Page 91 of Craving Francesca

“All right.” He was quiet for a while, thinking it over.

“Is it really that hard to choose?” I asked as I finished up and closed my container.

“Just tryin’ to pick the best one,” he said, his eyes soft. “Wouldn’t want you to be bored.”

“No chance of that,” I assured him.

I threw my trash away and walked over to the bed. The sheets were crisp and cold as I slid between them and lay on my side so I could see him. He was leaned back in his chair, one foot flat on the floor and the other stretched out in front of him. He’d lost the hoodie he’d been wearing all day and underneath it was a light-gray T-shirt.

I pushed myself up on my elbow. “You’re not wearing your cut,” I blurted.

“Just noticed?”

“Why aren’t you wearing it? I thought that was a rule or something.”

“It’s in my bags,” he replied calmly.

“Won’t you get in trouble?” I asked, dropping back onto the bed as he rose.

“Nope.”

“Thanks for the clarification,” I said in exasperation.

“Welcome.”

I threw a pillow at him. He caught it and tossed it back. “I’m gonna hop in the shower. You need anything before I do?”

“No.” I pulled the blankets up to my shoulder. “I’m good.”

He disappeared into the bathroom, and I rolled to my back, grabbing my phone from the table between the beds to text Lou that we were stopped for the night and all was well. Then I stared at the ceiling. I was in a motel with Gray in some minuscule town in southern Oregon. If someone had asked me that morning, it would’ve been the last place I’d anticipated.

I was crazy about the guy. Even when he gave one-word answers. Even when he saw through my bullshit—especially then. I liked everything about him, and it was slightly terrifying because it felt like I was holding my breath, waiting for the things I wouldn’t like.

My lips still felt tender after that kiss in the hot spring.

“Thought you’d be asleep,” Gray said quietly as he came out of the bathroom in a towel.

I watched wide-eyed as he strode over to the coffee table to grab his boxers. His olive skin was still slick with water, and it was a struggle to keep my mouth closed as a drop rolled down the center of his back, bisecting the large tattoo.

“No such luck,” I croaked as he headed back to the bathroom.

He let out a huff of laughter as he closed the door.

I stared at that fucking door until he came back out. Honestly, I wasn’t sure why he’d bothered to go in there because when he appeared again, he was wearing nothing but a pair of snug black boxer briefs.

After turning off all the lights except the one next to his bed and grabbing something from his pile of clothes, Gray walked over to his bed and climbed in, pulling the blankets to his waist. I traced the tattoos on his chest and arms with my eyes. There was a quote written across his ribs on the left side. A large lily on his chest. A harp on the inside of his bicep. Some kind of text above his belly button—it looked handwritten. The outlines of trees—like you were looking at them at night—from the bend of his elbow to his shoulder.

“You’re starin’,” he said after a while, looking up from his book.

“I was not.”

He looked back at his book. “Sleep.”

“I can’t,” I mumbled, rolling to my back.

“You need me to turn the light off?”

“No, it’s fine.”

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