by Peak, Renna
I tilted my head before glancing down at my attire again. Did I really look like a prostitute? Maybe I was just tired. Overreacting, as usual. But I couldn’t deny that her attitude, not to mention her voice, were beginning to grate on me, and it wasn’t as though I hadn’t been through enough already that day. “I’m just going to sleep. All night.” At least until two a.m. I sighed. Waking up every night in the middle of the night was draining me—and I was growing more than a little impatient with this woman.
She finally stood up from the little chair behind the desk. “I hope you have some ID. And a credit card.” She motioned with her head toward the window. “If your john out there puts any holes in the wall, I’ll have to charge you.”
Jesus Christ. My john? That was what this place was, apparently. A pit stop for hookers. I rolled my eyes and pulled my driver’s license and credit card from my wallet and slid them across the counter to her.
She snickered, her voice hoarse. “Jenna Davis.” She looked me up and down. “I bet you take a lot of crap with a name like that.”
“Yeah.” I nodded. I did take a lot of crap because of my name, not that she recognized me. At least she didn’t recognize me. That would have been awesome—seeing my photo in the tabloids tomorrow morning, suggesting that I was now entertaining men by the hour. I pulled my sweater more tightly across my chest. “Any idea why there aren’t any hotel rooms in town?”
Her snicker turned into a full belly laugh. “Now I know you aren’t the real Jenna Davis.” She snickered again. “Because if you were, you’d know why there aren’t any hotel rooms.” She shook her head. “That Davis family … Her daddy comes around here every now and then. Brings his little sluts.” She shook her head again and slid the cards back over to me. “He’s quite the piece of work. I can only imagine how she turned out.”
I nodded and stuffed the cards back into my wallet. “Yeah, I wonder, too.” At least I wasn’t getting the, “You’re Jenna Davis?” treatment. If I hadn’t been so tired, it might have actually been nice for once. And hearing about my father? I only wished that hearing things like that surprised me. I had lived my whole life hearing things like that, and now … now there was no shock value left. Not after everything else.
She chuckled again and slid a room key across the counter. “Check out is at ten. If you want to check out early, you need to bring the key. Even if it’s at three a.m.”
“Okay. Got it.” I took the key from the counter and glanced down at the room number. At least she had given me a room on the bottom floor. It was only good because I wouldn’t have to try to drag Brandon’s drunken ass up the stairs.
I got back into the car and drove to the end of the building, parking in front of my assigned room. I grabbed my purse and unlocked the room, swinging the door open. I didn’t want to have to try to wrestle with a lock when I knew I was going to be carrying a heavy load, trying to get Brandon in the door.
The room itself was a lot nicer than the peeling paint on the exterior led me to believe. It was clean, at least. Nothing fancy, just a double bed and dresser. It would do for the night—at least until I woke up at two, anyway. Maybe Brandon would have slept off his drunkenness by then, and he could show me whatever the hell it was he needed to show me. Then we could drive home and finish with whatever this latest secret bullshit was.
I dropped my purse on top of the dresser and went back to the car, opening up the passenger door. Brandon groaned and turned from his side onto his back. I pulled on his arm. “Brandon. Wake up.”
He groaned again and mumbled something I couldn’t understand. I knelt down and pulled his arm around my shoulder, trying to wedge him out of the car with my body weight. He finally sat up and stumbled out, almost knocking me over in the process. Once I had us both upright, I led him into the room, keeping his arm around my shoulder.
I kicked the door closed and locked it before leading him to the bed. We both fell into a pile on top of the covers and I don’t think he even opened his eyes. I was so tired that I could barely keep my eyes open myself.
The way he fell onto the bed, with his arm outstretched—I couldn’t help myself. I nestled into him, fitting my body against his. We fit together like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, the curves of my body matching the lines of his. I pressed my cheek against his chest and closed my eyes. God, I could smell him. It was what I missed the most—his clean scent. I let it wash over me and I swore to myself, right before a blissful slumber found me, that I wouldn’t wash this sweater ever again.
3
God, it worked.
I nuzzled my nose against her hair again and inhaled deeply. She smelled just like her. All this time, and it was just the shampoo. That god-damned twenty-dollar bottle of shampoo she had left in my shower. I had a vague recollection of making those girls wash their hair with it. I just wanted to smell her again. Whatever it was—just her. And to think I could have just opened the damned bottle … that stupid fucking bottle of overpriced shampoo.
I breathed into her hair again, letting her scent wash over me, fill me. She was turned away from me and it was dark—really dark. Just smelling her made the hairs on my arms stand up on end. If it wasn’t for the constant throbbing in my head from having far too much to drink last night, I would already be throbbing someplace else.
I ran my hand down her side, across the swell of her hip to her thigh. Christ, she even felt like Jen. Soft and perfect. I felt an aching begin to well inside of me—it started in my gut and rose into my chest. I needed her. Jen. If this had been Jen, I would have already been hard, would have already been kissing that magic spot on her neck that turned her into putty in my hands. I didn’t want this girl lying next to me. This Stanford girl, whose name I couldn’t even remember. She was a weak replacement and if Jen ever found out, there was no way she would ever forgive me for it. I could fuck this girl’s brains out and it wouldn’t even touch the aching I felt in my heart.
What the hell is wrong with me?
Is this what I had really been reduced to? That guy who could only be fulfilled by that one girl? How many times had I given Daniel shit about this exact same thing? Jen didn’t want me. Who in the hell knew what Daniel had even done to her—how he had fucked her up in the head after his little stunt? She didn’t want me—she had made that clear. Respect her boundaries, Krystal had told me. Fuck boundaries. I had gone to her place… I was going to make her fucking dinner and she had a guy there. What the hell had I been thinking? She had already moved on. Wasn’t that what she was doing with me the first time we met? Moving on from Daniel? Fuck Jen and fuck Daniel and, damn it, fuck everything. She moved on, and now I was going to move on, too.
My hand moved down and found the hem of her dress. I slid my hand under and ran it up her thigh. Christ, her skin was soft. I could close my eyes and it would be so easy to pretend it was her. She felt exactly like Jen, smelled like her…
Stanford wasn’t wearing a dress.
I don’t know where that thought came from, but it ripped through my aching head like a lightning bolt. I pulled my hand away and tried to inch myself away from her. Her skin might be soft, she might smell like her, but this girl wasn’t even the replacement Jen. What had happened to Stanford, anyway?
I reached behind me to see if she was on my other side. There was nothing but the edge of the bed. Stanford must be on this girl’s other side. Damn.
I tried to pull my arm from under the girl’s head without waking her up. How in the hell was I going to get out of this, anyway? Had those two girls really just fallen asleep in my bed after I passed out?
My head was throbbing so hard, I was sure it was going to split in half. I couldn’t remember a damned thing about last night, no matter how hard I tried. I still had clothes on—that was a good sign. I wouldn’t have clothes on if I had been able to go through with it. At least, I thought I wouldn’t.
I turned away from the girl. Smelling her was almost making me dizzy with lust and it wasn’t helping the damned hol
e I still felt in my heart. Fucking these girls wasn’t going to cure that. I was going to have to figure out a way to deal with that another time. Right now, I needed to get these girls out of my apartment before I did something stupid—something I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself for. I had to get them out to even have a prayer that Jen would be able to forgive me if she ever came to her senses. I just hoped to hell I hadn’t already done something…
I stood up from the bed and promptly walked into a piece of furniture that should not have been there. The room was so dark, I couldn’t see a damned thing, but I knew there shouldn’t have been a dresser that close to the bed. Christ, we hadn’t rearranged the furniture while I was in my drunken stupor last night, had we?
I reached in front of me, and whatever this was, it wasn’t my place. There was a lamp on top of the dresser and I switched it on, the low wattage bulb barely illuminating anything. I looked back over at the bed. The girl lying there was on her stomach, so I couldn’t be sure which one she was—but I was pretty sure Stanford hadn’t been the one wearing the black dress … maybe they had switched clothes. I looked around the room and could tell we were in some cheap motel. When the hell had that happened?
I looked around the floor for my clothes. I just wanted to get the hell out of there, wherever there was. I would leave her money for cab fare and get the fuck out. I looked over at her again. Why in the hell would I have taken her to a place like this? To get away from her slutty friend? The constant pounding in my head told me that I probably hadn’t made many good decisions last night, and bringing her here was probably low on the list.
I scanned the floor for my clothes and saw nothing. I pulled open a drawer in the dresser—empty—then tried to close it as quietly as I could to avoid waking her up. I didn’t want to face this woman. Girl. It would be better if I just left—screw the clothes. I would just go home like this, in my t-shirt and boxers. I did need my shoes, though, and I couldn’t find those either. Or my wallet. I felt my phone in the small pocket of my boxers and saw my keys on top of the dresser. I cursed myself for being so stupid. Where had I left my damned wallet? I couldn’t just leave the girl here like this. Or maybe I could. I clapped a hand against my forehead. Shit.
It didn’t seem like I had much of a choice at that point. I grabbed my keys from the dresser and opened the door.
The sunlight hit my eyes and I almost cried in agony. I knew the sound would wake her up—that I’d have to face her now. I just stood there in too much pain to move, trying to shield my eyes from the unrelenting light. What the hell did we need sun for, anyway?
I took a step back into the room and closed the door. Facing the girl was going to be far less painful than facing that light. Maybe she had some aspirin in her purse. I could only be so lucky.
I rested my forehead against the inside of the door, praying she hadn’t woken up, but I could hear her moving in the bed behind me. I didn’t want to turn to face her, but I knew I was going to have to sooner or later.
“I slept all night. Holy shit, I slept all night.”
My breath caught in my chest, right where that aching had been. I could feel my heart pounding in time with my head. I knew that voice. That velvet, gorgeous voice that could curse me under the table. “Holy shit,” was right. That wasn’t Stanford. That was Jen.
* * *
I felt tears in my eyes. Not because I was sad—oh, my God, it was because I actually slept. My head felt clear for the first time in weeks, maybe months. I couldn’t even remember what it felt like to have a sound night’s sleep before that night. It was almost liberating—I almost wanted to kiss Brandon. Hell, I did want to kiss Brandon. Just being able to touch him, feel him, smell him. Damn, if I had known that was all it was going to take, I would have invited him into my bed weeks ago. Then I remembered my father’s threats and why I couldn’t have him in my bed, no matter how much I wanted him. And then there were the girls…
“I’m dreaming. This is a hallucination.” Brandon stood with his forehead pressed to the door. I was sure the sunlight almost killed him—he had to have a terrible hangover.
I arranged the covers around my lap. My dress had hiked up almost to my waist while I slept and I didn’t want him to see me like this. Not here in this seedy place. Not like this. “It’s not a dream.”
He shook his head. “Bullshit. If this was real, we wouldn’t be in this shit-hole. Jen wouldn’t stay in a place like this. Hell, I wouldn’t stay in a place like this. This is a drunken hallucination. Just another fantasy.”
A tiny smile came to my face and I felt my heart flutter in my chest. It was nice to think that I was his fantasy, even if it was in a crappy motel. “It’s no dream, Brandon. If there was any other place between here and Redding…”
He turned to face me, his eyes narrowed to slits. “Between where and Redding?”
I narrowed my own gaze. It wasn’t as though I was the one who chose to drive here last night. He had insisted. “Sacramento. Between Sacramento and Redding. No hotels. Not a single room.”
“What the hell did you bring me to Sacramento for? You’re trying to force me…”
I interrupted. “Brandon, stop. This was your idea. Yours. Not mine. You insisted on coming here…”
“Not here. I would never bring you here. Never.”
I tilted my head. “But you did. You said you needed to show me something. You insisted that it happen last night. Why don’t you just take me there, show me and then we can go home. Talk about whatever…”
“This isn’t real. I wouldn’t do that—this is a dream. I’m having some sick, weird nightmare and your head is probably going to pop off your shoulders, or I’ll find out you’re dead or something.” He shook his head again. “This isn’t real.”
I let out a long sigh. How do you convince someone that you aren’t a hallucination? “What is the last thing you remember? The last thing you did last night?”
He turned back to the wall and pressed his forehead against it again. “I don’t know.”
I raised my gaze to the ceiling in frustration. “Walk me through your day. I’ll try to fill in the gaps at the end if I can.”
I saw him shake his head, his forehead still on the wall. “I could barely sleep. I was so nervous. Excited. I had it all planned out—I was going to come over early and make you dinner. Maybe take you somewhere. Maybe you’d invite me to stay…”
My stomach did a quick flip. He had been nervous? More nervous than me? And God, I would have invited him to stay. But I never even saw him… “What else?”
He turned his head so that his cheek pressed against the wall. He squeezed his eyes closed, but I couldn’t tell if the pain I recognized on his face was from what he was thinking or how bad his head must be hurting. He let out a long breath. “I couldn’t decide what to wear. Jeans. A suit. After I decided on the suit, I couldn’t decide if a tie was too much. Or how many buttons to leave open if I didn’t wear one.” He shook his head. “I was worse than a woman.”
A small grin came to my face. He had been at least as nervous as I had been. I didn’t even want to think about the pile of dresses that were still on the floor in my closet after I had tried them on and taken them off before deciding on this one—one that was tasteful, but still sexy. One I knew he would want to tear off of me…
“I got to your apartment and I was sure I’d have to sneak in—that you wouldn’t have left my name with the security people. But you did, and it made me even more nervous. I had flowers for you. Hell, I was going to cook for you…”
I chuckled. Brandon’s cooking was better than mine, but that wasn’t saying much.
“It’s not funny. That little motherfucker Talbot was there, coming out of your apartment. Then when I went to the door, your new boyfriend answered. You must have had two dates scheduled, because he was already there. He had his shoes off, had totally made himself comfortable…”
“Jesus Christ, Brandon, are you kidding me?” I wished he would just ope
n his eyes so he could see I really was sitting there in the same room with him.
“Probably just a heartbeat away from taking the rest of his clothes off. I grabbed my shit, the shit I told you to keep, and I left.” He opened his eyes and turned back to me. “You’re fucking that guy.”
“I’m not fucking any guys. Do you even hear yourself? If you would have waited twenty seconds, you would have seen me. I was washing my hands…”
He held his palm up to me. “I don’t want to hear it. I went to the bar to get shit-faced and pick up a girl. I think I picked up two, but I don’t remember what happened after that.”
I nodded and pushed back the tears that I could feel starting to well behind my eyes—tried to will away the pain that was tearing through my chest at hearing him admit it. That he really had picked up those two girls. That I hadn’t been overreacting at all. I scooted to the edge of the bed and pulled the hem of my dress down to at least cover my thighs. I slipped on my shoes and stood up. I walked around the bed to the dresser and grabbed my purse from where I had tossed it when I had first walked in. I reached inside and pulled out a bottle, poured two pills into my hand and walked over to Brandon. “Here.” I held my hand up to put the tablets into his hand.
“What’s this?”
I looked down at the two pink pills and dropped them into his palm. “Midol. It’ll make your head feel better.” I grabbed the room key from the dresser and walked to the door. “I’m calling a cab. It was nice to see you, Brandon. Thanks for helping me sleep.”
He grabbed me by the wrist, his eyes fixed to the floor. “Wait. You said you’d fill in the holes.”
I nodded. “Right. I came to your place. You were bathing the girls. The bottle of wine and the grocery bag you brought me hit the floor and I left—went down to the bar next door to your building. You tried to attack Cade when he and I left the bar, then you insisted that I drive you to Sacramento. You told me I was going to hate you when I found out what you’d done.” I pulled my wrist out of his grip. “I don’t hate you, Brandon, but at this point, I don’t care, either.” I opened the door and saw him wince when the sunlight hit his face, even though his eyes were still closed. I turned back to face him. “If you would have waited twenty seconds at my apartment, you would have known the man you thought I was fucking was my psychiatrist. He says he can’t be personal with people when he has shoes on his feet. He’s a little bit of a hippie—very old-school San Francisco. Of course, you’re too busy jumping to conclusions to…”
