Chapter 8
Gabe
This dumbass middle finger car was total shit in the snow.
Snow that was piling up by the minute. We’d wasted precious time chitchatting with State Senator Tomlinson, not realizing how quickly the weather had turned.
Now there was a good chance we would freeze to death by the side of the road.
When they found our bodies in the spring, Sabrina’s face would be fixed in a scowl.
“This vehicle is excellent in the snow.” She huffed. “Superior four-wheel drive; locking differentials.”
Frustration bubbled up inside me. “Do you know what a locking differential is?”
She sniffed. “At this precise moment, I cannot recall.” She squinted, shifting closer to the steering wheel. “But I did heavily consider it while debating this purchase.”
Her hands were at ten and two and the windshield wipers were on at full speed, though the road in front of us was barely visible.
“It’s this fucking state,” she complained.
“It’s January. And we’re driving through the Green Mountains,” I added. “What did you expect?”
“I’m just saying. If Vermont had wider highways this would be easier.”
“The mountains aren’t the easiest place to pave spacious highways. There’s only so much room.”
She glowered at me, those red lips curling. “If you’re going to be an asshole, you can get out and walk home.”
I barked out a laugh. “It may be safer than riding with you.”
“Kindly fuck off.”
“Wish I could. I’d rather take my chances with frostbite,” I retorted. “Getting some distance from you would be worth losing a few fingers.”
“Hey, at least your dick is tiny enough not to fall off.”
Rather than respond, I closed my eyes and prayed that this storm would break. At this point, it would be morning before we got back to Maplewood.
“Do you want me to drive?” I offered once I’d tamped down my rage.
“What difference would that make? Regardless of who’s behind the wheel, the wind has to stop blowing snow drifts onto the windshield before we can go more than ten miles an hour.”
I surveyed the snowy highway, considering our options. Huntington, Falswood.
“Oh.” I straightened. “We’re near MapleBush.”
She frowned at the road in front of us. “What’s that?”
“A ski resort. One of the biggest in the state. I know a place. We can stop there and wait it out.”
“Are you lying and telling me it’s a ski resort when it’s really an abandoned mine? Are you going to murder me?”
“Tempting.” I chuckled. “But I left my tarp and cleaning solution at home. So the old-school mom-and-pop motel near the ski hill will have to do.”
“Ew.”
“Hey.” I shot her a look. “It’s a nice place and a great alternative to the expensive resorts. Nate and I stay there when we ski MapleBush. It’s nice, I promise.”
She let out a beleaguered sigh. “Let’s just keep going.”
Her arms and shoulders were tense, her face drawn. We’d been on the road since six, and if we stayed in this car, one of us would end up committing murder.
“I’m tired,” I said, keeping my tone soft. “And you’re tired. We haven’t seen a single plow, and according to the weather app on my phone, this is an absolute snow-mageddon. Let’s cut our losses and stop for a bit. Maybe get something to eat while we wait.”
Silently, she continued on, staring at the road ahead.
“I’d rather eat vending machine snacks than freeze to death when this overpriced hamster wheel veers off the road,” I said. “You can slum it for a night. Take the next exit.”
She let out a frustrated sigh that I took as agreement.
Smiling, I angled forward, squinting through the blizzard. “I’ll direct you.”
Naturally, the motel only had one room available.
Fuck.
But it wasn’t surprising, I guessed. The Montgomerys were a kindly couple in their sixties, and the vintage-style roadside motel was filled with snowboarders who’d seen the forecast and raced up here so they could catch the fresh powder first thing tomorrow.
The place had always been neat and well cared for, but they’d spruced it up even more since I’d last visited. Apparently business was booming.
Small lodges like this didn’t really exist anymore, but knowing this one was doing so well gave me a sense of hope.
As we stepped away from the front desk, I jangled the key on the plastic keychain.
“I want my own room.”
“Sorry, this is all they have,” I said as I held the door open for her.
She burrowed into her coat, growling. “Then you can sleep in the car.”
“Generous offer, but no thanks.”
Our room was on the end, with snow piling up quickly outside the door. But the walk was decently shoveled and the overhead lights were bright. As I slid the key into the lock, an icy-cold, wet lump hit the back of my neck.
With a hand at my nape, I turned. “Did you just throw snow at me?”
Her lips twitched. “Yes.”
An irritated scoff escaped me. “Why?”
“Don’t know. But it felt good.” She scooped up another handful and tossed it at me. This time it splattered against my chest, dampening my suit jacket.
“We have to sleep in these clothes,” I gritted out.
She shrugged. “Making you uncomfortable will help me sleep.” With that, she pushed past me into the room.
Once, I’d wiped the wet snow slop from my chest, I followed, taking in the space. It was small. All their rooms were. With a queen-size bed covered in a plaid comforter.
A small chair sat in the corner, and the single other door led to the bathroom.
Looking away, I silently cursed myself for checking out her ass in that tight skirt. I didn’t look at Sabrina Monroe that way, but the long day and the close quarters were making me dizzy.
Because I absolutely did not have a weakness for her or her full deep-red lips.
“I’m not sleeping in that bed,” she declared, shuddering. “I’ll sleep standing up.”
“Like a vampire. That tracks.” I shucked my damp jacket and searched for a place to hang it to dry.
It was only eight, and I worried I’d never survive this night. “Hey, there’s a bar on the other side of the parking lot. Let’s go,” I said. She looked over at me for a moment before nodding. “Anything to get out of this shithole,” she grumbled, grabbing her purse and heading for the door.
The place was shitty, even by roadside rural Vermont standards, but I couldn’t spend one more minute in that hotel room with her. The snow was coming down, but it was right next door, and I assumed the beer was cold and it had a functioning roof. Anything else was a bonus at this point.
This woman infuriated me. She was so superior. So sure that I was a useless dumbass. It only drove me harder to prove her wrong.
The lights of the beer signs flickered as I strode to a bar. Sabrina trailed behind, a look of pure confusion falling across her beautiful features.
“Hello, handsome,” the bartender drawled. She was in her early forties with bleached-blond hair and sparkling blue eyes. “What brings you into this place in the blizzard?”
“Stranded,” I said as Sabrina hobbled to the stool next to mine.
The place was empty save for a few truckers who had parked outside to ride out the storm.
“I’m Lucky,” she said, pointing to the name tag on her chest. “Kitchen’s closed.
And all I’ve got is beer and whiskey.” She gave me a wink that said she’d be interested in meeting up once her shift was finished.
This wasn’t an uncommon occurrence, but it was one I rarely took advantage of.
Being the mayor of a small town meant I was rarely met with opportunities for casual hookups.
Most of the time I was too busy and too exhausted to leave town to even bother looking for fun.
Too bad, because Lucky was cute and seemed like a hell of a lot more fun than Sabrina, who was currently glaring at her while inspecting the bar stool like it was a health code violation.
“I’ll take one of each,” I said.
She stared at me for a moment, ignoring Sabrina, which no doubt enraged her.
Sabrina didn’t speak for several seconds, like she was debating whether to have a drink with me. “I’ll have the same,” she said primly, reaching for a paper napkin to wipe down the bar in front of her.
Lucky deposited our drinks and raised an eyebrow at my companion, who was typing furiously on her phone.
“To Maplewood,” I said, raising the shot of whiskey.
She looked up and stared at me. “To fucking with our enemies.” With a tap of her glass against mine, she tossed the whiskey back with gusto.
I blinked at her, still holding my own whiskey aloft.
“What?” she said, glaring.
“I um… expected you to sip it,” I said.
She snorted. “Please. Like I’m some goody-goody like you?”
“I don’t know. You were, um—are… intense,” I explained. “And you were so focused in school. You color-coded notes and alphabetized everything.”
She waved me off. “Yes Gabriel, I’m a model of efficiency. Your point?”
“Just saying you weren’t exactly a wild child.”
“Sorry I was too busy studying and planning for my bright future to attend keggers with you and your hockey bros in the Fitzgeralds’ field.”
I smirked. “Remember the time you reminded Mrs. Thomas to assign homework?”
She sipped her beer, unfazed. “I wanted to learn.”
“And you narced on Matt Willis junior year for copying your work.”
“He cheated,” she huffed.
“Exactly,” I said. “You’re not exactly a badass, Monroe. You’re just as squeaky clean as I am.”
She recoiled as if I’d struck her. Her nostrils flaring.
“Everything okay over here?” Lucky asked, throwing a rag over her shoulder.
“No,” Sabrina snapped.
“We’re debating morality,” I explained.
The woman looked between the two of us, her lip curled up on one side. “You two married?”
“No,” we said in unison.
“Recently divorced?”
“No.”
“Having an affair?”
“Abso-fucking-lutely not,” Sabrina said.
Lucky shrugged. “Could have fooled me. And my bartender intuition is rarely wrong.” She walked away.
“I hate her,” Sabrina said into her beer.
Leaning forward, I smiled, far more entertained than I should be by her attitude. “Because she flirted with me?”
She rolled her eyes.
“It’s okay, Monroe,” I said. “You’re allowed to be jealous.”