Happy Hour

by Piper Rayne

  Roarke huffs out a laugh and his face morphs into a genuine smile. “I will, Mom. Bye.”

  He clicks her off the line before she can finish saying goodbye.

  “You don’t have to,” I say.

  He turns to me with a questioning look.

  “You don’t have to sleep at your mom’s,” I say, hardly believing the words that are coming out of my mouth myself.

  “I promised you a hotel room to yourself and I don’t go back on my promises.”

  His thumb presses the volume button on the steering wheel and the music volume raises. I guess that concludes our conversation. I sit there, staring at the tall trees and green landscape out the window wondering why I don’t want Roarke to be inconvenienced.

  “Why don’t you want to spend the night at your mom’s?” I ask.

  His jaw clenches. “She has a new boyfriend.”

  From the dark mask that falls over his face, I decide to not ask anymore probing questions on that topic. Not like it’s my business anyway. After these last few favors are done, I’ll probably never speak to him again.

  Funny thing is, even I don’t believe the lies I tell myself about the man beside me anymore.

  Chapter Fourteen

  It’s another hour before Roarke pulls off the highway. Other than me asking him if I could pick a song to mix up the rap and hip-hop we don’t talk about anything else. He obviously listens to this music a lot because he mouths the words to every damn song.

  We pull up to a gas station and he unbuckles his seat belt. “I’ll make it quick.” His phone is gripped in his hands. “If you want to go to the bathroom or get a snack or anything, I’ll just be a minute.”

  I nod, pulling my purse out from by my feet and exiting the Range Rover. “Anything you want?”

  He shakes his head, his mind a million miles away. “No, thank you.”

  I leave polite Roarke in the SUV and head inside following the sign to the bathroom.

  Ten minutes later, I have a white plastic bag full of drinks, sanitizing wipes in case I have to venture into another gas station bathroom on our travels, and a few snacks for us before it dawns on me that Roarke might not want us to eat in his car.

  I push open the door from the small gas station store and am met by a loud voice coming from inside Roarke’s SUV, only it’s not his. The phone is synced through the speakers of the car and I’m not sure he’s aware of how loud it is. I can hear every word his sister is saying and I’m not sure if I should interrupt or not.

  “Roarke, you don’t understand. I know they were hers,” she says.

  I can see that his forehead is pressed against the steering wheel like this conversation is taking all his energy to get through.

  “Since when do you believe in happily ever afters?”

  Another pause.

  “Yes, I love him.”

  “Trust? You and I both know there are few people you can trust in this world.”

  “Who is this girl you’re bringing anyway?”

  Only hearing the sister’s side of the conversation sucks. I really want to hear what his answer to that question was.

  “You’re sleeping at Mom’s? What, is she a prude?” The disgust in her voice is obvious.

  “Gentleman? I’d like to see what Olivia would say to you being a gentleman.”

  I pretend I don’t care who Olivia is, but of course I log the name in the recesses of my mind for further examination later.

  “You’re not my father.”

  Roarke picks up his head and our eyes meet before I do anything other than stand there.

  “You gotta go? What the hell?” his sister snips.

  The line dies and he opens the SUV door and climbs out.

  “Did you get what you need?” he asks, the keys twirling around his finger, stuffing his cell phone into his pocket.

  “Yeah. Are you a licorice guy?” I hold up the bag nonplussed, pretending like I didn’t just overhear everything his sister said.

  A smile tugs at his lips and maybe because I know what family shit is like to deal with, it pulls a smile from me.

  “You thought of me?” he asks, approaching.

  “I’m not rude.”

  “I like it.” He takes my free hand, uncurling my fingers from my palm and places the keys into it. “I’ll be right back.”

  He heads into the shop and I glance around at the few people filling their cars with gas. Since it’s nine o’clock at night, it’s pure darkness except for the gas station which is lit up like an alien UFO in the middle of the desert.

  Bringing my gaze upward to the dark sky, my jaw slackens at the million or so bright, white stars on display. Other than the highway noise, it’s the crickets instead of horns honking and hustle and bustle of the city.

  I’m not sure how long I stare in awe, taking in the pure serenity this small gas station parking lot has granted me, but when a hand touches mine, I jerk back.

  “Relax.” Roarke’s voice calms my fight or flight response. “First time out of the city?” His tone is teasing and I let my gaze fall to him.

  “It’s gorgeous. Do you miss it?” I ask.

  His Adam’s apple bounces down and up. “No.”

  He takes the keys from my hands and rounds the front of the Range Rover.

  Once I’m back in the comfy leather seat next to him, he opens the sunroof screen so the sky is visible above us, puts the key in the ignition, and before I can think to ask a follow-up question we’re back on the highway.

  I can’t help but wonder why he would bring me here, if he doesn’t want to be here himself.

  Two hours later, we pull off the highway, right into a motel parking lot. Twenty white vans with the same landscaping business name are parked in the far side of the lot.

  “This is where we’re staying?” I ask, eyeing the peeling paint on the doors and the grass growing up between cracks in the concrete.

  He parks the SUV under the awning beside the sliding glass doors.

  “I know it’s not The Drake but trust me when I say this is the best there is around here.”

  “It’s fine.” I was brought up better than to make someone feel bad even if the circumstances are less than ideal. “Are the doors to the rooms on the outside?” I look across the parking lot to a line of doors on the first and second floor of the building.

  “They are, but Woods Parlor doesn’t have a lot of crime unless you count domestic violence and public intoxication.”

  I tighten my lips at his mention of two very different offenses. “So, I’m safe you mean?”

  “I’ll get you settled and then go track down my sister. I’ll only be about twenty minutes away if you need me.”

  Twenty minutes? He can’t save me if he’s twenty minutes away. I’ll already be raped, murdered or whatever by then.

  “Okay.” I straighten my back, reminding myself, I’m a Crowley and I don’t need any type of savior. Thank goodness I have pepper spray though.

  “I love when you act like you can take on the world.” He exits the car before I can reply.

  It’s not usually an act, but it is right now.

  I follow Roarke into the small lobby where he presses a little bell and we hear someone grumble from the room behind the front desk, and then a loud boom echoes in the small space.

  “You okay, Ted?” Roarke leans over the counter.

  “Roarke Baldwin?” A short-statured, round-bellied, bald-headed man emerges in the doorway, rubbing his eyes. “I saw your name on the list and thought maybe I missed you. My shift started an hour ago.”

  Roarke holds his hand out and the man wipes his on his stained wife beater before accepting the offering. “Chicago did you good, huh?”

  Ted isn’t looking at Roarke’s three-piece suit or the Range Rover parked outside. Nope. His eyes are on me. On my breasts to be precise. He licks his lips and my stomach clenches.

  Roarke steps in front of me, cutting off Ted’s line of vision. “I have. This is Hannah, she�
�ll be staying here.”

  “Sorry about booting you out of the other room, but Wyatt’s granddad and all.” The two men speak in a language I’m unfamiliar with.

  “Yeah, I get it. I’ll be at my mom’s.”

  “All the way in town?” Ted asks. Twenty minutes is all the way? Twenty minutes could be one block for me at the height of rush hour in the city.

  “Yeah.” Roarke shrugs.

  “So, she’s not yours?” Ted points to me as though I’m a dog or a piece of property to be owned.

  My fists clench at my sides and I bite the inside of my cheek.

  Roarke glances back at me, the side of his lips ticked up into a smile. He’s probably already guessed that I’m fuming on the inside. “Not yet, but soon.”

  “Can we please get the keys?” I ask, done with this whole conversation. “For future reference, I’m nobody’s.”

  I spin on my heel and exit the lobby and sit and wait in Roarke’s car. The two men carry on their transaction and Roarke returns to the driver’s seat five minutes later.

  “I’m going to ignore the fact that that man looked at me like he’s on death row and I’m his last meal.”

  Roarke laughs. “Ted’s harmless. We don’t get a lot of your type around here, that’s all.”

  “Hate to break it to you, but you’re the same type as me.”

  He starts the car and pulls it five hundred feet ahead, parking out front of room one thirty-three. I cry inside that I’m on the first floor.

  “You were born with money, I made my own money,” Roarke says.

  He’s got me there.

  I know from my bff Gwen, coming from nothing and gaining everything is so very different than always having the security of money to fall back on. Still...

  “I get that you grew up here, but you don’t fit in here anymore. Just like I don’t.”

  He chuckles as we exit the car, him opening up the back of his SUV and pulling out my bag. With each step closer to the room, my stomach tightens—I really don’t want to stay here by myself.

  He inserts the key into the lock and opens the door wide. Surprisingly, the room is decent. The linens look clean and the décor could be worse. I half expected a dark wood headboard that was mounted to the wall with orange and brown linens with pictures of deers frolicking in the woods. Instead, a yellow, grey, and white room greets me.

  Roarke puts my bag on the luggage holder and shoves his hands into his pockets. “You have my number. I’ll be back tomorrow to pick you up. Just text me when you wake up. We don’t have anywhere to be until the rehearsal at four.”

  My mouth drops open and I cross my arms over my chest. “You dragged me up here for me to sit in a hotel room off the highway until four o’clock?”

  A smile tugs at his lips again and I realize my error.

  Now he thinks I want to be around him.

  He takes a step closer to me. “I had no intention of leaving you here until four. I was simply letting you sleep in if you choose to.”

  “Thank you. I have no car and I’d rather not resort to a vending machine for my breakfast and lunch.”

  I sound bitchy, I know. I’m purposely being difficult because I’m scared. Fear makes me bitchy when I don’t have the control I crave. I don’t know if it’s the unsafe feeling of the hotel, or the fact someone could kidnap me and drag me into the woods never to be seen again. Ted’s peeping Tom eyes didn’t exactly leave me with the warm and fuzzies.

  “Then I’ll pick you up at nine am and I’ll feed you.” He rocks back on his heels. Other than loosening his tie after the call with his sister, he’s still neatly put together like a Ken doll—only with salt and pepper hair.

  “Perfect.”

  “Good.” He heads toward the door and the knob turns in his hand.

  My gut clutches and my heart races. It’s do or die. “It’s late. I’m not opposed to you sleeping in the other bed.”

  His back stiffens with his hand on the doorknob. “Are you offering for me to stay here with you tonight?” He swivels around and I can’t tell by the look on his face whether it disappoints him or makes him happy.

  “As a courtesy, yes. Ted made it sound like it was far and I’m sure you’re tired. I would hate for a deer to run in front of you and ruin that nice SUV of yours.” I hoist my chin in the air.

  His eyes flare with mischief. “Are you scared, Hannah?”

  “No.” I open my bag, placing my clothes in the dresser and hanging up my dresses for the weekend, anything not to have to look at him.

  “So you’re just being nice then?”

  “Yes.” I keep my tone calm and collected as though I’d sleep here for a month by myself if I had to.

  Not a chance in hell.

  “You’re sure you don’t mind?” His hand lands on the doorknob again.

  “Yeah, it’s no big deal.” I shrug while I close the closet door. “Two separate beds.”

  “Okay, I’ll grab my bags.” He exits the hotel room.

  I breathe again once the door is shut. I’m totally setting myself up for failure but having the safety of him in this room outweighs my Missing picture being posted on every telephone pole from here to Chicago.

  There’s not time to process my doubt because Roarke returns. He shuts the door, flips the bar over, and secures the deadbolt. Wasn’t he the one who said no crime happens in Woods Parlor?

  “Can I sweet talk my way into your bed, too?” he asks, hanging up a garment bag in the closet.

  “You never know when to stop.”

  I go easy on him after his comment because I appreciate the way he’s letting me off the hook in this scenario. The first time I showed this man any kind of vulnerability and he didn’t throw it in my face.

  “When it comes to you, no, I don’t.”

  For the first time, it dawns on me that maybe my odds of landing in Roarke’s bed are significantly higher than my odds of being murdered tonight. That thought would have been handy about five minutes ago.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The pressures of perfection are something I’m familiar with. You’re not raised under a microscope without being trained on how to stay calm and collected under scrutiny or high-pressure situations.

  With perfection comes willpower.

  Willpower to cut carbs.

  Willpower to work out.

  Willpower to bite my tongue when necessary.

  A piece of cake can sit in front of me for hours as I continue a conversation with someone who is devouring theirs. That’s not to say I don’t stop on the way home for a milkshake. That’s the thing with being a Crowley. You only have to worry while in front of others. In the comfort of a room all by yourself with triple locks to keep prying eyes out, you can indulge in a whole cake if you want. As long as you don’t go up a dress size. What would your personal shopper at Neiman Marcus think if nothing fit you when you arrive?

  Regardless, I tend to believe I’m a strong woman who can look unfazed when her body heat is rising to dangerous temperatures.

  When Roarke walks out of the bathroom in pajama pants and no shirt on, I almost lose my cool. He has to be in his early forties, but his pecs and biceps bulge as he rounds the edge of the bed and slides in under the covers. He doesn’t say a word as he makes his trip across the room. He doesn’t have to. I’m sure his stealthy eyes caught me peeking up at him over my Kindle.

  He passes out quickly after a short goodnight in his usual deep timbre which seems to be an aphrodisiac for my lower region. I would’ve settled for some teenage dry humping. That’s how low I was willing to go.

  I put my Kindle down and laid on my right side as I usually do when I fall asleep. The problem was Roarke was in my line of sight. His bare, muscled chest rising and falling. One hand positioned under his head, one leg sneaking out from the sheet a bit. He truly was a male Adonis.

  He’d volunteered to take the bed closest to the door. Once again proving he knows I’m not feeling completely safe here, but not calling m
e out on my bullshit excuse for offering him the other bed. The fact he keeps doing that is starting to piss me off and I have no explanation for why it angers me.

  Rolling over to my left, I face the wall and will my eyes shut with the hopes that this weekend goes by fast because my willpower crumbles a little more every second I’m around him.

  A light permeates my eyelids and I blink my eyes open.

  I’m sprawled in the middle of the bed, literally in an X, taking up the entire space. I can’t remember the last time I slept that soundly. Usually Lucy’s taking up half the bed and pushing one of her paws into me.

  A tall figure blocks the light and I turn my head to see Roarke place something on the bedside table. “You snore.”

  I sit up, wiping the guck from my eyes.

  Why did I let him sleep here again? I should’ve set my alarm so I could get up first and do my hair and makeup.

  “I do not,” I say with a still groggy voice.

  He sits at the edge of the bed, untying his running shoes, sweat pouring off his face. “You do. It’s probably the fresh air, maybe allergies.”

  My face heats to the level of an erupting volcano. “You’re joking?” I ask, mortified that what he’s saying might be true.

  “Yeah.” He stands, strips off his shirt and tosses it on the bed.

  Now I have to stare at his muscled chest while sweat drips down it like dots of rain on a window, only these drops are slipping from one ab to the next.

  I was not prepared for this kind of exquisite torture when I agreed to this trip.

  Grabbing my coffee from the nightstand, I take a sip with the hopes of stopping more saliva from pooling inside my mouth.

  “I told you I had a sense of humor.” He picks up his running shoes, placing them beside his suitcase is. “I have a proposition for you.”

  He sits back down and though I’ve always prided myself on my willpower, right now it’s taking everything in me not to launch myself across this mattress and on top of him.