Page 49 of Furious

She isn’t wrong, but what other choice do we have?

“C’mon,” I say. “It’ll be an adventure.”

Ten minutes later, a sweet old lady whose name tag says FLORA has checked us into our room and explained some of the history of the It’ll Do Motel, including how the name was a joke at first, then a bet, and then somehow became the permanent name for the place. She would’ve told us more about it, but we pleaded exhaustion. When I’d tried to get two rooms, El had protested.

“I’m not sleeping in this motel alone,” she’d hissed.

Which, fine with me. I just hadn’t wanted to presume, but I was more than good with sharing a room with her.

After El parks the bike under the covered concrete porch in front of our room, I unlock the door, flick on a light, and suck in a breath.

“Well, this is …” I pause, my words utterly stolen by the sheer amount of floral in the low-ceilinged room. The walls are papered with a green-and-pink roses print, the bedspread on the queen bed is covered in bright yellow daisies, a bright pink-and-blue carpet bursting with miniature flowers has been spread over most of the dingy gray motel carpet, several large floral needlepoints are framed on the walls, and there are no less than three fake flower arrangements on the bedside tables and beside the TV.

El leans against my back, peering into the room. “Wow,” she breathes, her voice a whisper beside my ear. “Flora wasn’t kidding about the renovations she’s been doing.”

Before checking us in, Flora assured us that she’d been busy visiting craft stores to spruce up the It’ll Do, which had been in her late husband’s family for years and is now hers. She’d shown us the tiny blue flowers she was hot-gluing to a vase, and told us she’d give us the best room in the place.

“Wow, indeed,” I echo, forcing myself not to lean backward against El’s body.

Her closeness absolutely evokes the way she sat on my lap in the Hornet after I won the race. The way our lips grazed each other’s. The hand she shoved into my hair to pull me closer to her …

I take a step forward, putting some distance between El and me. Outside, the rain hammers the pavement, and the lone streetlight beside the It’ll Do Motel’s sign flickers. When El closes the door behind her, there’s a long stretch of quiet between us.

Right. We’re just two girls alone in a motel room. Two girls who were kissing a few hours ago. And there’s only one bed. And we’re wearing rain-soaked clothing (well, maybe not soaked, but wet clothing). And I desperately want to kiss El again… .

“This is like a rom-com—” I start to say right as El blurts out, “You can have first shower.”

I nod at that, clamping my teeth down on my dorky rom-com comment and, to shake off my nerves, fiddling with one of the fake flowers that’s fallen out of its arrangement. Maybe it’ll be easier to talk to each other when we’re cleaned up.

I take a quick shower in the floral-heavy bathroom (tiles painted with flowers, flower art on the walls, flower shower curtain), and then slip into the long T-shirt and boxers I normally sleep in. When I come out of the bathroom, El’s sitting on the edge of the bed, still wearing Max’s jacket, looking at her phone.

A pang shoots through me, starting low in my belly but ending somewhere around my heart. She looks up when I close the bathroom door, her eyes lingering at the place where my T-shirt stops on my upper thighs, and then her gaze moves upward.

A laugh bursts from her when she gets to my head, where a hot pink flower-themed towel is wrapped around my wet hair.

The laugh chases some of the tension from the room. I curtsy and pull the towel from my head, making my wet hair cascade around my face. I wave the towel in El’s direction. “Flora has not been shy about embracing the florals.”

El smiles at me, meeting my eyes. “Entirely. I love a woman with a passion.” I hold her gaze for a moment and a briefly panicked look crosses her face. She clears her throat hurriedly.

“You know what I mean,” she says. “With the flowers and all. I didn’t mean anything about women, or passion, or like your passion for racing, and oh my God, why am I still talking?” She buries her head in her hands with a groan.

A wicked thought runs through my head but it’s chased by me taking pity on El and not making her tell me more about how much she likes passionate girls.

I sit down on the edge of the bed next to her. The mattress lets out a groan and sinks at the middle, making me slide nearly into El’s lap. My thigh brushes her wet jeans. She looks up in alarm. “Got it on the flowers. Any word from your parents yet?”

Not moving away from me, El gestures with her phone. “They probably think I’m still asleep in my room. Since tomorrow is Sunday, I’m betting we’ve got at least until noon tomorrow before they figure out I’m gone. What about your dad?”

I pick up my phone, scanning through its apps quickly. “Nope, nothing. He hates confrontation with me, and probably won’t even check on me until dinnertime tomorrow night.”

She nods, shifting her leg against mine. My bare ankle brushes her calf.

“Well,” El says slowly.

“Well …”

She hops up suddenly. “Well, I guess I need to go shower!” With that, she grabs her backpack and hurries into the tiny bathroom, slamming the door as she goes.

Huh.