Chapter 2
TWO
BOONE
Well, that went about as well as it could have gone.
As in, I made a fucking mess of things. For three people, who didn’t deserve it.
The urge to kick my own ass is strong as I drive Erica toward town in my truck. Her hot pink suitcase rattles faintly in the bed, the only sound as the silence stretches between us. Growing more tense with every passing second.
She’s staring out the passenger window, jaw tight, hands folded in her lap. I’ve seen that posture before. It’s the kind people get when they’re trying not to explode in public.
Knox would probably say something helpful right about now.
Knox is not here.
Knox is likely sprinting through the airport to catch his girl before she gets away.
It’s all my fault.
I clear my throat. “So… the motel’s decent. Not fancy, but clean. The owner’s nice. Shit coffee, though.”
“Good to know,” Erica says, without looking at me.
I wince.
“I’m not—” I stop, because rambling apologies while she’s still in shock seems like a bad strategy. Instead I try again. “Dinner first. If you want. My treat. No pressure.”
Her eyes flick toward me. Suspicious. Curious. Tired.
“Are you always this pushy?”
“I prefer overcompensating.”
That earns me the barest twitch of a smile.
It’s a small step in the right direction. But I’ll take it.
As we settle into the booth at the diner, the waitress gives me a look that says she knows exactly why I brought a woman who looks like she stepped out of a move into her establishment.
I shake my head, silently begging her not to make this even worse that I’ve already made it.
I slide into the booth across from Erica and push a menu toward her.
“You can order whatever,” I say. “Including dessert.”
“Wow. Trying to bribe me with…” she scans the menu “roast beef and peach pie?”
“Will that work?”
She huffs a soft laugh before she can stop herself and then looks annoyed about it.
I take second point in my favor. I’m slowly narrowing the gap.
When the waitress leaves, Erica studies me over the top of the laminated menu. “So. Boone.”
“Yeah.”
“You do realize what you did was insane, right?”
“Extremely.”
“And that I could’ve been murdered.”
“You wouldn’t have been murdered.”
She lowers the menu. “That’s not reassuring.”
“I know.”
A beat passes. Then another.
She sighs. “Why did you do it?”
I stare at the table instead of her face, because the honest answer is messy and the partial truth is all I’ve got ready.
“I thought I was helping,” I say. “Knox doesn’t put himself out there. Ever. He needed… a shove.”
“And you thought impersonating him and setting him up with a dummy desperate for love would be the shove he needed?”
I frown. “You’re not dumb.”
“I feel dumb.”
“Well you’re not,” I mutter and run a hand through my hair. “I only planned on setting up the profile. Then you messaged. He didn’t answer. The system routed it to me. I figured I’d reply once and explain later.”
She arches a brow.
“…I did not explain later.”
“No. You did not.”
“I kept going.”
“Yes, you did.” She gives me a pointed look. “You wrote me philosophical essays about life up hear.”
I grimace. “In hindsight, I probably came on a little strong.”
Her lips twitch. Am I going to get a grin? Am I going to get another point in my favor.
Instead, she shakes her head, exasperated. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Yeah, I’ll admit. It wasn’t my best idea.”
But she doesn’t get up and leave, and that feels like something.
Dinner arrives. Burgers the size of our heads. Fries piled high. As we both dig in, I study the way she moves, a familiar longing tugging inside of me.
She catches me staring and asks, “What?”
I blink and say the first thing that pops in my head. “You really quit your job?”
“Technically, I took a leave of absence. I figured if I was going to do something this reckless, I might as well give myself a backup plan in case things didn’t work out long-term.”
“And your apartment?”
“Sublet.”
My stomach twists.
“That took guts.”
She shrugs. “Or delusion.”
“Those aren’t mutually exclusive.”
She snorts, then freezes like she didn’t mean to.
I smile before I can stop myself.
She notices. “Don’t,” she warns.
“Don’t what?”
“Look so damn pleased.”
“Sorry. I’m thrilled.” I grin. “I’ve been trying to get a laugh out of you for an hour now.”
She rolls her eyes and takes another bite.
“What about you?” she asks. “Besides running elaborate romantic correspondence operations.”
“I fix things,” I say. “Fly sometimes. Help out where I’m needed.”
“That’s vague.”
“I have various jobs and side hustles.”
She squints at me. “Fine. I guess if I want honesty from you, I have to give it first.”
She wipes her hands on a napkin. “I want to write full-time. Not just scrape by with side gigs and tiny sales. I want book tours. Publishers who call me. A shelf in an airport bookstore.”
I blink. “That’s a good dream.”
“You don’t sound like you’re humoring me.”
“I’m not. You’re a great writer.”
She studies my face like she’s trying to decide if that’s true.
“I read your books,” I add.
She chokes on her soda.
“You what.”
“Two of them. The third one wasn’t up yet.”
Her eyes narrow. “You’re lying.”
“I am not.”
“You read romance novels?”
I lift a shoulder. “Yes.”
“As in more than one?”
“That’s what I said.”
“Written by me?”
“Yes.”
She stares.
“They were good. Funny. Sharp. Great banter.” I stroke my chin thoughtfully. “I think my favorite was the one about the woman who turns her new man’s rustic hunting lodge into a matchmaking destination for curvy women and mountain men.”
Her voice comes out smaller. “You really read it.”
“I did.”
A flush creeps up her neck.
“Okay,” she mutters. “That’s… cool.”
“I grew up reading a lot.”
Her gaze flicks up. “Really.”
“Yeah. Just me and my mom most of the time. She had a whole shelf of paperbacks. I needed something to do.”
“And you picked kissing books.”
“I picked what was available. And I liked them better than the books about how to get a man.”
She laughs outright this time. I savor the sound for a second. Then it hits me right in the gut.
Nobody knows this about me.
Nobody.
As if sensing my unease, she gives a half-grin. “Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.”
I release a sigh of relief. “Thanks.”
“Now. While you’re offering feedback.” She rests her chin on her fist. “How soon is too soon for the hero and heroine to hop in bed together?”
At last. The tension between us is mostly broken.
Maybe it’s the piece of pie we share after our burgers.
Maybe it the hour-long talk about romance novels.
Maybe it’s the palpable mutual attraction radiating between us.
But when I pull my truck into the motel parking lot, and Erica invites me to join her inside, I don’t think twice. I practically throw my credit card at the guy behind the counter as she takes my hand and drags me to her room.
I fumble with the keys as she runs her hands up and down my chest. Her full, sweet lips nibbling at my chin and the side of my neck.
My eyelids clench shut for a moment, savoring the pulse of desire her touch sends straight to my cock. I grow even harder than I knew was possible as I breathe in deep, filling my lungs with her light scent.
I somehow manage to get the door open before I burst on the spot.
“You know,” she says, nuzzling my neck. “I’ve never done this before.”
“What? Stayed in a room with so many clashing plaids?”
She giggles, and my heart hitches at the sound. “No, I’ve never had a one-night stand with a stranger.”
Her words cut through my lust, punching me in the gut. “Maybe we should hold on a minute and?—”
“Nope,” she shakes her head, pulling her hair out of the messy top bun and letting it fall in waves over her shoulders. “I’ve already decided. I want you. You want me. We should see where this goes.”
I want what she says more than anything. But a voice in my head—one that is getting harder to hear—tells me we’re maybe moving too fast. Maybe, after all of the mistakes I’ve made with this woman, I should finally use my damn brain.
“Right, but?—”
“Besides.” She starts working at the buttons on my shirt, spreading the flannel wide and splaying her fingers across my chest. I suck in a breath at her touch. “It’s not like we’re really strangers?”
“We’re not?” I ask, struggling to keep my brain working as her hands slide lower and lower.
“No, not really.” She traces the waist of my jeans, toying with the button at the top of the fly. “We’ve been writing for months.” ]
“True, but?—”
Then she cups me through the denim and pulls my face down to meet her kiss. I give up fighting then. I give up the ability to think about anything other than the way her curves fit perfectly against my body and how her lips still taste of peach and cinnamon.
The bed creaking faintly beneath us. When she finally drifts off against my chest, breathing slow and warm, I stare at the ceiling instead of sleeping.
Because now that the adrenaline is gone, the guilt hits like a freight train.
I shouldn’t have done that.
Not when she came here for Knox.
Not when she doesn’t know what she’s doing with the mess I made of her life.
Not when I’m not the man she seems to think I am.
I lie there long after she falls asleep, watching the shadows crawl across the ceiling, a plan starting to take shape whether I like it or not.
Space.
Time.
A way for her to choose without me in the room.
It feels noble.
It also feels terrible.
But damn, it’s the right thing to do. For her.