Chapter 9
Oh, he thought he was sneaky.
He thought he was all clever and grown up and a bad ass.
He thought he could just up and leave me here in this motel room with nothing to snuggle but Mr. Ford, sneak off and I wouldn't track his sexy ass down?
Huh.
I would show him.
Well... to be fair, the only reason I'll be able to track down a bad ass bounty hunter was because I was an idiot and had forgotten my phone in his truck, and had my laptop with me so I could find it with the 'find my phone' app.
Wait... You were probably wondering what the fuck was Alfie going on about?
That's okay, I'll catch you up.
Crowe blew my mind. Quite literally. He sexed me to within an inch of my life, cleaned me up, cuddled me, and then the asshole thought he could just up and leave me in the middle of the night like I was some unwanted date.
It didn’t even matter that he went through my things and took out my Fantastic teddy and placed him in my arms to cuddle with me. Nope. No brownie points for that.
I wasn't an idiot. I certainly wasn't born yesterday.
Last night was more than just a one-night stand or a hook-up.
He had claimed me. And I'd claimed his sexy, rough-around-the-edges ass right back.
He even made me say it twice! So obviously he'd had some kind of post-nut clarity moment where he freaked out about how awesome I was and ran away.
But that was okay.
I was going to find my man and prove to him that we truly were made for one another.
And I wouldn’t let the fact that he abandoned me freak me out. Or let it hurt.
Too much.
I wasn’t going to sit in a moldy forgotten motel room waiting for my highway Daddy to come crawling back with an apology and a limp dick. (Although, for the record, if he did, my body would forgive him before my brain registered the betrayal. Traitorous, slutty body.)
Instead, I gathered my wits, what was left of my dignity, and the towel I’d wrapped around myself in a fit of dramatic, post-abandonment despair. I splashed water on my face, brushed my teeth, and powered up my laptop.
Find my phone, you clever little bitch, I thought, pulling up the last known location of my device.
The blue dot pulsed. It was the most beautifully passive-aggressive beacon of hope I’d ever seen.
I grinned, teeth nibbling on my bottom lip as I calculated how far away he was and how exactly I was going to catch up with him.
And then I actually saw where it was headed.
That dot was not heading toward civilization. It wasn’t drifting lazily toward a diner or a gas station or even one of those depressing little roadside towns with exactly one store and a truly terrifying cashier.
Nope. The dot was beelining straight into what looked like a geographic equivalent of “mind your business.”
I squinted at the map, zoomed in, zoomed out, tilted my head like that was going to make it less ominous.
“Okay,” I muttered to myself, tapping the screen like I could bully it into giving me better news. “Cool. Great. Love that for me. Love that my soulmate is apparently fleeing into the wilderness.
I leaned back against the questionable motel headboard, laptop balanced on my thighs, clad in nothing but my towel as I haven't found the energy to get dressed yet.
This was fine.
Everything was just fine.
I had options. I was not some helpless damsel waiting around to be saved. I was Alfred—Queen of Bouncing Back, Patron Saint of Questionable Decisions, Frequent Flyer in the airline of “this seemed like a good idea at the time.”
I could so handle this.
I flipped open my contact lists on my laptop, never more glad than I was right then that I chose to stay in contact via email and social media with most of the friends made on my travels.
“Hmmm,” I hummed, tapping my lip. “Okay, so… theoretically, I could call—”
I paused.
Scrolled.
Paused again.
“—no, he’d ask too many questions.”
Scroll.
Scroll. Stop.
There. My finger hovered over a name. Goldie.
My very first ride. My very best accidental grandmother.
The kind of woman who could organize a search party, bake a pie, and intimidate a grown man into confession all in the same five minutes.
I grinned, eager to reach out to my old friend and see what she had to say about it all.
“Dearest Goldie,” I typed, feeling the little flicker of hope reignite in my chest. “Hope you and the grandbaby are thriving. Don’t suppose you know anyone with a truck in my general area (I’ll drop you a pin) and absolutely no sense of self-preservation who could give me a lift into the middle of nowhere?
I’ll bring snacks and stories. Also, I’m wearing a towel.
Kidding! (Not kidding.)” I sent it, dropped her another message with my location and lightly cackled to myself at the thought of the shock on Crowe’s face when I showed up. .
Just a few minutes later, an answer pinged in.
Only Goldie would be up this early to reply.
“Sweet Pea, I’m on it. There’s a guy named Buck who owes me one, and he’s in the next town over.
You’ll know him by his beard, his flannel, and the fact that he drives a pickup the size of a cruise ship.
Be ready by 8. He’ll bring coffee. Don’t make it weird. ”
I set the laptop aside, already plotting what I’d say to him when I saw his insanely handsome face again.
I mean, he was attractive enough that he would probably only have to crook one of those sinful eyebrows at me and give me a good spanking and I’d forgive him, but I had to at least attempt a scolding of some kind.
Or a proposal. Something big. For sure.
Because I got a funny feeling this wasn’t going to be a simple “guess I got dumped” reunion.
I’d just managed to assemble myself into something slightly more presentable (cargo shorts, fresh T-shirt, hair sort of not doing a Thing) when Buck’s pickup rolled into the parking lot at exactly eight as promised. And I didn’t even need to stick out my thumb.
Time to go get my man.