Chapter 2 #2
The Ridge Motel comes into view a few minutes later, squatting at the edge of town like it gave up trying to be charming sometime in the late nineties.
One flickering sign. A row of doors facing the parking lot.
Nothing around it except dark fields and a stretch of road that disappears into nowhere.
No cute shops. No cozy streetlamps. Just the kind of place you end up when you’ve run out of options.
Pete insisted we put him up for the night to sleep it off instead of taking him to the Copper Canyon Guest Ranch, where some of the rodeo stars are renting for the duration of their stay in town.
I pull into the lot, park crooked because my nerves are still buzzing, and kill the engine. The sudden silence is loud.
For a second, I just sit here, hands resting on the wheel, listening for sirens that aren’t coming.
Then I glance at Seth again. He’s still out cold. I lean over and nudge his shoulder. “Seth.”
Nothing.
“Seth,” I try again, firmer. “C’mon. Wake up.”
He makes a sound that’s more disgruntled than human and shifts his cheek against the glass.
I sigh and reach for his arm. “Do not make me drag you. I will drop you. On purpose.”
That gets a reaction. His eyelids flutter, slow and stubborn, and he turns his head just enough to blink blearily at me.
“Darlin’,” he mumbles, like it’s a greeting and a complaint all at once. “Why’s it so… loud in here.”
“It’s not. You’re just dramatic.”
He squints around the dark parking lot as if he’s trying to figure out where he is. “We home?”
“This is The Ridge Motel. You’re staying here so you don’t end up asleep on the sidewalk again.”
He frowns like he’s trying to argue. Then he stares down at his hand like he’s just discovered the cookie. He lifts it slightly toward me, solemn. “I saved this for you.”
“Oh my God.” I’m laughing.
I open my door and step out, cold air biting through my clothes. Quickly, I walk around to his side and open the passenger door, and he sits there for a second, swaying a little, blinking at me like I’m a concept.
“All right,” I say, holding out a hand. “Up you get.”
He takes my hand, and his grip is warm and heavy. He stands too fast and wobbles immediately, knees going soft, shoulders tipping toward me like he’s about to fold. I catch him by instinct, one hand on his forearm, the other bracing his chest.
“Easy,” I warn.
He makes a pleased noise at that, as though he likes being a problem.
Inside the office, the front desk attendant is a bored-looking kid who barely glances up from his phone when we walk in. Pete has already arranged everything, so in moments, I get the key and head to room 107.
The room is… exactly what I expected. Two beds with floral comforters, a TV that’s probably older than me, and a bathroom. The carpet has a suspicious stain near the dresser that I choose not to examine too closely.
Seth doesn’t seem to mind. He stumbles through the door, takes one look at the nearest bed, and collapses onto it face-first with a groan of pure relief.
I hover in the doorway for a second, making sure he’s not about to roll off the mattress and take out the nightstand with his skull.
When he stays put—muffled, boneless, breathing like he’s just fought a war—I step fully inside, and the door clicks shut behind me with that automatic motel latch that always sounds louder than it should.
“All right,” I mutter, more to myself than to him. “You’re alive. You’re horizontal. No more crimes tonight. Fantastic.”
The blinds are still open, which means anyone wandering past the window could get a free show of the rodeo star passed out in a floral hellscape. I cross the room and start tugging them down, slats clacking as they lower. They fight me, and I tug several times to get them loose.
Behind me, Seth shifts. The bed creaks. I hear fabric rustle, then a soft, satisfied sound like a man making peace with the universe.
“Interesting meetin’ you,” he says, voice thick and lazy. “But—”
I turn, ready to tell him good night and leave before he decides to confess his life story again. And I nearly swallow my tongue.
Seth is standing there.
Naked.
Like he’s stepped right out of a sinful calendar I absolutely did not order.
For a full second, my brain does that blue-screen thing where everything freezes and the only thought left is Oh, hell!
My gaze drops because apparently my eyes are traitors.
He is… insane. Not turned on, not doing anything, just existing, yet his package is so huge, not to mention all the muscles, broad shoulders, that stupid V at his hips, and solid thighs. And I’m staring at that trunk between his legs again.
God!
June. Stop. Immediately.
Seth sways a little, blinks like he’s trying to find the floor again, then flops onto the bed on his stomach. “Ohhh, glorious bed,” he mumbles into the pillow like he’s proposing to it.
I stand there in the middle of the room, cheeks on fire, clutching the cord on the blinds like it’s a weapon. “Seth.”
“Mmh?”
“You can’t just… take your clothes off in front of people.”
He rolls his head on the pillow, cheek pressed into the floral comforter, voice muffled and smug. “It’s my room.”
“I’m still in here.”
“Mmh.” A pause. Then, very clearly: “I know you’re checkin’ me out.”
I make a sound somewhere between a cough and a strangled laugh, staring at his butt. “Am not.”
“Darlin’,” he murmurs, like he’s smiling into the bedding, “you were starin’ so hard I could feel it.”
“I was ensuring you weren’t going to injure yourself,” I snap, which would sound more convincing if my voice weren’t slightly squeaky. “You’re drunk. People fall. People… forget… gravity.”
Seth hums again, low and pleased. “Sure.”
I drag a hand down my face and turn toward the door before my eyes betray me a second time. “Good night, Seth.”
I get two steps.
“June.”
I pause with my hand on the handle. Because of course my body listens when he says my name like that—quiet, rough, not teasing.
“Yeah?” I ask, trying for annoyed and getting something softer.
There’s a beat of silence behind me. The bed creaks like he shifted, maybe rolled onto his side. “I meant what I said earlier,” he murmurs. “You’re my scent match.”
I close my eyes. Of all the things that should not squeeze my chest right now, that is at the top of the list.
“It’s highly doubtful,” I say, forcing a lightness I don’t fully feel. “Tomorrow you won’t remember a single thing from tonight.”
“I’m gonna remember,” he admits, stubborn even through the pillow.
“Mm-hmm.” I twist the handle and pull the door open. “Get some sleep. And for the love of God, put pants on if you decide to wander outside.”
His laugh is quiet, warm, and it follows me out into the cold motel walkway like a hand at my back.
I step out, letting the door click shut, and then I stand there for a second too long with my face on fire.
Because the worst part is…
For one terrifying moment, I almost wanted him to be right.