Chapter 2 #2
Dangerous territory.
"Tell me about your ranch," she says suddenly, breaking the quiet. "Jason says it's impressive, but he's annoyingly vague on details."
I can't help the pride that creeps into my voice.
"Three hundred acres in the foothills outside Seattle.
I started with just fifty acres and a run-down barn.
Built it up piece by piece." I tap my fingers against the steering wheel.
"Now I've got twenty-seven breeding horses, state-of-the-art facilities, and clients from all over the country. "
"Sounds like you've done well for yourself."
"It's home," I say simply. "First place that ever truly felt like one."
Something in my tone must reveal more than I intended, because she looks at me curiously. "Not even your parents' place?"
I shake my head. "My old man was military.
We moved every couple years. Then after Mom died, he became even more restless.
" I don't mention the drinking, the rages, the broken furniture.
Some things don't need to be shared on a highway at sunset.
"Your family was the closest thing I had to stability growing up. "
Her expression softens. "I didn't know that."
"No reason you would. I wasn't exactly forthcoming about my home life in high school."
"Is that why you were always at our house? I used to think you just came over to raid our fridge."
I laugh. "That was definitely part of the appeal. Your mom made the best apple pie in the county."
"She still does, though now she only bakes when she visits from Arizona." Zen stretches her arms overhead, the movement causing her blouse to ride up slightly revealing a strip of smooth skin at her waist. I force my eyes back to the road.
"How is Katherine? Jason doesn't talk about your parents much."
"Mom's fine. She remarried to a dermatologist with a passion for golf.
They live in one of those retirement communities where everyone drives golf carts and drinks margaritas at two in the afternoon.
" Her tone is light, but I catch the underlying tension.
"Dad's still in Seattle, still working eighty-hour weeks like he did when we were kids. "
I remember Mr. Wallace, always in a suit, always checking his watch, always with a cell phone pressed to his ear. He wasn't unkind, just... absent, even when physically present.
"Must have been tough after the divorce," I say carefully. "You were, what, twelve?"
"Eleven," she corrects. "And yes, it sucked. But Jason stepped up. Made sure I had some semblance of normality."
I nod, recalling how Jason's carefree attitude had changed practically overnight. How he'd gone from typical teenager to responsible guardian in the blink of an eye, turning down parties to stay home with his little sister, checking her homework, and making sure she ate dinner.
"He's a good man," I say. "Best friend I've ever had."
"Yeah." Her voice softens. "He is."
The motel appears ahead, a single-story building with peeling paint and a flickering neon sign advertising "VACANCY" and "COLOR TV" like it's still 1975.
It sits just off the highway, making it the last outpost before we cross into Missouri.
I pull into the gravel parking lot, choosing a spot near the office.
"Wait here," I tell her. "I'll get us rooms."
The office smells of cigarettes and pine-scented cleaner. A middle-aged woman with bleached blonde hair and acrylic nails looks up from her romance novel as I enter.
"Need a room, honey?"
"Two rooms," I clarify. "Just for tonight."
She eyes me skeptically, then glances through the window at Zen waiting in my truck. "Only got one room left, sugar. Two queen beds though." She winks. "Plenty of space for you and your lady friend to spread out."
Perfect. Just perfect.
I consider our options. The next town is over an hour away, and we're both exhausted from the day's drive. Sharing a room isn't ideal, but it's not the end of the world.
"I'll take it."
She slides a registration card across the counter. "Cash or credit?"
I hand over my credit card, filling out the form with my information. She processes the payment, then passes me a key attached to a large plastic keychain.
"Room twelve, end of the row. Vending machines and ice are by the office. Checkout's at eleven." She gives me another knowing wink. "The walls are pretty thick, so don't you worry 'bout making noise."
I choose to ignore the implication, pocketing the key and heading back to the truck. This is going to be an interesting conversation.
Zen looks up expectantly as I slide back into the driver's seat. "All set?"
I start the engine, pulling around to the far end of the building. "Slight complication. They only have one room left. Two beds," I add quickly, seeing her expression. "Completely separate sleeping arrangements."
She stares at me for a long moment, then sighs. "Fine. It's one night. We're adults. We can handle sleeping in the same room."
"Right," I agree, parking in front of room twelve. "Absolutely."
I grab our bags from the truck bed, unable to shake the feeling that being alone in a motel room with Zennika Wallace is going to be anything but simple. It's playing with fire, and I have a sinking suspicion we're both about to get burned.
I insert the key into the lock, pushing open the door to reveal a dated room with faded floral wallpaper, threadbare carpet, and two queen beds separated by a nightstand.
Zen brushes past me, her arm grazing mine as she enters the room. Even that brief contact sends a jolt through my system.
Definitely playing with fire.
She sets her purse on the bed farthest from the door, claiming it without a word. I place her suitcase beside it, keeping a careful distance between us in the confined space.
"I'll take the first shower," she announces, already unzipping her bag to retrieve what she needs.
"Take your time," I tell her, sinking onto the edge of my bed. "I'll see what food options we've got nearby."
She disappears into the bathroom, and seconds later, I hear the shower running.
The mental image of Zen under the spray of water hits me with unexpected force.
I grab the motel information folder, focusing intently on the list of local restaurants to distract myself from thoughts I have no business entertaining.
Jason would kill me if he knew the direction my mind is heading. Hell, I want to kill me. This is Zennika Wallace. The woman who's hated me for twelve years. My best friend’s little sister. The one person in this world who is absolutely, categorically off-limits.
I need to remember that. Need to keep my distance. Need to get her to Georgia and then get far, far away from the temptation she represents.
Twenty more hours on the road. At least two more nights in motels. Damn near one thousand miles with the most beautiful, infuriating woman I've ever known.
What could possibly go wrong?