Page 90 of Craving Francesca

“You think they’re hunters?” I asked as I set my bag on the bed.

“Probably bought ’em at a garage sale,” he replied, setting one of his saddle bags on the coffee table.

“You think?”

“Someone took the time to hunt those and get ’em mounted, they’re not puttin’ ’em in a motel room where someone could fuck ’em up.”

“That makes sense.”

“You wanna order food, and I’ll go grab it, or you wanna head to the bar?” he asked as I dropped onto the side of the bed.

I didn’t want him to have to go get my food, but I also didn’t want to deal with other people. Not yet. Standing silently while he’d talked to the night manager had been bad enough. I wanted to be in our little bubble a while longer.

“I’ll go get it,” he decided when I didn’t respond. “Any requests?”

“Whatever they have,” I replied apologetically.

“All right. I’ll be back in a few. You might wanna hop in the shower before you fall asleep. Wash the spring off.”

I glanced at my backpack. “I’ll try.”

He left the room, and I let out a long sigh. I didn’t want to get up again, but I forced myself to my feet and carried my bag to the bathroom. The water pressure was crap, but it got the job done. I didn’t realize until I was toweling off that I’d forgotten to bring pajamas.

Cursing, I pulled on a pair of shorts and one of my tank tops. I’d planned on using them for actual clothing, but it was too late now. They’d be my designated sleepwear for the duration of the trip. At least I’d remembered socks.

Fuck.

I’d left them in the saddlebags.

Tiptoeing out of the bathroom so less of my feet would touch the carpet, I found Gray sitting in one of the chairs with closed Styrofoam containers on the table in front of him.

“Chicken strips and fries,” he announced. “There wasn’t much of a selection.”

“They smell good,” I said, dropping my bag on the couch. “I need to run out and grab some socks.”

He nodded toward the saddlebag he’d set on the coffee table. Right on top were a pair of my fuzzy socks.

“How did you know?” I asked, leaning over to grab them.

“Other than the fact that you tiptoed out here like the carpet was toxic waste?” he asked in amusement as I pulled them on. “I figured you’d need clean ones. Come eat before it gets cold.”

“Thank you.” I sat down across from him as he slid the container toward me. “This smells so good.”

“Guy down at the bar said they’re good,” he confirmed, pulling little containers out of a plastic bag. “I got you ranch, honey mustard, and ketchup.”

“No mustard?” I frowned.

He froze, his hand still holding the little packages of ketchup.

“I’m fucking with you.” I laughed as he tossed a ketchup at me. “This is perfect.”

“So which direction do you want to go tomorrow?” he asked while we ate. “We can head out to Crater Lake if you want or go out to the coast.”

“I don’t care,” I confessed. “Pick the prettiest route.”

“The prettiest?”

“I’m here for the ride,” I replied with a shrug. “As long as the views are good, then I’m happy.”

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