Chapter 6
TRISH
"Please tell me this isn't really where we're staying tonight," I say, eyeing the single motel that appears to be the town's only accommodation option. The sign reads "Plains Motel" with several letters burnt out, making it look more like "Pla ns Mot l" instead.
"It's this or sleeping in the truck," Jake replies, pulling into the small parking lot. "We've been on the road for almost eleven hours. We need rest."
He's right, of course. After leaving Heartstone this morning, we've driven straight through with only brief stops for gas and bathroom breaks. My body aches from sitting so long, and despite my nap earlier, fatigue weighs heavily on me.
"Fine," I concede. "But if there are bedbugs, I'm sleeping on top of you."
The moment the words leave my mouth, I want to snatch them back. Jake's eyes meet mine, something dark and hungry flashing in their depths before he carefully masks it.
"Let's hope the reviews are accurate, then," he says, his voice rougher than before.
The motel office is manned by a bored teenager who barely looks up from his phone as Jake requests two rooms. The kid's disinterest shifts to something more alert when he checks the computer.
"Only got one room left," he announces, eyes darting between us with newfound interest. "Double bed, though. Not single."
Jake's jaw tightens visibly. "Nothing else available?"
"Nope. High school football game tonight against our rivals. Town's packed with visitors." The kid shrugs, clearly enjoying our predicament. "Take it or leave it."
Jake glances at me, his expression unreadable. "Your call."
I weigh our options. Keep driving, potentially for hours, when we're both already exhausted. Sleep in the truck, which would be uncomfortable at best. Or share a room with Jake, with all the complications that might entail.
"We'll take it," I decide, meeting Jake's gaze squarely. "We're both adults. We can handle one night in the same room."
Jake turns back to the desk clerk. "We'll take it."
The room is exactly what you'd expect from a roadside motel in a town that considers its high school football team the height of cultural achievement.
Faded floral bedspreads, thin carpeting, generic landscape art bolted to the walls.
But it's clean, at least, and the air conditioning works, which is a blessing after the Kansas summer heat.
"I'll take the floor," Jake says immediately, setting our bags down just inside the door.
"Don't be ridiculous," I counter, kicking off my shoes. "The bed is plenty big enough for both of us. We can build a pillow barrier down the middle if you're worried about your virtue."
His mouth twitches. "It's not my virtue I'm concerned about."
"Oh please," I scoff, though his words send a thrill through me. "I think I can control myself for one night, no matter how irresistible you think you are."
"Trish," he says, my name a low warning.
"Jake," I mimic his tone. "Seriously, I don't bite. Unless asked nicely."
His eyes darken at that, and for a moment, the air between us charges like it had last night. Then he deliberately looks away, breaking the connection.
"I'm going to shower," he announces, grabbing his bag and heading for the bathroom. "There's a diner across the street if you're hungry."
The bathroom door closes with a definitive click, and the water starts running moments later.
I flop back on the bed, staring at the ceiling and wondering what I've gotten myself into.
The attraction between us has been building since Toronto, growing more intense with each mile we travel.
Being stuck in this small room together is either going to force us to address it or drive us both insane.
I pull out my phone to distract myself, finding a text from Jordyn. I had opted to shoot her a text earlier, explaining the situation in very vague terms so as not to have her worrying about me in the weeks leading up to her wedding.
Jordyn: Where are you now? Still on track for Saturday?
Me: Basic Plaines, Kansas. Literally the most boring place on Earth. Yes, still on track. How's pre-wedding stuff going?
Jordyn: Still chaotic, but still in the best way. Silas's brothers all have Strong Opinions? about everything. Miss you. How's the mysterious Jake holding up?
I glance toward the bathroom door, behind which Jake is currently showering. My mind unhelpfully supplies images of water running down his muscular torso, and I quickly redirect my thoughts.
Me: Still mysterious. Still controlling. Still infuriatingly attractive. We're sharing a motel room tonight. Only one available in this football-obsessed town.
Jordyn: Hmm, do I need to plan for an extra plus-one at my wedding?
Me: Very funny. It's not like that. He's taking the floor like some kind of chivalrous caveman.
Jordyn: Suuuure. Just remember, I want ALL the details when you get here.
I put my phone away as the water shuts off.
A few minutes later, Jake emerges in a cloud of steam, wearing a fresh black t-shirt and sweatpants that hang low on his hips.
His hair is damp, his face freshly shaved, and I have to force myself not to stare at the sliver of abdomen that appears when he reaches up to run a hand through his wet hair.
"All yours," he says, seemingly oblivious to my reaction.
I grab my toiletries and practically flee to the bathroom, needing space to compose myself. The shower helps, washing away the day's travel grime and cooling my overheated thoughts. By the time I emerge in my own sleep shorts and tank top, I've regained some semblance of control.
Jake is sitting at the small desk by the window, typing something on his laptop. He glances up when I enter, his eyes widening slightly as they take in my bare legs before quickly returning to his screen.
"Hungry?" he asks, his voice carefully neutral.
As if on cue, my stomach growls audibly. "Starving, actually. Diner still open?"
"Until nine," he confirms, checking his watch. "We have time."
At least that'll give us time outside for me to get a grip. "I'll just need a few minutes to change, then we can head over."
The diner across the street is nearly empty, most of the town apparently at the football game. We slide into a booth by the window, and a waitress promptly brings menus.
"You folks just passing through?" she asks, pouring coffee without asking if we want it.
"Yes," Jake answers before I can. "Just tonight."
"Too bad," she says, eyeing the football stadium visible through the window. "Big game tonight. Whole town'll be celebrating after we crush the Eagles."
"I'm sure it'll be very exciting," I say politely.
After she takes our orders, a burger for me, grilled chicken for Jake, we fall into surprisingly comfortable conversation. The awkwardness from the motel room has dissipated, replaced by the easy rapport we've been developing over the past two days.
"Do you have siblings?" I ask, genuinely curious about Jake's background.
"One sister," he says. "Younger. She lives in Seattle with her husband and two kids."
"Are you close?"
"As close as we can be with the distance. I try to visit for major holidays when work allows." He takes a sip of his water. "You?"
"Only child," I reply. "Explains my control issues, probably. Never had to share toys or attention."
His mouth quirks in that almost-smile that's becoming familiar. "Not all only children have control issues."
"True. Some just become incredibly independent and self-sufficient instead." I pause, then add, "Like you, I'm guessing?"
He studies me for a moment. "My parents died when I was sixteen. Car accident. My sister was twelve. We went to live with our aunt, but she was... not equipped for suddenly having two teenagers."
The simple statement, delivered without self-pity, creates a tightness in my chest. "I'm sorry, Jake."
He shrugs. "It was a long time ago."
"Still," I say softly. "Losing parents is hard at any age."
Something shifts in his expression, a softening around the eyes that makes him look younger somehow. "Yes, it is."
Our food arrives, breaking the momentary intimacy of the exchange.
As we eat, the conversation turns to lighter topics like favorite books, movies, places we've visited.
It's strangely normal, sitting in this small-town diner with a man I've known for barely forty-eight hours, discussing whether The Godfather is superior to Goodfellas, because of course it is, and Jake agrees.
"Can I ask you something potentially uncomfortable?" I venture as we finish our meal.
His expression turns guarded. "You can ask."
"Why ride share? Really?" I lean forward, keeping my voice low. "You're clearly successful in your security work. You've traveled extensively. You have resources. So why pick up strangers and drive them across the country?"
Jake is quiet for a long moment, considering. "The honest answer?"
"Please."
"Control," he says finally. "When I'm driving, I'm in control of the situation. The route, the stops, the vehicle itself. It's... calming, in a way other things aren't."
"But why add passengers to the equation? Wouldn't driving alone be more controlled?"
"You'd think so," he concedes. "But there's something about the specific parameters of a ride share arrangement. Clear expectations. Defined roles. Beginning and end points established in advance."
Understanding dawns. "It's a controlled form of human interaction."
His eyes meet mine, surprised and perhaps a little impressed. "Exactly."
"So, what happens when a passenger disrupts that control?" I can't help asking. "Someone who challenges your rules, changes your schedule, makes you take breakfast detours?"
Something flickers in his eyes--heat, frustration, interest, I can't quite tell. "That depends on the passenger," he says carefully. "And how the disruption manifests."
The air between us thickens with unspoken tension. I'm suddenly acutely aware of the narrowness of the table separating us, his gaze meets mine, and my pulse quickens.