Page 39 of Property of Quake

I release a breath. “This place is ridiculous.”

"It grows on you."

"I sincerely hope not."

He grins before leading me through several hallways until we reach a private section of the building. Finally, we reach a door, and he presses his palm against a metal contraption on the wall that lights up. A second later, the soft snick of a lock disengaging reaches my ears, and the door slides open.

“Wow,” I say, stepping inside his suite.

It’s not what I expected. I pictured concrete walls, motorcycle parts, a mattress on the floor, and junk strewn about. Instead, the space is large, neat, and oddly comforting. It isn’t luxurious or anything, just lived-in, normal.

The suite is divided into areas: a sitting area on one side, a bedroom on the other. I can see straight through to what looks like a pretty big bathroom, and there’s also a desk in one corner, a kitchenette in the other.

The surprises just keep coming.

Quake carries Melissa to the bed and settles her onto the mattress. She doesn’t wake. I sit with her for a few minutes, wanting to be sure she stays asleep, and when I’m sure she will, I rise and turn to take in the rest of the space.

“What’re you doing?” I ask as Quake is pulling a blanket off the couch.

“Making a bed.”

"On the couch?"

"No."

He tosses the blanket onto the floor, and my eyes widen.

"Absolutely not,” I say, striding toward him.

“What?” he asks, confusion in his tone.

“You’re not sleeping on the floor.”

“Why?”

I settle my hands on my hips. “You agreed to bring us here so Melissa feels safe. Her feeling safe doesn’t require you to give up your own comfort.” I glance around the room. “I’ll move Melissa to the couch since she’s the smallest, and I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“No.”

“No?”

“Yeah, no,” he says. “You and Melissa need to get some sleep.”

“And you don’t?”

“I’ll sleep… on the floor.” He toes off his boots and kicks them to the side. “I’ll survive.”

“Quake.”

“Whitney,” he counters, his tone mirroring mine perfectly.

We stare at each other, neither of us willing to back down. After a few minutes, I realize arguing with him is as pointless as arguing with God, and my shoulders slump.

Taking that as my acceptance, he spreads the blanket out and retrieves a throw pillow from the couch.

“I’m going to go grab your bags,” he says on his way to the door.

“Without your shoes?”