Page 16 of Hawt Cowboy
“Nope,” I say, grinning. “This is quality entertainment.”
Savannah glares, hands on her hips, then finally disappears into the bathroom. The door clicks shut, and the sound of running water fills the air.
I lean back, arms folded behind my head, and stare at the ceiling. One room. Two beds. Forty miles from anywhere else. Marlene must be somewhere laughing herself sick.
When Savannah comes out, her hair’s damp and wavy, the ends brushing her shoulders. She’s traded her slacks for soft sleep shorts and a faded T-shirt that saysCoffee First, Questions Later.It hangs loose, sliding off one shoulder like it’s mocking my self-control.
She catches me looking and scowls. “Don’t you dare make this weird.” She climbs into her bed and turns her back to me. “Good night.”
I turn off the TV and stretch out. The quiet is thin and delicate as tissue paper — like who’s going to make a noise first. For almost a whole minute, nothing happens.
I start to think she nodded off quick. I picture the way her T-shirt hung off her shoulder. The beauty in those eyes of her get to me, even when she’s throwing a little power trip fit. Self-control has never been one of my strongest attributes. But for this situation, I must have incredible restraint.
Suddenly, the wall above the headboards thuds. At first just a dull, intermittent beat, like someone pounding the mattress with a broomstick handle. I open one eye. A moment later, the thudding picks up. The rhythm is unmistakable. These walls are so paper-thin, you could practically hear someone fart in the next room.
Then, more sounds begin. Giggles, a man’s groan, then a woman’s escalating moan that quickly becomes a banshee wail.
I smother a laugh into my pillow.
Savannah’s breathing changes audibly across the darkness. She rustles the sheets. I bet she’s probably rolling her eyes so hard it might give her a headache. The sounds on the other side of the wall only get louder, a staccato percussion of springs and uninhibited fun.
“Jesus Christ,” Savannah mutters. “Are they killing each other over there?”
“Sounds like they’re having a religious experience, if you ask me,” I reply.
She huffed. “Some people have no shame.”
“Maybe we just ain’t lived enough.”
I grin at the ceiling, picturing her face burning in the dark. It’s easy, even in the dark, to imagine her curvy outline, thetumble of wet hair. Savannah probably has a scowl and a set jaw at this point.
I wonder if the sounds from next store stir something in her if she let herself admit it. It does me. I can picture the two of us in one of these beds, bodies pressed together. But no, we’re into fake dating here. And I’ve never done that before in my life. Each time I have an encounter with this woman, I don’t want anything but the real thing.
The noises on the other side of the wall reach deafening heights with furniture scraping, the headboard slamming, and a woman’s high-pitched “Oh God, YES!” like an air raid siren for the sexually deprived.
This breaks Savannah down now into laughter. “I bet you wish you were over there.”
“Nah,” I respond. “Sounds exhausting. I got a full schedule tomorrow and I don’t even know their safe words.”
She went silent for a long moment. The air conditioner makes a rattling sound. The neighbors’ marathon dies down. Then, out of nowhere, she says quietly, “I don’t think you’re as reckless as everyone says.”
“Careful,” I say softly. “That sounds a little like a compliment.”
“Don’t let it go to your head.”
I grin, even though she can’t see it. “Too late.”
“Goodnight, Dalton.”
“Night, Brooks.”
I lie there staring at the ceiling. Fake girlfriend or not, I’m in trouble. Whether she believes I’m reckless or not, I’ve just about reached a point where I can’t keep pretending.
Chapter 13
Savannah
By the time we pull out of the motel parking lot, the sun’s already turning the sky to melted gold. Cash whistles low under his breath, tapping the steering wheel. “We’ve got about two hours before the next sponsor event. You hungry?”
