by Sarah Ready
No worries though. I’m on a mission, and my dark, handsome, sexy ex isn’t going to stop me from finding my soul mate.
It took until the middle of the night, but finally we stopped for a rest.
“We have one room,” says the teenage attendant at the motel front desk. He’s behind a plexiglass window, and keys hang on a pegboard behind him. It’s an old-school kind of place.
Nick stands next to me and I lean on the counter and rest my chin in my hand. Of course they only have one room. This wouldn’t be a real road trip without the awkward hotel room sharing night.
“How close is the next hotel?” I ask. Maybe we’ll get lucky and there’s one down the street.
“S’all booked. Monster Truck Rally’s this weekend,” he says.
“So, like thirty minutes away?” I ask.
The clerk snorts, then pulls out his iPhone. “Grave Digger’s here.” He shows us a video of Grave Digger doing a flip. “There ain’t no room for sixty miles.”
Nick and I watch the video as the monster truck lands and spins in a circle around a stadium. “Wow. I’ve always wanted to ride in a monster truck,” I say.
Nick shakes his head. “Unbelievable.”
“Got mine out back,” says the clerk. “She’s a beaut.”
“Yeah?” I ask.
“Take you muddin’” he says.
I lean forward. I’ve just come up with the best idea. “Would you buy a Valentine’s Day card where a monster truck falls in love with the car he’s supposed to crush?”
The clerk starts to laugh. “That’s kinda sick, lady.”
My shoulders sag. “Oh. I thought it was romantic.”
“Unbelievable,” says Nick again. “We’ll take the room.”
Which is how we find ourselves crowded into the entry of our twelve by twelve room. It smells like cigarettes and dry cleaning. There are water stains on the ceiling, cracks in the walls, a red vinyl chair, an oak desk and dark blue carpet with cigarette burns.
And…”That’s one small blanket.”
Nick laughs. “One small bed.”
I walk slowly into the room. Nick locks the deadbolt and sets down our suitcases. We both take in the sight of the bed that’s only slightly larger than a twin. He clears his throat and rocks back on his feet.
I rub my hands over my arms and remember that I’m covered in salt water and fish smell.
“I’m going to shower off,” I say. I really want to get the stink of seaweed and fishy water out of my hair before going to sleep.
He relaxes and nods his head. “Take your time.”
I close the door to the bathroom and lean against it for a second. Then I turn on the shower. I try to be as quiet as possible. I suddenly feel more awkward than I have in my entire life. I’m undressing and Nick is maybe five feet away, separated only by the world’s thinnest door. I hear the mattress squeak as he shifts on the bed. I imagine him stretching out and making himself comfortable.
I step into the shower and close the curtain. The warm water runs over my sore muscles and a long appreciative moan escapes.
“You alright in there?”
My eyes snap open and I cover my breasts with my hands. My heart pounds under my hands. But no. He’s not coming in. He said it through the door.
“Fine,” I say.
“Alright.”
Jeez. My body’s on high alert now. The rough sound of his voice through the door and the confirmation that he’s aware of me send me into overdrive. I’m naked in here, and he’s listening. Why doesn’t that disturb me? Because it doesn’t. I like it.
I close my eyes. Get a grip, Chloe. Been there. Done that.
But my body’s not listening. There’s tingling between my legs, my nipples are hard and the water running over them makes me want to moan again. The first time Nick pulled my top down he looked like he’d won the greatest prize in the world. Ten years later, I can still remember the feel of his mouth on me. I run the soap over my skin and relive the memories that I hide even from myself. There’s the flash of his elusive smile. His dark eyes filled with belief in us rather than cynicism. My fingers tugging on his hair as he moves over my breasts and down. I draw my fingers across my nipples, over my ribs, down farther, until they’re between my legs.
There.
I cry out. In my mind, it’s his fingers twirling over my clit. He’s the one teasing at my opening.
Nick. And dang it, I said that out loud.
There’s a knock at the door. “Chloe?”
I squeeze my thighs together. “Thought I saw a spider,” I call.
I can feel him standing at the door, like he’s looking through it, considering my answer. Then, I hear the mattress squeak as he settles back onto the bed. I let out a breath and hit my head against the shower wall.
What am I doing?
Minutes later I’m in my pajamas. I wipe away the steam from the mirror and check my expression. I look normal-ish. No flushed cheeks, no embarrassed expression. Okay then. I pull open the door and step into the room.
Nick stretches out on the bed. “All set?” he asks. He avoids looking directly at me. I run my eyes over his long legs, his flat stomach and the bunching of his shoulders. There’s a low heat flickering in me. It wouldn’t take much for it to burst into flame.
“Good. I’m going to take a quickie,” he says.
“What?”
But he’s already jumped off the bed and closed the bathroom door. And now it’s my turn to listen to the sounds of his clothing falling to the floor and the shower water running over his bare skin. I hear a low sound. My ears perk up. Is he…? There’s a thud, then another sound, almost like a moan.
I stand and tiptoe to the bathroom door. My breath comes in short pants. The space between my legs feels heavy. I lean forward and rest my ear against the door.
The shower water’s running. In my mind I picture him soaping himself up, running his hands over his…
“Dang, Chloe.”
I jump back like a scalded cat and race to the bed. I yank the blanket back and dive in. Then I bury my head under the covers and wait for my cheeks to stop flaming and my heart to stop racing. In less than two minutes, Nick comes out of the bathroom. I peek at him. A cloud of steam follows him. He rubs his wet hair with a towel.
He’s in boxers. Only boxers.
He’s filled out since high school. Really filled out. Six-pack, bulky shoulders, biceps galore, narrow hips with muscled quads and calves. My lady parts clench in response to the massive amount of man on display.
I let out a long, slow breath. “I’ll sleep under the covers,” I say.
He shrugs. I watch as the muscles in his shoulders roll.
“Don’t worry, Sparky. I’m not going to touch you.”
“I know,” I say. I turn the other way so he won’t be able to see my expression, which probably says, but I want you to.
He climbs onto the bed and the mattress sinks under his weight. I involuntary roll toward him.
“Sorry,” I say. I scoot back over to my half of the bed.
He sighs and reaches for the bedside lamp. He flicks it off and the room goes dark. Suddenly, this situation feels way too intimate. I feel the heat coming off Nick’s body. I hear the steady sound of his breathing. Every movement he makes shifts the mattress and moves me closer in response. I even smell him, that fresh outdoor smell that sticks to him, apparently even after a shower. I slowly roll to my back and tilt my head toward him. My eyes are open and they start to adjust to the dark. There’s a smoke detector with a small red light on the ceiling. I can make out Nick’s outline, he’s a darker shadow against the white sheets and the blanket. What would it have been like if Nick and I had stayed friends? Or, if somehow, we’d stayed together?
Except…no. He’s not mine. We’re not soul mates, and it would’ve never worked out.
“I can hear you thinking,” he says.
“Really?” I ask. I’m glad to talk, it makes the situation less awkward.<
br />
“Are you thinking about Number One?”
“No.”
“Number Two then?”
I sigh. “Sure.”
He turns his head and looks at me through the darkness. His black eyes catch a flicker of the light and he searches my face, like he can see me better now than in the daylight.
“Don’t worry, Sparky. You’ll find him.” His voice sounds sad, almost lonesome, but I think it’s the darkness of the sparse hotel room and not anything he’s actually feeling.
“Do you think after this we can be friends?” I ask. It’s not something I’ve thought of until now, but I’m quickly realizing that I don’t want to lose him again.
Then I want to kick myself, because even in the dark I can see his jaw clench.
“I don’t want to be friends,” he says. His voice is sharp and angry.
I flinch. “Sorry, I forgot. Nick and Chloe. Mortal enemies.”
His whole body stiffens.
“You know,” I say, “I have more reason to hate you than you do me.”
There, I said it. Suck on that ball of sour.
He lets out a short, harsh laugh. “Yeah. Right.”
“Why’d you even agree to be the substitute best man at my wedding?” I ask. It was shocking seeing him after so many years. Especially when he chose my wedding day to reappear.
“Does it matter? You’ll think the worst no matter what,” he says.
I shake my head. “Tell me anyway.”
He’s silent for a bit. I look over at the digital clock. Almost three in the morning. Three o’clock was always the time for secrets-sharing at my childhood slumber parties. I guess it holds true for adults too.
“Ron called. His best man, I don’t remember his name—”
“Jeremy.”
“Right. Jeremy backed out.” He pauses. “I didn’t know it then, but Jeremy knew about the affair. He didn’t approve.”
“Remind me to send a thank you card to Jeremy,” I say.
“He likes monster trucks,” says Nick.
“Was that a joke? Har har.” I elbow Nick in the ribs, then pull back when I remember he’s not wearing a shirt.
“Anyway. Ron called me up. He was desperate and I was already in town visiting my mom.”
“I didn’t know that. Do you visit a lot?” I can’t imagine that Nick had been visiting Romeo all these years and I never knew about it. He ignores my question.
“Ron was a good friend in school and I felt some misplaced loyalty.”
My ears perk up at his tone. “So, you didn’t know about the…”
“No,” he says. His voice is firm.
“Oh. I thought you did,” I say. I feel guilty that I’ve been nursing a grudge.
“Nah. After we ate the wedding cake, I found Ron at the Holiday Inn and I—”
“You didn’t.”
I can feel him smile. It’s glorious.
“Did you punch him?”
He doesn’t answer.
“Put him in a headlock? Please tell me you gave him a wedgie and then dunked his head in the toilet. A dirty toilet.”
“She’s bloodthirsty,” Nick says.
I laugh. “Oh my gosh. You did.”
He laughs and I join him. My hero. Finally, I settle back into my pillow and gleefully imagine my ex-fiancé’s toilet swirly. But something is niggling at me. Why would Nick bother?
“But why?” I ask. “You couldn’t have cared that much.”
Honestly, after the cake comment, I didn’t think he cared at all.
“I came to the wedding to see the woman that haunts me tied in the chains of matrimony so she could never mess me up again. Ron ruined that for me.”
Wait. What?
“What?” I ask out loud.
He stares up at the ceiling. “Go to sleep, Sparky.”
“But—”
“Go to sleep. You’ve got a soul mate to find.”
I let out a long sigh. He’s right. Tomorrow, if we’re lucky, we find Matt Smith of Chicago, Illinois. My would-be soul mate. I roll over and drift into a shallow sleep. I swear that during the night, I feel Nick’s arms around me. My back is pressed into his chest and I’m warm and safe. But that can’t be right, because in the morning, the bed’s cold and Nick is sleeping on the floor.
9
Nick
* * *
Five Days Left…
Matt Smith Number Two…
* * *
Shelly’s purring along I-90 like the awesome car she is. I pet her steering wheel just to make sure she doesn’t feel any lingering hurt over Chloe’s words. She’s a good lady, my Shelly. I got her from a junkyard when I was fourteen and I worked on her for three years to restore her. Fixing her up kept me sane when my dad was driving us all into the ground. Shelly was my escape. After dad died and my family was left in piles of debt, I sold off everything I owned to pay Dad’s debts, everything except Shelly. Then I went into the military so I could send my mom enough money to keep her and my kid sisters in our home, with food in the fridge. So, let’s just say, Shelly and I have a bond. I know she’s a car, but…I’ve told her things I never told anyone else. She’s seen the lowest point of my life and the highest.
I look over at Chloe.
She’s wearing another tight wrap dress. This one’s pink with thin straps and a plunging neckline. My jaw clenches and I flex my hands on the steering wheel.
Not for me.
“You need to work on your delivery,” I say.
Chloe is sipping a double pumpkin caramel latte with whip cream and sprinkles. I finished my no-frills coffee an hour ago. I take it black, because I don’t trust cream or sugar. It hides the truth.
Chloe sighs. She’s staring dreamily out the window at the turnpike north of Chicago. We’re only fifteen minutes from Number Two’s place. I repeat myself because clearly Chloe is stuck in a daydream about Number Two being the missing puzzle piece to the other half of her heart.
“You gotta work on how you deliver your line,” I say.
“What?” she asks. She smiles at me, and I nearly swear. Now I know she’s been dreaming about Number Two, because her eyes have gone all bedroom lusty on me.
“Pull it together,” I say.
Her eyes snap out of the bedroom and back to reality. “You know, I like you a lot better when you aren’t being so cynical.”
I scoff. “Well, I like you a lot better when you aren’t being such a delusional romantic.”
I pull around a semi-truck and he taps his horn and salutes. I wave.
“You know him?” asks Chloe.
“He likes Shelly.”
She takes another sip of her latte to cover a laugh. “I’d like her better if she had cup holders.”
“When we meet Matt Smith today, you need to have a better delivery,” I say. “Don’t just go…” I put on my high-pitched girl voice. “Hiii, I’m Chloe and I’m looking for my soul mate.”
“What? I don’t sound like that,” she says.
“Yeah. Yeah you do.”
“Okay, Mr. Know It All. If we didn’t know each other and I came up to you, what would you want me to say?”
I stare straight ahead at the highway while Chloe waits for my response. The thought of Chloe coming up to me and telling me I’m her one true love…
“You wouldn’t need to say anything,” I say.
“Really?”
“Sure. If it’s meant to be, then lightning will strike at that very moment and there won’t be any doubt that we’re destined for true love.”
“Be serious. The chance of lightning striking us is—”
“One in seven hundred thousand. A better chance than finding your one fated love in a world of billions.”
“Fine. I’ll do it my way then,” she says. She turns away and stares out the window.
A bitter taste is in my mouth. Probably the coffee. You see, I lie to myself sometimes. Unfortunately, I never believe me.
I signal and pull off the hi
ghway. We’re headed into a town northwest of Chicago. It has a small-town Main Street sort of vibe. There are tidy lawns, maple trees along sidewalks, kids’ bikes in front yards, and some wraparound porches. It looks like Number Two lives in a Norman Rockwell painting.
Chloe’s going to love him.
I sigh.
She turns my way and shakes her finger at me. “You know what? I finally figured you out,” she says.
“That so?”
“Yup. You’re like the bitter dieter. You’re all jealous that others are eating love buns and drinking love lattes while you starve yourself on black coffee and brussels sprouts.”
“Brussels sprouts?”
“Yes. And guess what? Stop starving yourself. There’s plenty of love to go around. Quit pressing your nose against my bakery window and find your own buns.”
I can’t help it, I start to laugh. Love buns?
“I’ve eaten plenty of buns,” I say.
She snorts. “Uh huh. You’re on a starvation diet if I ever saw one. I can tell when a dieter is raging and needing some sugar. You, Nick, are what happens when people don’t let themselves eat the buns.”
“I’ve eaten lots of buns,” I say again, ignoring how ridiculous this argument sounds. It’s the principle.
She shakes her head. “Nope. No buns. No sugar. No love.”
“I love Shelly,” I say.
“And I’m sure Shelly loves you back.”
I swallow, then turn my head and pretend to check the directions on the pre-pay gas station phone. We’re only two minutes away from Number Two.
“I’m sorry,” Chloe says. She reaches over to put her hand on my arm. “I didn’t mean—”
“We’re here,” I say. I look down at her hand and then up at her.
She pulls her hand away. “Nick…”
“If I were you, I’d have them tell you the name of the camp. Otherwise, how can you prove that they’re the Matt Smith you’re looking for? You wouldn’t want to marry the wrong guy.”
She searches my face and I itch under her gaze. “Alright. Okay,” she says. She unbuckles and smooths her hands over her hair then down her dress.
