Page 57 of Sex, Lies, and Margarita Mixes

MOTELS, MILESTONES, AND THE WORLD’S LOUDEST WELCOME MAT

CHASE

* * *

We’ve been on the road for five hours.

No destination No plan. No timeline. Just her playlist, two gas station burritos, and a motel reservation made purely because the website said “Beds squeak. Walls don’t.”

Sold.

Roxy’s got her legs up on the dash, her painted toes are tapping to the beat of some aggressively sexy indie girl anthem.

She’s wearing white retro sunglasses that are too big for her face and a smile that looks like sin wrapped in sunshine. Her legs are on full display and are distracting me every five seconds.

I want to pull over and eat her out on the shoulder of the highway.

We’ve got ten miles left… I can last.

Willpower, Chase. You can do it.

“Where are we going again?” she asks between sips of her fountain Cherry Vanilla Coke.

I grin at her. “Technically? Nowhere.”

“Perfect.” She responds.

She cranks the volume and says, “I just wanna get lost somewhere that smells like sunscreen and bad decisions.”

Looking at her, I say, “We just came from two places just like that. And you just described you.”

She flips me off and mutters, “I want what I want.” Then, she blows me a kiss.

We pull into the motel around sunset.

It’s kitschy as hell.

Pink neon. Plastic flamingos. A sign that says NO REFUNDS. NO REGERTS—yeah, spelled wrong.

Parking and leaving my foot on the brake, I rethink our choice to stay here.

Roxy has no such qualms. She hops out, barefoot in the parking lot—her shoes are hanging from her fingers—and she’s already humming.

She does that when she’s happy and she hasn’t stopped since we left Mari Lynn and Knox’s condo.

Check in is easy. I say my name, the clerk swipes my credit card and hands me a key card… less than five minutes for the whole thing. Inside the room is pretty basic. One bed. Mirrors everywhere—and I mean, everywhere. Even on the ceiling. We’re in a porn motel. The hot tub is heart shaped. I don’t trust it for a second, though Roxy’s eyes light up, and beside it is a bottle of two-dollar champagne in a plastic ice bucket.

She turns to me, brows raised. “Did you plan this?”

“Nope.” I laugh. “How could I have? We booked it on the road after you found it online.”

She grins. “Did fate just hand us a sex dungeon with continental breakfast?”

I nod. “Apparently. The things you catch in the hot tub are free.”

She wrinkles her nose and throws her bag on the bed, muttering, “Yeah, I think I’ve seen videos filmed here. We’ll skip the hot tub.”

I laugh aloud, “Glad we’re in agreement on that one.”

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