I was taking the Scarlett O’Hara approach on this entire mess, tomorrow is another day, in that I’d worry tomorrow. Shock helped with this plan because I felt like I was in a perpetual dream-like state…that none of this was real and I would wake up from it at any time.
It was late, close to eleven, when Damian pulled into a motel. “We are stopping here?”
I didn’t expect an answer from this new and less improved Damian. In fact, I had started holding both sides of the conversation because it entertained me and I suspected irritated him.
In my best interpretation of his voice I said, “Yes, Thea, we have traveled hard today and you have had a trying week. You need a good night’s sleep.”
“Oh, Damian, that is so thoughtful of you. I would love a shower and eight hours of sleep.”
He threw the car in park and shut off the engine before turning to me, but I hadn’t a clue what he was thinking. Without a word, he climbed from the car and headed to the trunk. I joined him and looked around at the five-star establishment he had found us. It felt kind of like a scene from Pulp Fiction. All it was missing was the blood splatter on the office door and the severed head by the ice machine.
“This is really nice. How did you find it? Did you Google worst motel imaginable?”
He handed me my overnight bag, grabbed his own, before shutting the trunk and headed to the office. I followed after him. “You’re armed right?”
This earned me a look from over his shoulder.
We entered the office to find a man sitting behind the counter, and calling what we saw a man was stretching the word to its limit. Very little hair was left on his large, bulbous head, his gut stuck out in the stained wife beater he wore and his eyes were glassy, either from lack of sleep or alcohol. Normally I wouldn’t disparage someone based on their appearance, however since his entire office was papered with bare-chested women, the gratuitous display eased any guilt I might have felt.
“We need a room.”
The manager sized me up. My skin crawled at the scrutiny. “Twin beds or king-sized?” He asked that as he adjusted himself. Seriously how the hell had Damian found this place?
“King-size and if you look at my wife that way again I’ll rip your fucking eyes out of their sockets and feed them to you.” My head jerked so hard to the left I felt light-headed. My expression matched that of the manager’s, but for different reasons…obviously.
Damian paid for the room, grabbed the key before reaching for my hand and pulling me from the office. Our room was the last room, the opposite side of the building from the office. Done on purpose I was sure, the manager probably wanted Damian as far from him as possible.
Despite the unwelcoming appearance of the outside and the manager, the inside was surprisingly clean. Dust-free, new carpets, and with a check of the mattress I discovered no bed bugs and no mold on the shower curtain. Things were looking up. But then I realized he had asked for only one bed. This would have started the tingles of anticipation, but the man wasn’t talking to me so it was highly unlikely he intended to do all those wondrous activities that inspired the tingles.
Damian grabbed his bag and headed to the bathroom. He didn’t close the door, left it open, so I had a front row seat to the show. He grabbed the back of his tee and pulled it over his head, gifting me with the view of his beautiful back and that tattoo that I both loved and hated. I hadn’t been sitting, but my knees gave out and I dropped down onto the edge of the bed when he dropped his pants affording me the sight of the sexiest ass I had ever seen. Heat burned up my neck, my cheeks were on fire and my nipples went hard and still I just stared because staring was all I was getting these days. He didn’t turn and I was grateful because I didn’t think I would be able to handle a full frontal. He climbed into the shower and almost as an afterthought he reached for the door. He didn’t shut it. He just closed it enough that I was left staring at the scarred wood, but all I saw was Damian’s very fine body. We were sharing a bed where we wouldn’t be touching; he’d probably even build a wall with the extra pillows.
He wasn’t in the shower long, came strolling out with a pair of running pants on and nothing else. He was built like he had been airbrushed to perfection. His shoulders were unimaginably wide, but then with how effortlessly he had tossed my attacker in that alley, I couldn’t say I was surprised. His pecs, his abs, he was the perfect example of the male form. I dragged my eyes from him because I was feeling aches in places that he wouldn’t be helping me ease, and reached for my bag.
I headed to the bathroom and he called after me. “No lock.”