Page 33 of Unguarded

I pull into the parking lot. There’s a spot near the front office. I take it, placing my boot on the ground to support us as Monroe stiffly removes her arms and climbs off. I look up at her, expecting to see rage or fear, but she looks elated, excitement sparking in her bright blue eyes.

“That was … thrilling,” she says. Her skin glows in the orange neon lights. A smile spreads across her lips before a laugh spills out of them.

I’m in so much trouble.

She’s so addictive. I just watched her serenade seventy-five thousand fans, but here I am, alone with her on a stolen moped in a city where we don’t even speak the language. And I’m captivated—no, mesmerized—by this secret, hidden version of Monroe Blue that nobody else gets to see.

I clench my teeth, looking away from her as I step off. “Well, we made it out alive—somehow.”

“Everyone is going to think … well, who cares what they think? That was fun. The most fun I’ve had inages. You really know how to drive that thing.”

I smirk, pulling the key from the ignition and slinging her bag over my shoulder. I stretch up to my full height. I’m used to full-sized Harleys.

“I have a motorcycle.”

She tilts her head, hiding her hands in the front pocket of my hoodie she’s still wearing. Her face is a mask, but I detect a hint of lust in her gaze.

Not good.

Or maybe I’m imagining things I want to see.

“Let’s see if they have a room.” I indicate the door behind her with a nod.

She turns, stepping toward the door. I reach over her when we get to it to push it open for her.

“Thanks,” she says.

An older woman, who could be anywhere between sixty and eighty, is sitting at the plain white desk by the back wall. She’s sipping from a cup of tea and watching a K-drama on a tiny TV in the corner, way too far away from where she sits to see the screen clearly.

She lifts the remote to turn down the volume as we approach. She greets us.

“Hello. Need a room?”

Monroe chews her bottom lip—a distracting habit I’ve noticed she does when she’s nervous.

I clear my throat, looking at the few keys hanging on the wall. “Yes, we need a room.”

The woman pulls a key off the hook, setting it on the counter. “You’re in luck, we have one left.”

She says something else in Korean, but Monroe and I just stare at her before looking at each other. I set the duffel down to reach for my wallet in my back pocket.

“Oh, I, uh, I can pay you back tomorrow,” Monroe says. “I just realized I have nothing with me, except my clothes. Ember has my phone and … everything.”

“It’s no big deal. I’m sure you’re good for it.” I wink at her.

Why on God’s green earth did I just wink at her?

Her cheeks tinge a shade of pale pink. She drops her eyes to the floor, nibbling her bottom lip again. At the sight of her flushed cheeks, I feel blood pooling down in my groin.

That’s fantastic. And I’m the moron who got us into this mess.

“Uh, can we get two beds?” I suddenly choke out, looking back at the woman.

She clicks her tongue, taking the card I hand out to her. For safety reasons, I don’t think I can let Monroe stay in a seedy motel room alone when everyone in this city knows her face. And we can’t keep driving around looking for a safe motel with more available rooms in the middle of the night in a city we both don’t know.

The woman swipes my card. She hands it back to me, along with the key. She holds up her palm, as if to tell us to wait, before turning to hobble back through a doorway behind the desk. We wait without speaking to each other, both seemingly aware that there’s a good chance she will give us a room with only one bed because we do, in fact, appear to be a couple.

The K-drama on the TV is a minor yet blissful relief in the awkward silence. I want to shift my feet, but my training as a soldier overrides the human need to fidget.

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