He shakes his head. “Oh, I’ll never get over it. I can promise you that.”
I don’t know why he’s making a big deal about this. It’s not like I’m a total weirdo because I like to be in control during sex. But still, my cheeks heat with embarrassment and we eat the rest of our meal in silence.
8
Jack
Dinner with Jenna was awkward but checking into the dinky motel just outside of Las Cruces is worse. The motel itself doesn’t seem bad. Clean rooms. Fresh paint. A friendly old man at the front desk. It’s the room situation that tops the uncomfortable tension we shared at dinner.
The kind motel clerk looks more than happy to have guests staying at his humble establishment. “Good evening, folks, and welcome.” He greets us with a smile that could triumph over any hard time, and probably has. “I’m Leroy. Two of you checking in tonight?”
We nod, both too exhausted to form words after our long day on the road.
Leroy grins down at a computer screen. “Would you like a queen bed or double bed?”
“Oh. We’ll actually need two separate rooms¸” Jenna says.
Leroy looks at us, puzzled. “What for?” His eyes bounce from Jenna to me then back to her. I can understand his confusion. We match, Jenna and I. Or at least people think we do.
She’s covered in tattoos. I’m covered in tattoos.
She looks feisty. I look fierce.
She has bronze skin and golden eyes. And I have… well, my skin is two shades paler than hers and my eyes nearly colorless. But we both have dark hair and attitudes, so people tend to assume we’re together, which doesn’t bother me one bit. Jenna, on the other hand…
“For… privacy?” she says, glancing at me like I’m some kind of Peeping Tom she’s desperate to get away from.
I scowl at her. “Really?”
“Okay, two rooms.” Leroy types something into his computer then looks up. “How many beds?”
Jenna blinks in confusion. “Uh, two.”
Nodding, he mutters to himself while clacking away at his keyboard, “One room with two queen beds…”
“No.” Jenna shakes her head. “We don’t want two queen beds in one room.”
Leroy frowns at her. “Oh you’ll want queen beds, honey.” He gestures at my height. “Your fellow isn’t going to fit well on a double bed.”
I watch Jenna’s jaw clench and bite back a smile. Now I know why the old man is confused, and it’s not because of our appearance. I’m just waiting for Jenna to figure it out.
“This is not my fellow,” she says. “This is my friend. Just my friend. So we’d like two separate rooms, each with one bed. Please.”
Leroy scratches his head. “You two aren’t engaged?”
“Engaged? What?” Jenna turns to me with an incredulous look, her mouth falling open as a wrinkle forms between her pretty little eyebrows. But then she glances down and her expression freezes in place.
Ah, there it is.
“Oh.” Turning back to Leroy, she holds up her left hand and points to the diamond band on her ring finger. “Yeah, this isn’t an engagement ring.” She shakes her head and pinches her lips. “This a family heirloom, of sorts. I just wear it on this finger because it doesn’t fit on any others.”
Every finger on both of her hands is adorned with a ring of some sort. Jenna is a bit of a jewelry lush, which is only a problem in situations such as these.
Leroy looks at me and I shrug, used to this happening from time to time when I’m with Jenna. The first time it happened it freaked me out. I had just moved to Arizona and the last thing I wanted was some clingy girl parading me around with a ring on her finger. But now it doesn’t bother me at all. And if I’m being totally honest, I kind of like it. Guys see that ring and don’t approach Jenna like they would if she didn’t have it on. I call that a win.
“So do you have two separate rooms we can check out for the night?” Jenna asks, leaning against the front desk’s counter.
The old man glances at the screen. “Sort of.”
She blinks. “Sort of? How can you sort of have two rooms?”
He smiles and hands a key to each of us. “You’ll see.”
Ten minutes later, we’re all checked in and headed to our “separate” rooms. Jenna walks a few feet in front of me, clearly not over the engagement thing. As per usual.
I let out a tired exhale. “If you don’t like people thinking you’re engaged then just stop wearing the damn ring.”
She shakes her head and her sleek black hair tosses from side to side. “It was my grandma’s ring and she gave it to me with specific instructions to wear it until I feel settled in life, which I don’t—yet. And I’m not going to stop wearing it just because people in our culture think the two of us are dumb enough to be engaged.”