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His lips part, then close again. He turns without another word and disappears into the storm.
What exactly does he think will happen if we share a bed?
five
. . .
Beau
The rain drums a steady rhythm against the roof of my truck, a low, familiar sound. I’ve slept in vehicles more times than I can count. Haven’t had to do it in a while, but I did all the time when I was a kid. When Mom was screaming at whatever fling she’d brought home and the beat-up car parked outside our trailer was the only place I could go for some silence.
I’d sit in that old rust bucket for hours, knees pressed against the steering wheel, listening to the rain hit the roof and pretending I was somewhere else.
Anywhere else.
I used to keep a stack of old magazines in the passenger seat. Car magazines mostly. I’d study the pictures, dreaming about the day I’d have a garage of my own. Not just a job, but a place that was mine.
I recline the seat a notch and fold my arms over my chest, letting out a slow breath. My gaze drifts to the dull glow of the motel room lamp filtering through the curtains. Room 114.
She’s probably talking to herself. Or narrating her skincare routine in full detail because Whitley Collins does not possess an indoor voice or an off switch.
She talks too much. Fills up every bit of silence like she’s allergic to it. She hums, taps, sighs, asks questions she doesn’t wait for answers to. Her mouth moves faster than her brain half the time, and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t get under my skin.
And yet, it’s quieter with her than it is out here right now.
I curse softly and shift in the seat, tugging my hoodie over my head. I try to block out the image of her standing in that cheap motel room. Soaked from the downpour, hair curling wild around her face, lips pink from the cold. And that shirt she’s wearing?
Clingy. Wet. Transparent.
Christ.
I press the heels of my hands into my eyes. Her tits looked like they were designed to fit in my hands. Soft curves and flushed skin beneath that drenched shirt, nipples tight from the cold. One look had blood rushing south so fast I had to clench my jaw to keep from groaning out loud.
And her mouth. Always running, insufferably chatty. But damn if I haven’t imagined it wrapped around my cock more times than I should admit. Her lips stretched wide, finally quiet, her smart mouth full of me.
I shift in the seat, adjusting myself with a muttered curse. She’s off-limits.
It doesn’t stop me from wondering what she’d sound like moaning instead of talking. And that’s exactly why I’m in the truck.
Besides, women need privacy. Space to do…girl things. Skin care and pajamas and god knows what else. She’d probably hate sharing a room with me as much as I’d hate accidentally brushing her foot under the covers.
Thunder cracks overhead, so loud the truck vibrates with it. I rub a hand down my face. The rain shows no signs of letting up. If anything, it’s coming down harder now, turning the world outside into a blur of shadow and water.
My phone buzzes on the center console. It’s a text from her.
Whitley:
Are you seriously still out there?
Where else would I be? I stare at the screen for a moment before typing back.
Me:
Yes.
Three dots appear immediately.
Whitley:
