15. Chapter 15
Don’t be an idiot.
How many times had his old man said that in his life? In a single day with two idiot boys?
Chuckling over his dad’s favorite piece of advice, Jase almost didn’t recognize Sundress sitting outside the motel with her hair pulled back, wearing a T-shirt from his dad’s band.
Her legs were propped on the porch railing, her nose in a book, completely oblivious as if she didn’t know a roadside motel wasn’t the safest place for a woman to be alone at night.
“You’re brave,” Jase called out. “Lot of creeps out here.”
“Says the creep?” Lindsey asked, folding the corner of the page she was reading and closing the book. “Sorry, Graham said—”
“That I’m a creep. Yeah, yeah,” Jase said, swatting a mosquito on his neck. His skin prickled with sweat and fresh bites from the short walk across the parking lot. “Seriously, what are you doing out here? It’s hot as balls.”
“It smells like Twisted Sister had an orgy in our room.”
“Twisted Sister?” He huffed out a laugh. “I wouldn’t peg you for a metalhead.”
He didn’t tell her that last year he sang with a Twisted Sister cover band called Twisted Nipples.
“I’m not after the smell,” she said.
Jase was about to cut through the bugs swarming the porch light beside his door and duck into his motel room, until he remembered the flash of her underwear on the road—blue, lace—and thought he wasn’t ready to be alone just yet. He hadn’t slept more than a few nights in an empty bed in weeks.
“Beer?” he offered.
“Sure.”
He pulled a bottle from the pack, cracked the top on the porch railing, and handed it to her.
“You a fan of my dad’s band?” he asked.
She looked down at the iridescent OMP3 spanning her chest. “I never actually got to see them play.”
“You missed one hell of a show.”
“Why were they called Old Men Play 3?”
“You never asked him?”
She shook her head.
Jase cracked a Bud for himself and sat in the chair opposite Lindsey. “They mostly played music from three bands. Elvis, Lynyrd Skynyrd, and Queen…with a few exceptions.”
“Why those three?”
“Dad loved Elvis, the lead guitarist had a hard-on for Skynyrd, and the bass player was a big Freddie Mercury fan. He just came out after being married for thirty years.”
She laughed. “No kidding?”
“I swear, the most fun I’ve ever had at a show was watching those old bastards belting out ‘Bohemian Rhapsody.’”
“Tell me you have a video.”
He worked his phone from his pocket. “I don’t think this thing even takes videos.”
She took it from him, turning the scratched, dark blue plastic paperweight in her hands. “I didn’t think they still made flip phones.”
“They don’t. That’s why I like it.”
She handed it back. “You don’t want to be too accessible?”
“No.”
There isn’t anyone who needs access to me anyway.
“Is Graham at the bar?”
Jase nodded. “You’re not missing much.” Except a tattoo tour. One of the best come-ons he’d ever heard.
“Figures.” Her eyes glazed over. She sipped her beer and asked, “Did you know that’s how we met?”
“Who?”
“Me and Graham. He came into the bar where I work.” She narrowed her eyes. “Worked. I keep forgetting. I’ve been there for three years, and they wouldn’t hold my position since I couldn’t tell them when I’d be back.”
She might not worry about losing her job if she knew her boyfriend would be rich in a few weeks, and it would burn Graham’s ass if Jase happened to let it slip.
No. No, there was no telling how she’d take it, and Jase didn’t have the energy to deal with the aftermath. Instead of spilling a six-million-dollar secret, he tipped his bottle at her book. “What’re you reading?”
On the cover of the tattered paperback in her lap was a motorcycle—an old Panhead, Jase thought—parked in front of a one story motel, similar to the one they were sitting in front of now, with a glowing red No Vacancy sign.
“‘Lovers Who Wander,’” Jase read the title.
“It was your dad’s. He said the guy who wrote it only printed a couple dozen copies,” she said.
“Can I see it?”
She handed it to Jase, and he fanned the musty pages.
“Careful,” she said. “It’s super spicy.”
He looked up to find her grinning. “What?”
“It’s pretty much ’80’s smut with a sweet love story spun in.”
“My dad gave you…smut?”
“Weird, right? You know what’s the craziest part?”
“That my dad probably has a collection of pre-internet porn stashed with his good bourbon?”
She laughed, but her eyes were miles from his suggestion. “He told me I’d need it but didn’t say why.”
“My old man said you’d need a smut book?” He handed it back without reading a word, and with every intention of scouring the study for more porn. “You’re Graham’s girlfriend, so I’ve got a couple guesses. You won’t like them though.”
“Pretty sure that’s not what he meant,” she insisted.
“You’re not denying my brother’s lousy in bed.”
“If he was, you’re the last person I’d tell.”
“Still not denying it.”
She kicked him, spilling his beer on his pantleg.
“Do you agree with him?” she asked. “About today?”
“What do you mean?”
“Graham doesn’t think running out of gas was a big deal. Your parents were there. It’s a really big deal.”
Jase sighed. “My old man was a cryptic son of a bitch sometimes.”
“Do you think your dad sent us to the farm?”
It was insane, the question. They were following his father’s map, but did his dad somehow cause them to break down to visit Arthur Pederson?
His leg twitched over the lie he didn’t bother making up.
“I think it’s a pretty big coincidence if he didn’t,” Jase admitted. “But don’t listen to me. I’m exhausted and don’t know what the hell I’m saying anymore.”
She’d probably take another beer if he offered it. One more wouldn’t hurt. She was a good chat, and nice to look at. Only Lindsey didn’t have a skull tattoo playing peekaboo—or any tattoo that he could see—and Jase was definitely a tattoo man.
“I’m going to call it a night,” he said, standing. “Have fun reading your porn. Holler if you need anything.”
“You mean if any other creeps walk up on me?”
“Exactly.” He grinned. “Speaking of creeps, if Graham didn’t show up, how far would you have taken it today?”
“How far would you?” she asked. “Would you have gotten in the car?”
“Honestly? Yeah. Would you have gone for a ride on my bike?”
It looked like it took every muscle in her face to stop the smile from brightening her eyes. “Not on your life.”
She definitely would’ve gone for a ride, and it was enough to put him to bed. “Good night, Sundress.”
“Good night, you miserable flirt.”