Eligible Receiver (Men of Fall Book 3)

by S. R. Grey

  We look at each other with concern.

  “This doesn’t look promising,” I state direly.

  Lars mutters, “No, it doesn’t.”

  Luckily, as we drive slowly down the slippery road, a billboard for an old motor lodge motel comes into view.

  Pointing, I say, “Phew! We might be in luck after all.”

  Lars breathes a visible sigh of relief.

  Crap, I feel the same.

  “I can’t really make out the name of the motel,” I say, squinting to see through the freezing rain that is pelting the windshield even with the wipers working overtime.

  Visibility is bad enough, but the sign is sun-faded and weather-worn.

  Still, I tell Lars, “It does say ‘motel,’ and it’s up the road just another mile. Let’s go for it.”

  “Definitely,” he agrees. “We’ll check it out.”

  We make our way along the road slowly, the wiry branches of the trees sheathed in ice.

  When it starts to get really slick, we slow to a crawl. Not simply to be safe but to make sure we don’t miss the entrance to the motel.

  “Wait, that’s our turn,” I say, gesturing to a break in the trees. “There’s a smaller sign there, but it’s too far back for me to see what it says.”

  “That’s okay. That has to be it,” Lars says. “We’ll turn in here.”

  I’m pumped we’ll be out of this horrible weather soon. It’s far too dangerous to keep driving.

  Once we turn into the motel entrance, we park next to the old dilapidated sign that I couldn’t make out from the road.

  But I see it now. It’s flashing out a slow beat of neon pink letters. Pink letters that spell out the name of the motel we’re about to rent a room in—The Love Nest.

  I try not to laugh.

  Great, just what we need.

  We’ve been trying to fight our feelings all damn day. I have a feeling staying here might turn out to be more dangerous than the icy roads.

  Yet I’m not running.

  Not because there’s nowhere to go, but because I want to stay with Lars.

  I’m finally ready to be brave and embrace whatever this night holds.

  The Love Nest

  You have got to be kidding me.

  I shake my head.

  It’s like the fates are against us.

  Or maybe they’re actually for us, and that’s why they’re pushing us together.

  Why else would the only motel in this godforsaken part of the state be called The Love Nest?

  Heaven help us.

  I notice Becca is trying not to laugh.

  Clearly, she feels pretty much the same way I do.

  How could she not?

  If the name alone isn’t a strong indicator that this is a hookup motel, the bubblegum-pink wooden trim on the low red brick building is a dead giveaway that this place is all about “love.”

  “Well, at least it seems they keep the place up,” Becca states encouragingly, nodding as she glances around. “That’s a good sign, right?”

  “Yeah,” I agree. “It’s clearly not a fleabag motel.”

  It’s not.

  It’s just a little heavy on the pink.

  As we pull into a parking spot in front of the motel office on the far end of the building, I point to several cut-out foil hearts adorning the window and murmur, “I can’t wait to see what it looks like inside.”

  “Right? This should be an interesting experience.”

  I remind Becca, “You know, it could be worse.”

  Peering over at me curiously, she asks, “How do you mean?”

  Tapping the steering wheel absently, I reply, “Well, it’s not the motel in the movie Psycho. You’ve seen that, right? Good ole Norman Bates.”

  “Eek.” Becca shudders. “Yes, I’ve seen the movie. And it would definitely be awful if this place turned out to be anything like that.”

  Nodding to the hearts on the window again, I say, “Nah, I think we’re safe.”

  With a final thank-God-for-that look from Becca, we hop out of the Nav.

  Even though the sidewalk appears to have been heavily salted, I hold Becca’s arm as we head into the motel office, which ends up looking a lot like Cupid’s den of love.

  Letting go of her arm, I take in everything, as does she.

  How could you not?

  The office is quite the sight.

  The wallpaper is a display of pink, red, and purple hearts, arrows, and various depictions of Cupid himself. The carpeting is a deep red, and there’s a big pink wicker basket containing candy hearts over on the counter.

  “It’s kind of funny how we just can’t get away from Valentine’s Day,” Becca remarks as she steps over to the counter and grabs a handful of hearts.

  She gives me one, which I place in my jacket pocket.

  “Yeah,” I reply, chuckling. “Clearly, we can’t.”

  I’m beginning to wonder if it’s such a bad thing to be reminded of Valentine’s Day. Becca and I never talk about that night, not anymore. We don’t ever even make reference to it.

  I guess it’s just safer that way.

  Still, there’s no denying The Love Nest is triggering memories.

  I know for her too, seeing as she’s eyeing me curiously.

  When I raise a brow, she quickly looks away.

  “Uh,” Becca mumbles, “do you want more candy hearts?”

  Nice change of subject.

  Smiling at her, I reply, “No thanks.”

  “Okay.” She nods. “I’ll hold onto the rest for now. They could be our only provisions for the night.”

  Hmm, she does have a point.

  Based on how the icy rain is making a noisy clatter as it hits the roof, those candy hearts may truly be our only source of sustenance for the immediate future.

  “Good thing we ate a big lunch,” I say.

  “Right?”

  No one is at the front desk, or coming to it, so I tap the little silver bell on the counter.

  “My goodness, sounds like I have a customer,” a voice groggily proclaims from the back room, as if the person has just woken up.

  Within seconds, a little white-haired lady emerges from the back, patting her bun and stifling a yawn.

  I can’t blame her for napping. It’s not exactly like business is booming in the icy rain.

  “I didn’t realize someone had come in,” she says apologetically. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting. It’s just that we don’t get much business this time of year. Now on Valentine’s Day…” She grins. “It’s a whole different story.”

  “I bet,” Becca murmurs.

  Thumbing toward the door, I say, “It’s a little rough out there with the ice, so we decided to stop and get a room for the night.”

  The motel lady nods. “That’s a very wise choice, sir. You don’t want to be out in this mess.”

  “No, no we don’t,” Becca concurs.

  I pull out my wallet so I can give the lady a credit card, which she runs through.

  Becca offers to give me some cash to chip in for the cost, but I tell her, “Don’t be silly. I got this. Besides, you’re providing the food.” I nod to her jacket pocket, where she stashed the hearts.

  She winks at me, murmuring, “Ah, yes. There is that.”

  The motel lady finishes checking us in and hands me the room key, which is an actual metal key on a chain.

  “I put you in room fourteen,” she says. “Once you go back out, turn left. Your unit is about halfway down the walkway.”

  “Great, thanks,” I say, glancing down at the old-style key.

  It’s not the red heart keychain that grabs my attention, though that does stand out. Still, no, it’s the observation that we’re in room fourteen that has me shaking my head.

  The Valentine’s Day reminders continue.

  When I tune back in, the motel lady is informing us that there are vending machines on the other side of the motel, and that she keeps them fully stocked.

 
“Guess we’ll have more than just candy hearts to sustain us after all,” Becca says quietly, leaning into me.

  Softly, I agree, “Yeah, it looks that way.”

  Her closeness doesn’t go unnoticed. There’s a hitch in my throat and a longing to wrap my arm around her shoulders.

  But I keep it together and just say, “We better go to our room. It sounds like it’s getting worse out there.”

  And it does.

  The pounding on the roof is picking up in intensity.

  Since Becca and I don’t have luggage to retrieve, we head straight to room number fourteen.

  I’m expecting a lot of pink and red inside, a continuation of the “love” theme, to remind us of Valentine’s Day. But when we turn on the light, we discover there’s an even bigger problem.

  “Uh oh,” Becca says. “There’s only one bed.”

  “And it’s covered in pink satin sheets and shaped like a fucking heart,” I blurt out. “You have got to be kidding me.”

  Misunderstanding my frustration, she turns to me and says softly, “I can stay on my side, Lars. I promise.”

  It’s not her I’m worried about.

  “No.” I shake my head. “I’ll just sleep on the floor. You take the bed.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” She frowns as she peers down at the threadbare faded red carpeting. “This floor looks really uncomfortable. Just sleep in the bed with me.”

  “Becca…”

  Giving me a stern look, she says, “Lars, stop. We got this. We’re not children.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of.”

  Can we really spend the whole night in a bed together with nothing happening?

  A bed that’s heart-shaped and covered in pink satin.

  In a motel named The Love Nest.

  One thing for sure, this is shaping up to be our biggest challenge yet.

  Temptation

  Hmm, this should be interesting… and definitely not easy.

  Lars and I have to sleep in a heart-shaped bed, surrounded by themes of love and reminders of our Valentine’s Day make-out session. The one we’re not supposed to allow happen again.

  How am I supposed to stay strong?

  Do I even want to anymore?

  I can’t help but think how much fun it’d be to let go and give in to my feelings, especially now that Lars and I have an actual friendship. There’s not just a strong attraction between us, there’s a growing need for more—a very palpable need.

  Even though we don’t discuss it, it’s there.

  Yes, how many times have I found myself checking out his firm ass, admiring his broad shoulders and wide chest, and drooling over his defined muscles?

  The answer is a lot.

  I haven’t even gotten to Lars’s face, which is so nice to look at.

  I peer over at his full lips now, remembering how they felt pressed to mine.

  So good, so very good. Soft, yet firm and forceful.

  Gah!

  I tell Lars that “we got this,” but do we?

  I hope he does, because my resolve is definitely crumbling.

  Maybe it’s because of all these hearts everywhere?

  Or maybe it’s due to the love theme in general?

  It could also be that Lars and I had such a fun day, despite the freezing rain ruining our plans.

  I don’t know.

  Maybe this is better.

  Maybe this is meant to be.

  Should I keep denying that I freaking want him to hold me in his arms?

  Or, more precisely, that I want him to hold me down on this stupid heart-shaped bed and touch me like I know he can.

  I’m tired of kidding myself.

  What I want is for him to fu—

  “Becca? Becca, are you all right? You look really out of it right now. Maybe you need something to eat, something more substantial than candy?”

  Yeah, I need you.

  Oh, I can’t say that.

  Lars is clearly perplexed as to why I’m standing here seemingly lost in thought.

  Tell him, Becca.

  Tell him you’re not fine.

  Tell him you need his big, hard—

  Brrrinnggg!

  I almost jump out of my skin as the old landline phone on the nightstand rings, saving me from having to explain.

  I have literally just been saved by the bell.

  Phew!

  The reprieve gives me time to pull my shit together.

  As Lars walks over to the nightstand, I pop a candy heart into my mouth, just to put something there.

  If it can’t be Lars, the next best thing is something loaded with sugar.

  I watch as Lars answers the phone, talks for a minute, then hangs up.

  “Who was it?” I ask.

  “It was the lady from the front desk. She wanted to let us know she’ll be staying in the office all night long, in case we need anything. I guess it’s too bad out for her to drive home.”

  “Okay,” I reply. “That was nice of her to tell us.”

  “It was,” he agrees.

  We’re just making idle conversation, both of us trying so damn hard not to stare at the heart-shaped bed.

  I finally turn away and get to work on finally discarding my soggy jacket and boots.

  Lars comes over to the door to do the same.

  Afterward, we just kind of stand silently, not knowing what to do next.

  Biting my lip, lest I say something that may get me into trouble—like “let’s try out that bed”—I lean over to where my jacket is draped over one of two chairs pushed under a small table and reach into the pocket.

  “You want some hearts?” I ask Lars as I grab a few.

  Shaking his head, he says, “No, I’m good. I am a little thirsty, though.”

  Ha, I bet.

  He’s probably having the same lusty thoughts as me.

  I gesture to the door. “We can go check out the vending machines, if you want.”

  “Or…” He points to a mini-bar in the corner that I hadn’t even noticed. “We can see what’s in there.”

  “Wow, I didn’t even see that,” I say. “But yeah, let’s check it out. I’m game.”

  Turns out, the mini-bar is stocked with one thing only—mini bottles of alcohol. And not just any alcohol—champagne.

  Lars, kneeling as he holds open the door of the mini-bar, looks up at me and raises a brow.

  I just laugh. “We should’ve known.”

  “For sure. So”—he points inside—“would you like your own sample size of bubbly?”

  I shrug. “You know what? I think I would.”

  He hands me one of the small bottles of champagne, grabs one for himself, and then stands.

  “We have the makings of a real party here,” he teases, raising his bottle to tap to mine.

  After “clink-ing” my bottle to his, I unscrew the cap.

  “It’s the fancy stuff, I see,” I tease, as it is so not.

  That makes Lars laugh. “Yeah, right.”

  I then proclaim, “Candy and champagne. Who could ask for anything more?”

  Flopping down on the bed, Lars says, “We’re living the good life here, babe. No doubt about it.”

  Whoa, I like how he just called me “babe.”

  I sit down on the edge of the bed, mindful to leave plenty of room between us.

  Holding my bottle aloft, I say, “Here’s to being snowed in.”

  He taps my champagne with his bottle, and adds, “Or rather, here’s to being frozen in, as it stands for now.”

  “Good point,” I murmur.

  We drink champagne and share a few candy hearts. But then we realize we’re still really hungry.

  “Woman, or man, cannot live on sugar alone,” I declare.

  “Definitely not,” Lars says, standing. “How about if I go rustle us up some grub from the vending machines?”

  “Sounds like a plan,” I reply, laughing at his playfulness.

  “Any requests, m’lady?�
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  Rolling onto my stomach and peering up at him, I say, “No. Surprise me.”

  After putting his jacket and boots back on, Lars announces, “I’ll be right back.”

  “Be careful walking out there,” I warn, turning serious. “The rock salt from earlier has probably been covered up. The walkway could be really slippery.”

  “Don’t worry,” he assures me. “I’ll be fine.”

  Once Lars leaves, I jump up to see if there are more candy hearts in my jacket, even though I’m pretty sure we polished them off.

  But no, score!

  I find one lonely candy wedged way deep down in the pocket.

  “Yes!” I pump my fist, victorious.

  Hey, it’s the small things.

  I realize then that with all the candy hearts Lars and I devoured while we were drinking champagne, we paid no attention to any of the messages printed on them.

  I decide to check the message on this last one.

  I look down, and two words etched in the candy catch my eye… and my heart.

  You’re His

  The thing of it is I’ve finally accepted that I really, truly want to be.

  Love Her

  The trek to the vending machines isn’t too bad. The motel lady must’ve come out and laid down a second layer of rock salt, as the ice is melted to mostly slush.

  And from above, the freezing rain has changed over to snow.

  It’s not just a tiny bit, either.

  This is like a full-on blizzard.

  Becca and I are not only frozen in, we’re now officially snowed in.

  “She is going to just love this,” I murmur, chuckling when I think of how she feels about the white stuff.

  Somehow, though, I think she may like it today.

  When I reach the vending machines, I fish around in my jacket pocket for coins that I know I have.

  I do eventually dig out a few quarters, but I also find something else—the candy heart Becca gave to me back in the motel office.

  “Cool, a snack.”

  Just as I’m about to pop the thing into my mouth, I decide to read the message.

  Out loud, I say the words: Love Her.

  Whoa, what?

  I read it again to make sure I’m seeing it correctly.

  Yep, it says Love Her.

  This must be some kind of custom heart. Aren’t the messages on these things usually like Be Mine?