Chapter 29
Twenty-Nine
Oh god.
One bed. One king sized bed took up the majority of the floor space in the small room. This was bad. So, so bad.
Travis walked further into the room and she closed the door behind them, the soft snick of the latch sounding like a fucking bomb in her head.
The room smelled faintly like moth balls, but it looked clean and well kept, if a little outdated.
The room was stifling hot though, and she reached out to switch the AC unit on.
It rumbled to life, then whirred quietly as cool air began to circulate through the room.
It would be a while before it had cooled enough to be comfortable.
She watched as Travis checked the bathroom, then came back and flipped the covers of the bed, checking everything.
He straightened, looking over at her. His clothes were still drenched, though his hair had started to dry, curling slightly.
How in the hell was she supposed to survive a night sleeping in the same bed as him?
“It looks good, and we should be back on the road tomorrow. Why don’t we get out of these wet clothes and head over to that bar Harry mentioned? Are you hungry? How’s your head?”
“I could eat,” she said, her words coming out on a rasp. “I took some Tylenol while we were waiting for the tow-truck, so it’s fine.” She gestured to him. “You’re wetter than I am—”
His light brown brows rose, those golden eyes lighting with mischief, and she squeezed her eyes shut for a half a second, pulling her lips in between her teeth in mortification.
“We can remedy that, Red,” he murmured gruffly, rounding the foot of the bed and coming toward her, slowly, so slowly. Like a predator after his prey.
“Travis—”
“Are you going to tell me you haven’t thought about what could happen in that bed later, baby girl?” he asked, his voice husky and dark, sending shivers down her body. He stopped a foot away, and she had to lean her head back to look up at him he was so close. “Because I sure as fuck have.”
A whoosh of breath escaped her, her lips falling open. “This is a bad idea, Travis.”
“The worst,” he agreed on a whisper, his eyes traveling across her face, stopping on her mouth.
“We should definitely go get dinner,” she whispered, nodding.
“Right.” His eyes found hers. “Dinner.”
She took a deep, steadying breath in, then stepped back from him.
He looked like he wanted to say more, to reach out for her, but he didn’t, those honey gold eyes bouncing between hers.
He finally turned away, reaching for his duffel that he had left on the floor by the door, and she breathed a little easier not having him quite so close.
Though, she hated to admit, that she very deeply wanted to know what it would feel like for his mouth to settle on hers, for it to open for her, to taste him for the first time.
He’d kissed her twice now, just a mere touching of their lips, and each time had turned her into a puddle.
Travis set the duffel on the edge of the bed, rifling through the contents until he found what he was looking for, and then he disappeared into the bathroom.
She heard the shower turn on and blushed deeply, imagining him naked mere feet away from her.
She knew what his body looked like; had seen him in nothing but gym shorts so many times she knew it like the back of her own hand.
But there was so much more she wanted to see, to touch, to taste.
While he was in the shower, she pulled her own suitcase onto the bed, searching through until she found a pair of cutoff jean shorts and a simple black tank top with thin straps.
It was miserably hot in the room, the outside temperature not much better.
She decided to go sans bra, her body already sticky with sweat from the humidity.
She found her favorite pair of teal cowgirl ankle boots at the bottom of the suitcase and set them aside to put on in place of her sneakers.
She sank to the edge of the bed, scrolling through her phone now that they had service once again.
Ten minutes later he emerged, steam billowing out of the tiny motel bathroom.
A white towel was slung around his hips and her mouth dropped open of its own accord, her eyes going wide.
She jumped to her feet and spun around, giving him her back.
She heard his low chuckle from where he still stood and she glared at the door in front of her because she’d be damned if she was going to turn around while he was still practically naked.
Heart doing triple time in her chest, she heard his soft footsteps as he approached the other side of the bed.
“Bathroom is all yours, Red,” he said gruffly, his voice mere feet away.
She nodded stiffly, then grabbed her clothes off the foot of the bed and nearly ran to the bathroom, closing the door behind her with a snap. It smelled like him, like his bodywash and shampoo; a heady mix of sandalwood and citrus, and it made her head spin.
She stripped, stepping into the shower just long enough to rinse her body and wet her hair down.
Climbing out, she towel dried hastily, then dressed in the tiny room.
Her legs were still damp, so pulling the jean shorts up her thighs was a struggle, but she finally managed to get them up over her hips and buttoned with a lot of huffing and puffing.
Pulling the tank top over her head, the stretchy fabric molded to her breasts, the cut of the neckline dipping low across her chest.
Exiting the bathroom, she stood in front of the mirror and combed through her curls, raking a curl cream through them and then letting them dry around her head.
She studiously avoided looking at Travis, who lounged on the bed, back propped against the headboard, his booted feet crossed at the ankles.
A dry pair of jeans covered his legs, and his usual cutoff tee had been replaced with a white t-shirt—sleeves intact—and the material clung to his magnificently muscled upper body.
That same cowboy hat that he’d worn to Lawless that day he’d come to see her at work sat on the bed next to him.
His hair was left down, nearly dry already.
When she realized she was staring at him through the mirror, she shook herself.
Using the tiniest amount of concealer she could stand, she covered the worst of the bruises on her face, then swiped her lashes with mascara, if just to make her eyes pop a little.
Then, she turned away from the mirror, flipping the light switch off.
Tucking her feet into the boots, she dug into her purse.
Her ID and some cash was all she was taking with her, and she tucked both into the back pocket of her shorts.
“Ready?” he asked, raising his eyes to hers from where he still lounged on the bed.
She nodded, licking her lips, her eyes darting over him once more before flitting away. He rolled into a sitting position, throwing his legs over the side of the bed, then stood. Swiping the cowboy hat off the bed, he placed it on his head. He grinned down her.
Dammit was he good looking. And he fucking knew it, too, the bastard.
He gestured to the door. “The rain has slowed; it’s just drizzling now. We shouldn’t get too wet walking across to the bar.” She glared up at him for his teasing, and he winked down at her. “Come on. I’m hungry. And I could use a drink.”
He tucked the key to their room back into his front pocket, then guided her toward the door.
He locked it, double checking it, and then they made their way across the mostly deserted parking lot and across the narrow two-lane road that separated the motel from the bar.
This parking lot was fuller, and they could hear 90’s country music playing as they approached the doors.
Walking in, it felt like they’d stepped into the past, and Roxy had never felt more at home anywhere in her life.
She laughed out loud, a wide grin splitting her face.
It was much like Lawless, if her old work hadn’t been updated in thirty years.
It was wonderful and nostalgic. Wood beams covered the entirety of the building; the floor, the walls, the ceiling.
The only concession to the times was the dance floor that was lit with colorful spotlights that rotated above the throng of people line dancing to Alan Jackson’s ‘Chattahoochee’.
Travis’s hand at her back, he guided her forward, finding them two empty seats at the long, wide wooden bar. A bartender found them moments later, leaning forward to ask them what he could get them.
“Margarita and a shot of reposado tequila, whatever you have is fine,” Roxy called over the bar.
“Salt and lime?” the bartender asked.
“Salt rim on the margarita, a slice of orange and a dash of cinnamon for the shot, please,” she called back, smiling.
Travis’s eyebrows shot up, nodding when the bartender turned to him. “Tall Pbr and the same for a shot, please.”
When the bartender had turned away, Roxy smiled over at him, where he’d settled into one of the barstools next to her.
He was angled toward her, his knees spread wide, one boot heel hooked on the rung of the stool, his knee bent.
She angled toward, unable to stay away, situating her legs between his knees.
“Have you had cinnamon on an orange with tequila before?” When he shook his head, she grinned, leaning forward slightly.
“It’s fucking delicious. You’ll never go back. ”
When their drinks arrived, Travis asked for menus, which showed up seconds later. Roxy took a pull of her margarita, scanning the menu. The bartender was quick to take their order, and then Travis turned toward her.
He took a drink of his beer, then lifted the shooter of gold tequila in one hand, holding the slice of orange with a dusting of cinnamon in the other.
Roxy grinned, reaching for her own. Clinking her shot glass against his, she lifted it to her mouth, tossing the tequila back at the same time Travis did.
They both lifted the orange slices to their mouths, biting off the sweet citrus.
When he had swallowed, Roxy beamed. “Well?”
He nodded, his brows going up in surprise.
“Fucking delicious. Although—” he muttered, shifting forward in his seat, clasping her around the back of the neck with one large hand, “—I’d much rather taste it off your tongue, Red.
” His eyes searched hers, her mouth dropping open in shock.
They were mere inches apart. “I told you I’m going to kiss you.
And I’m tired of fighting this, baby girl. ”
A jostling shove at her back by another bar patron had her falling forward, and with his hand still clasping the nape of her neck, he guided her mouth to his. They pressed, light and tentative, before he opened his mouth and beckoned for her to do the same.
He rubbed his open lips across hers, once, twice, before she opened her own, inviting him in.
They shared breaths for a moment, neither one of them daring to move, and then his mouth slanted over hers, pressing.
At the first taste of his tongue on hers, she knew nothing would ever be this good.
He tasted of orange and cinnamon and tequila and she moaned into his mouth, drinking him in as she kissed him back.
Her hands cradled his bearded jaw, her fingernails scratching lightly at the trimmed facial hair that covered his cheeks and jaw, and he growled into her mouth.
His kiss deepened, tongue swiping through her mouth over and over again.
Fuck. She felt his kiss all the way to her toes.
She didn’t want to stop, but a wolf whistle sounded and they broke apart, grinning against each other’s mouths.
He pecked another kiss to her lips, then pulled back, leaning back in his seat.
She was so wet she was aching, and when he adjusted himself in his jeans, she blushed.
Allowing her gaze to drop to his lap, she licked her lips, imagining what lay behind that zipper.
She could see the outline of him, hard and straining against the material of his jeans.
He tilted her face up with a finger under her chin. His eyes were hot on hers. “I swear to god if you lick your lips like that again while staring at my dick, we’re not going to make it through dinner, baby girl.”