Page 19 of Wild Child
I wipe the tears from my eyes and check my makeup in the mirror. My finger wipes up a smudge of mascara.
“Does it have fur?”
This elicits another round of laughter. “I’m not sure. It might be hairy.”
“Hmmm.” He gives me the side eye as suspicion dawns on him.
“It’s me, isn’t it?”
I’m laughing so hard I can barely speak. I just nod my head. Then Quentin’s laughing too, a deep belly laugh that rumbles out of his throat and sets me off even more.
He laughs with an abandon that I don’t usually see in the ex-military sergeant.
It’s nice. It’s a different side to him, and I suddenly wonder what he’d be like as a life partner. What would it be like to have this tough man by my side, making him belly laugh whenever I could?
The tough man with the soft side that only I seem to bring out in him.
The thought sobers me up. I’ve never had a relationship before, not a real one. The boys I ran around with in California were just that. Boys. They were always too intimidated by me, too scared to contradict me, and too in awe of my tits.
Not Quentin. He has no problem telling me when I’ve gone too far. He has standards, and I like that. The only problem is those same standards might stop him from doing exactly what he wants with me.
“Let’s put some music on.”
I choose my Pink playlist and turn up the volume. As the landscape rushes by, I think about how nice it would be to have someone to laugh with every day.
10
QUENTIN
We make good time, and it’s just past 6 p.m. when we pull into the small town on the outskirts of Phoenix that’s hosting the beer festival. Hazel booked a hotel, and it’s a cute old style county inn with a pub and restaurant and some rooms up top.
I grab the clear folder with the itinerary and booking details and head into reception.
Charlie follows me out of the truck, stretching and yawning and blinking in the evening light.
The woman at the reception counter is middle-aged and greets us with a warm smile.
“I’m Sharon,” she says. “Welcome to the Red Goose Inn.”
I check the itinerary for the booking number and rattle it off.
“You here for the beer festival?” she asks.
I tell her about our stall at the festival, and we exchange pleasantries. It’s a family run inn, and her husband Vinny turns up as she hands over the keys.
“Come down for dinner when you’re ready,” Sharon says. “We’ve got live music tonight. My daughter Dina’s singing.” She says it proudly, and I smile and promise to stop by to hear her daughter.
She hands over an old-fashioned brass key.
“Room twelve. Straight up the stairs and to the left.”
I stare at the key, waiting for her to give us another one, but she smiles as if that’s it.
“We should have two rooms.”
The moment I say it, I realize my mistake. Hazel booked the accommodation for her and Marcus. Of course she would have booked only one room.
The woman taps her computer and frowns. “I’ve only got a booking for one double room.”
