Page 55 of Someone To Claim
I think we both know what answering that question would cost us, which is probably why neither of us has tried.
“All good. Promise.” He nods, and I smile, then lean my head against the headrest and let my eyes drift closed. Background noise fills the space between us. Gravel pings off the undercarriage. The engine grinds as Darren shifts into a lower gear, humming a tune under his breath that I recognize but can’t name.
My last conscious thought as sleep takes me is about KristenQuinn and the fact that I could have taken a rented vehicle to her cabin instead of hiking three days through the wilderness. How many other things has she twisted for her brand and her social media following? I don’t know, but I’m sure as shit going to ask her when I track her down.
Oh, yeah. About that. I’m not going back to Skylark. Not yet.
I don’t care if it makes me look like an unhinged fan stalking her favorite author across state lines. I came out here to complete my bucket list challenge, and I’m not going home until I do.
21
SLOANE
“Hey,Sloane. We’re at the motel.”
Jensen’s voice, low and soothing, reaches me from far away, and when I open my eyes, his arm is stretched between the front seats, his hand resting on my knee. It takes me a few groggy seconds to register that the ATV has stopped moving and we’re parked in front of the same motel I checked into several days and approximately one lifetime ago.
“You must have been plumb tuckered.” Darren twists in his seat, grinning to show off his gold molar. “Never seen someone able to sleep their way down the mountain. I’m impressed.”
“Thanks.” I return his smile as I stretch my back. “It’s a gift.”
Jensen’s expression is more stressed than impressed. He’s not smiling.
“I always fall asleep in cars,” I assure him, keeping my voice light. “Any moving vehicle, really. It’s a whole thing. You should hear my mom complain about having to drive around the neighborhood when I was a baby because it was the only way I’d nap.”
Jensen nods, but the tension in his jaw doesn’t budge. I want to grab his face and tell him to stop turning ordinary humanbehavior into a symptom, but I don’t. I know where that impulse comes from in him. It’s the same place my brother’s hovering comes from. And my own middle-of-the-night terror when I wake up sweating and can’t tell if it’s my lousy AC in the summer heat or something worse.
He grabs our packs from the back while I thank Darren, and then we walk into the motel without speaking. The same woman who sent me across the street for a burger my first night here is at the reception desk, and she lights up when she sees me.
“You made it,” she says, like I scaled Everest. I’m oddly moved that she remembers me at all. “And you made a friend.” Her gaze travels over Jensen in a way that would be inappropriate if it weren’t also completely fair. “You need one room or two?”
He shifts beside me, but I answer, “One. For one night. I’ll be heading out tomorrow.”
“Back to Colorado?” She winks at my surprised expression. “You wrote down your address on the form, hon.”
“I’m visiting a friend in Tahoe before I head home.”
At that, Jensen goes completely still. We still haven’t talked about the future. Not because I’m a coward but…yeah, I’m totally a coward.
She gives me the room key and checks the computer monitor. “I’ve still got your credit card on file.”
“I can pay,” Jensen offers, reaching for his wallet.
“You’re my guest,” I tell him without meeting his gaze.
“A kept man.” The older woman leers at Jensen with undisguised appreciation. “I like that.”
At that, I glance up at him and choke on a laugh at the horror on his face.
“It’s one night,” I say as I pick up the key. “Your ego will survive.”
“Debatable,” he mutters, following me down the narrow hallway toward our room. Our now familiar back-and-forth wraps around me like a favorite blanket.
The room is a carbon copy of my previous one and totally what you’d expect from a motel in rural Montana. A queen bed with a floral comforter that’s seen better decades takes up the majority of the space, surrounded by wood-paneled walls and carpeting the color of dirt.
I drop my pack by the door and excuse myself to the bathroom. When I come back out, Jensen has one hip propped on the ancient dresser, arms crossed. His ocean-after-a-storm gray eyes settle on me with their usual intensity, making me feel like I’m the most interesting thing he’s ever seen.
“Tahoe?” he asks.
