donovan on the bench. “Van Van! You’re out late,” she blurts.
He shrugs. “You know I like to stop in here and have a beer or two when the mood strikes, J-bird.”
“I know that, dork, I’m just saying it’s late,” she answers with a giggle.
“When you’re right, you’re right, girl genius,” he says dryly.
I look back and forth between them with interest. Other than Margie and Ron, I’ve never noticed Donovan talking to anyone else. That he’s actually pleasant and jovial with Julie is wild—and it’s insanity that they have nicknames for each other. What the hell? Clearly, they know each other, considering she works at the motel, but since this is the first time I’m seeing them together I had no idea they were friendly.
“You know what I’m thinking?” she asks.
“Not in your head, so no,” he answers.
“Since you’re going back to the motel anyway, you can take Eden back with you. You can save the poor girl from being sandwiched between Jack and Chip in the car again.”
She issues it as a challenge and I turn my neck so fast it’s a wonder it doesn’t go all the way around. I give her a look of utter mortification as I squeak, “What?”
Of course he’s going to say no and now I’m going to look like a complete idiot. I scrunch my eyes shut as I wait for the sting of his rejection.
“Uh… sure. I mean, I guess it’s no problem as long as Shortstack’s cool with riding on the back of the bike.”
My neck gets one hell of a workout as I swivel to face him, my eyes now wide open in shock.
“Really?” I squeak.
“We’re going to the same place,” he answers like it’s no big deal.
If Michael Jackson came back from the dead and moonwalked out the door of the bar right now, I wouldn’t even blink. When it occurs to me that I’ve never seen Donovan with a bike, I scrunch my nose in confusion.
“You drive a truck. Where’d you get a bike from?”
Donovan smirks but says nothing as he rises.
“That’s not an answer, Stretch.”
“He keeps it back in the garage,” Julie provides.
Ah, that explains what was under the tarp.
We’re interrupted by the bar door opening. Morrow steps out looking distinctly uncomfortable. “Baby, you’re going to need to deal with Camreigh. She just puked down the front of her top. Frank gave us a staff shirt, but none of us are down to take her top off—so that’s on you.”
Groaning, Julie stomps her foot. “New rule. Everyone needs to carb up before we go out. I knew she was going to puke when she told me her big meal for the day was a salad.” Gesturing to Donovan, she says, “You got this, Van Van?”
“It’s not rocket science, J-bird. We’ll be back to the motel before you’re finished cleaning up your puke-covered friend.” Looking at Morrow he gestures to Julie and says, “You make sure she gets home safe and sound, you feel?”
Morrow nods. “Of course. I’m on it.”
Julie giggles as she steps forward, goes up on her tiptoes and presses a kiss to Donovan’s cheek. “I’ll be fine, weirdo.”
He neither turns to stone or shoves her away, which is shocking.
“Being hungover as fuck doesn’t mean you can weasel your way out of stopping to get your mom her donuts tomorrow,” he says gruffly.
Slapping his arm, she steps back and sticks her tongue out. “Shut your face, buttmunch. I’d never let my mom down.”
I didn’t even drink any tequila so it’s not like I ate the worm, which means I’m not hallucinating. What. The. Hell. Is. Going. On? It’s not like I can ask Julie right now but damn, this is nuts. After I stand up and give her a quick hug goodbye, she turns and heads back into the bar to take care of Camreigh.
9
Eden
With Julie and Morrow back inside the bar, Donovan and I are alone. Without a word, he shrugs out of his jacket and hands it to me. I blink up at him in confusion.
“What’s this?”
“A jacket,” he deadpans.
I roll my eyes and give him a dirty look. “I know it’s a jacket. I’m asking why I’m holding it?”
“Because if you don’t put it on you’ll fucking freeze to death by the time we get back to the motel,” he answers. His tone suggests that much is obvious. In his defense he’s right—but unfortunately, I’m drunk-ish and mind blown from seeing Donovan participate in actual human interaction that wasn’t stilted. His good relationship with Margie and Ron really doesn’t explain his being openly affectionate with Julie. I’d never admit it out loud but the reality is that the green-eyed monster inside of me is a little bitter about it.
“Eden.”
Snapping out of my reverie, I look up at him and say, “Huh?”
“Gotta put it on or I’m not going to let you on the bike,” he answers.
Nodding, I quickly comply, giggling when I realize just how big it is. Holding my arms out, I show him just how much longer his arms are than mine before I shove them up so my hands are free. He shrugs and says, “Push them up, I guess,” as he gestures toward the parking lot.
“My bike is just around the corner. I park close to the building so no one taps or scrapes it.”
I nod and fall into step next to him as I push the sleeves up. The heavy leather weighs me down, but I’m not complaining at all. His sensual, sporty scent is embedded in the jacket and I’m enjoying the leftover warmth his body left inside it. As we turn the corner and I see the bike for the first time, I try but fail to hold back a snort of laughter. In the middle of taking the helmet from where it’s hanging by the strap on the front handlebar, Donovan stops, looks over, and side-eyes me.
“What’s the laugh for?”
“I’m sorry,” I laugh. “It’s just… all the black, Stretch. There’s so much of it. Your car is black, your bike is black, and your clothes are always black. Are you colorblind or just really committed to the absence of co
lor?”
He doesn’t respond. Instead, he steps forward and slips the helmet over my head. “I find it’s just easier,” he mutters.
There’s something there. A hint of something in his tone that makes me think there’s something honest and also sad in that answer. Sober me would accept that as an answer. Drunk-ish me is not down with that.
“So, you’re not colorblind?”
“No, I’m not colorblind, Shortstack. I am, however, getting cold. Let’s go.”
When he gets onto the bike in one fluid motion, the overwhelming lust I feel for him—the kind I normally try to ignore— spreads through my body. Smoking hot man dressed in head to toe black on his shiny black motorcycle? Yep, it’s doing it for me. Big time. Turning his head, he looks at me expectantly. “Climb on.”
I step closer to the bike but then stop and cock my head in confusion. “You understand I’m going to need to touch you, right?”
Something that looks a lot like panic flashes in his eyes, but it’s gone in a blink, replaced by indifference. “I know it’s coming this time,” he answers as he kicks down and starts the bike.
I have so many questions about why that matters, but I am one million percent certain that asking even one of them wouldn’t result in anything positive. Nodding, I put my hand on his shoulder and sling my leg over the bike. Even before I’m fully settled in behind him, I know I’m in big trouble. I try to distract myself with thoughts of really gross things guests leave in motel rooms as I wrap my arms around his torso. He tenses all over as I settle against him and I brace myself for him to change his mind. Instead, he takes a deep breath, one I feel as his stomach moves beneath my hands. God help me, this man’s six-pack abs are like crack. I want to pull his shirt up and slide my hands beneath it so I can feel his skin without interference. The hard warmth of his body beneath my hands is almost too tempting.
