Page 25

The person staring back at me in the motel bathroom mirror is a far cry from the girl who grew up here. On the outside, it’s obvious because my red bikini doesn’t leave much to the imagination. Other than my nose ring, I’ve done a great job of concealing all the changes to my appearance, like my tattoos and below-the-neck piercings. That was until this afternoon. Sisi insisted we hang out at the motel’s newly upgraded heated pool—which is a serious luxury for a small town motel this time of year. Looking at myself now, it’s very clear that I’m not the same girl who was raised here and used to love this town.

Outside of one very notable occasion—one that I’ve done my best to forget until coming back here forced me to literally come face-to-face with it—I’ve always been confident in myself. I’m positive that the origins of my constant need to be doing something new, something unplanned and exciting in life were always there beneath the surface. My independence, my strong will, my willingness to tell someone to fuck right off if need be—yes, it was always there, even if that girl didn’t truly know who she was yet. I think that nearly a decade of living mostly alone, and always on the move, finally let me strip off the old layers of myself and gave me permission to eventually be my more authentic self.

Unfortunately, I’ve been questioning my sanity for the last few days, and I don’t know which version of myself to blame. Was it some remnant of that girl who didn’t know who she was yet that felt compelled to touch Sly’s face the other night? Or was it the woman looking back at me in the mirror—my authentic self—that felt the idiotic need to trace the outline of his dimple?

Either way, being back in my hometown has clearly altered some part of my brain chemistry that’s responsible for exercising good judgment. For the last two days, my mind keeps drifting back to the way he looked into my eyes and how the muscles in his jaw tensed at my touch. Or how good that annoying beard felt in the palm of my hand. More than once, I’ve wondered what it would feel like if it rubbed between my⁠—

“Are you almost done in there?” Sisi’s voice snaps me out of my Sylvester Sterling daze. “These margaritas aren’t going to drink themselves by the pool.”

She will have to wait for me to be done with this existential crisis that I’m in the middle of. “Just a minute,” I spin around and call out.

That’s when my foot lands just off the bathmat and on the slick tile, my feet coming out from under me. I squeal, grasping for the towel bar in a vain attempt to prevent what will surely be my inevitable demise—everyone has thought that slipping and falling in the bathroom will be their undoing at least once. Of course, it would be just my luck that it would happen to me back in Sterling Springs. The towel bar does, in fact, not help, and I land squarely on my ass.

A deep breath confirms I’m still on this mortal plane, and I look up to Sisi coming through the doorway. “Are you alright?”

I wince and prop myself up on my elbows. “Yeah. I don’t think I hurt anything except my pride.”

She laughs. “Well, you can sit in the shallow end of the pool by the jets. The heated water should feel pretty good.”

“Is heat or ice better for a bruised ass?” I ask when she reaches down and helps pull me to my feet.

“I don’t know. I run a motel, not a doctor’s office.”

“Fair enough,” I say. That’s when I notice her gaze roam up and down me again, spotting each of my tattoos.

“Wow. You’ve been busy since you were gone. You fit right in with my brothers.”

I don’t normally acknowledge other people’s opinions of me, but for some reason, I feel a sense of relief at her instant acceptance of this part of me. Growing up, we may as well have been sisters. I’ve barely had time to catch up with her, but I’m beyond impressed with the woman she’s grown into.

Frankly, she and her three brothers are all… intense. Each gifted in their own ways.

Her two older brothers, Slade and Sutton, left Sterling Springs before we were even teenagers. They were already on their way to becoming world-class chefs by the time Sly and I graduated. As for Sly, well, he’s just Sly—somehow naturally gifted at whatever he chooses to do, including being a grumpy asshole when he feels like it.

Sisi was always vivacious and outgoing, artistically talented with an eye for design. Combined with her endlessly caring personality, it makes perfect sense that she ended up in hospitality, running the family-owned motel and doing an amazing job of remodeling and redecorating it. The suite I’m in screams her—complete with a quirky collection of vintage mid-century furniture and decor.

If I’m going to be stuck here, I’ve decided there is no place that I’d rather be than in this room, even if the bathroom floor is trying to kill me and it now needs a new towel bar.

“Thanks.” I wear a smile on my face as a visible sign of that relief. “I’ve been collecting them for a while.”

While I’m not exactly covered in tattoos, I have a collection of over a dozen bold, traditional tattoos all over. Some are simple and self-explanatory—like the carabiner on my bicep I got the first time I took a class on climbing in Yosemite, or the matching snarling wolf and grizzly bear heads on each of my thighs which I got after spotting them the summer I spent bouncing around campgrounds in Yellowstone.

Others, like the pinup girl on my ribs with her face turned and concealed, or the heart wrapped in barbed wire between my breasts, are more complicated to explain.

Sisi bobs her head, nodding in approval. “I’d love for you to tell me about them sometime. It looks like you’ve got a lot of stories.”

Maybe it’s my near demise at the hands of a wet floor talking, but telling her some of my stories sounds comforting.

“Yeah, I think I’d like that. Maybe after a margarita or two, though,” I say with a light-hearted laugh, still rubbing my mostly-bare ass cheek. I start to follow her out of the bathroom into the suite when I catch sight of the holes in the wall from the now missing towel bar. “Sorry about that.” I pick up the towel bar and hold it out awkwardly.

She shakes her head. “Seriously, don’t worry about it. I’ll get Sly to fix it. I’m just glad you’re not hurt.”

“If you say so. I just don’t want to impose and add even more work for you.”

She chuckles. “I’d take you over our other guests any day.”

“You don’t know that. You’re already not charging me. Maybe I’m just a grifter, stealing all your hand towels and mini shampoos. You could be bankrupt by the time I check out.”

She huffs another laugh. “That doesn’t sound like a very lucrative career path. Now, come on already. If you take any longer, the shadows from the motel are going to start creeping onto the patio and ruin our tanning.”