Quickest Risk

by MEGAN MATTHEWS

  He watches it all happen without a word and only a slight smile of amusement.

  “What?” I ask when the silence becomes too much.

  Luk laughs. “Nothing.”

  “No . . . Seriously, what?” There’s no way I believe his nothing statement, and I hate not knowing.

  “Fine, but remember that you asked.”

  I nod my head in his direction. “Yeah, yeah I asked. What?”

  “Is your suction that good when you have other things between your lips?”

  My mouth falls open. “Excuse me?” He did not. Did he? He did.

  The laugh deepens, leading me to believe he was making the sexual innuendo.

  “You asked.”

  “Well, remind me never to ask again.” That’s one mistake I don’t want to make a second time. “And for your information, my suction is so good, they call me Ms. Hoover, but you’ll never know.”

  Lukis laughs again. “You also lack the ability to handle uncomfortable silence.”

  I roll my eyes and take a few more sips of water. Mr. Walks-Around-With-A-Gun thinks he can analyze me. “I’ve just had a few rough days.”

  “I’m assuming from the car I passed on the way into the motel your vehicle had a rough time too.”

  “Ha ha ha.” I deadpan. “And what are you doing out here in no man’s land with,” I lean closer and whisper, “a bag full of guns?”

  “I like you, Sugar Lips.”

  I knock my straw around in the water glass. “That’s not an answer. I can’t sleep with someone I don’t know.”

  “We’re sleeping together?” Lukis’ eyes dip low, stopping at the small amount of cleavage I have peeking above my tank top.

  “Well, you said the floor was too dirty.”

  Lukis chuckles. “Sugar Lips, that’s not sleeping together. That’s sleeping by each other. It’ll be rough but I’m sure you’ll be able to keep your hands off me for a few hours while you’re passed out. Let’s not get so close we share our life stories.”

  “Trust me. I’ll handle it.”

  He looks up and stares out the window, the silence growing between us. Silence doesn’t bother me because, unlike most people, I’m capable of maintaining a conversation with myself in my own head. Who needs to have a conversation with another person?

  Not me.

  I’m fine.

  It doesn’t drive me nuts at all.

  “And how does someone as gorgeous as you find themselves with no car in the middle of the desert?” he asks a few minutes later.

  Thank God. I couldn’t handle another second of silence.

  “I’m turning thirty.”

  “And that’s why your car died?” he asks, cutting me off hastily.

  “No. Shhh, if you’re not going to talk, then sit quietly while I do.”

  “Okay,” he puts his hands up in the air. “No more commentary from the peanut gallery.”

  “Thank you. Anyway, I’m turning thirty. On the fourth of July, my company sent out a memo saying they sold the hotel I worked at and would close in four days. Four days!”

  Lukis huffs. “Business owners.”

  “Shhh.” My eyes widen as a reminder. For a man who doesn’t want to talk about himself, he sure has enough to say about my story. “On the tenth of July, my sister gave birth. To her third child.” I hold up three fingers for emphasis. “This morning, I said fuck it. The idea grew, and I decided I’d treat myself to a weekend in Vegas, but the car couldn’t make the trip. That’s it.”

  He’s silent, his head barely nodding.

  “Oh, can I talk now?” he asks.

  So annoying. Luk must carry his guns around in case someone tries to bump him off for his horrible personality. “Yes, I suppose.”

  “So what’s your end plan? What about family and friends? How are you going to get home?”

  A sigh fills the air, and I jiggle the ice in my second glass of water. “My parents are visiting my sister and new baby, so there isn’t much I can do. And soon, I won’t have a home since I can’t afford my apartment.” All problems which will take care of themselves if I continue my current strategy of doing nothing. “If possible, I’ll hang out here until my dad returns and I beg him to give me a ride home. I’ll pack up my shit and move back in with them.” Every thirty-year-old’s dream, right?”

  It will be a long four-hour car ride listening to him tell me all the ways I’ve messed up my life over the years. I’m looking forward to it . . . not. It’s possible that’s the reason I decided it’s a good idea to stay in a room with a gun enthusiast with a penchant for spying.

  Who knows what he plans to do with the equipment he set up in our room before we left. From the computers and all the other technical equipment he hung on all the windows, it’s not something honest and law abiding.

  “So . . .” I ask and let the question linger.

  “So? Your plan sucks.”

  “My plan?” Is it even a plan? Or just me admitting defeat. And when did I ask him his opinion? “And what would you do, Mr. Know-It-All?”

  Lukis smiles, like the devil about to take someone’s soul. If only he wasn’t so damn hot while he did it. I’ve always been a girl with a love for arms. Consider it my personal kryptonite.

  “You said it best. No responsibilities and unemployment is a blessing. Now you’re free to do whatever you want. Live it up. Travel. See the world.”

  I almost spit out my sip of water. “With what money?” There aren’t a lot of road jobs available to someone with front desk experience at a hotel. We were a fucking two diamond! Probably a diamond higher than my current accommodations, but still.

  “Money is always available if you’re open to it.”

  I roll my eyes to the ceiling and groan. “So you’re one of those people. The ones who believe in the universe giving you what you need?” If that were true, the universe hates me because my life sucks. Unless I evolved in my sleep, I’m sure I still require food and water to live.

  Although, not that I’d ever admit it to him, but the idea of kicking off responsibility and traveling for a while sounds amazing. Watch America zoom by from the front seat of a car. Or a train. Who wouldn’t love enough money to travel? Without a big bank account funding the way, we’re forced into jobs and life responsibilities. Everything else is all downhill from there.

  Except my car is sitting dead a mile down the road, and I have less than a thousand dollars in the bank. Travel, for me, is a pipe dream. Still, I can’t help but think I wasted my twenties. I did everything they told me to in order to succeed. Went to college, got a job, worked hard, but where’s my reward? I don’t feel almost thirty, but at the same time, each day I feel older, heavier, rougher. Jaded. I’m not sure when my Friday nights became sitting at home watching old cancelled TV shows on Netflix rather than drinking at the clubs with my friends, but they did. Somewhere along the way, I became boring.

  And old.

  “Chin up, Sugar Lips. A healthy positive attitude does not mean I’m a dream chaser. I don’t let things like money worry me, and it all works out.”

  “Bullshit like that is only said by someone who has at least five digits in his bank account.”

  Lukis laughs, not denying my comment.

  “And what is it you do? Just travel around with your guns visiting various motels in the desert?” I don’t peg the crazy man as a motel mystery shopper.

  “My job takes me to many places. I took this contract for an out-of-town friend.”

  “And what are you doing for this out-of-town friend?” I push. Lukis has to give in sooner or later.

  He laughs, taking his first drink from his own water. “If you must know, it requires a little surveillance and a little snatch-and-grab.”

  One of my eye brows raises in question.

  He laughs harder. “That’s all you’re getting, which is more than you should know.”

  “A little snatch-and-grab? Like you’re going to kidnap someone?” I lean across the table whisper
ing. Time for me to get out of here.

  Lukis leans in too, closing the distance between us so we’re almost nose to nose. “No, but I like this view.” He looks down at my now pushed up and exposed cleavage.

  I hurry to settle back on the bench and wrap my arms around my chest. If I’m an arm girl, Luk must be a boob guy.

  3

  I pull the material of my slinky swimsuit up to my waist and then take a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Making my chest and lungs as small as possible, I shimmy the suit past my boobs and wrap each arm through the holes. I love this swimsuit even if it’s a bitch to get over my hips. It’s a one piece, but there’s boning inside the torso that pushes up my boobs and sucks in my stomach. If I could handle not breathing for so long, I’d wear it underneath my clothes every day of the week.

  And while I don’t consider myself overweight, there’s nothing that makes you feel like a fat ass more than waking up next to a guy who spends way more time in the gym than you do. Since I spend no time in the gym. I’ve always been a little proud of my curves, but the only thing curvy on Lukis is the dips where his abs form.

  True to what he said, Lukis remained respectfully on his side of the bed last night. In fact, he laid down straight on his back with his arm set to his sides and passed out. I don’t think he moved a muscle throughout the entire night.

  I rolled to my side with my head almost touching his shoulder. A few more inches and we would have been cuddling when I woke up this morning. It was rather embarrassing, and when I realized how close we were, I hurried to scuttle back to my side. The mattress shook from Lukis’ laughter. That damn mouth, of course he had a comment to make about how I couldn’t stay away from him. I’ve never met a man so full of himself.

  The door to the motel room opens as I’m smoothing out the creases of my tight-fitting swimsuit.

  “There’s donuts for breakfast if you’re hungry,” Lukis says, closing the door.

  “Donuts? Where did you find those?”

  He hands over a bag, and I tear open the top. Three donuts of different types — an eclair, a rosebud, and something that looks like it could be out of Simpson’s TV show — line the bottom. A bunch of different donut holes fill the space in the bag. How many donuts does he think I need?

  “Save one for me,” he says, walking sideways to where he stuck a small black box to the window with a suction cup. “Where are you going?”

  “The pool, duh.” Where else would one go in a motel in the middle of nowhere while wearing a swimsuit?

  “No.”

  “No, what?” I ask, throwing a towel from the motel bathroom into my backpack, which I’m using as a makeshift beach bag.

  Luk turns from the window. “No pool today.”

  “What?” I drop the bag to the floor. “Excuse me? Why the hell not?” The last time someone tried to boss me around, I lived at home.

  Lukis taps one hand on his laptop. “I have to work today, so I can’t watch you. You can’t go to the pool alone.”

  “Why would I need to be watched at the pool? This is the middle of the desert.” It’s the literal definition of BFE come to life. “And it’s a pool.”

  Lukis stands in front of the motel room door, his feet spread apart and his arms crossed over his chest. “The bags I emptied yesterday were full of guns and surveillance equipment. That doesn’t give you a clue that bad shit is going on around here?”

  I shrug. “Sure, your bad shit. I don’t have any bad shit. I don’t think the pool has any bad shit.”

  This is your typical Vegas outdoor pool. Concrete and water. Nestled between the restaurant and motel, it’s not something to write home about, but it’s a pool and I am stranded in the desert. Plain sure, but it meets all my current needs.

  “There are a lot of bad guys in the world, Hannah. You don’t have to be looking for trouble for it to find you.”

  I raise my eyebrows and tilt my head at him. “Like you.”

  Lukis laughs. “If you think I’m the bad guy, you are crazy.”

  “You said it yourself. You’re a man walking around with a lot of guns and surveillance equipment. Do you plan to tell me you’re a high school principal?”

  “Look, you can go to the pool if you promise not to talk to anyone.”

  I stomp my foot. “You are not my father.”

  “No, but I am the man standing in front of the door.”

  I shoot daggers at him across the room. What is it with this man? First, he’s all standoffish and now I can’t go sit by the pool? “Fine, but I’m stealing the rest of the bottled water.”

  Lukis steps to the side of the doorway and smiles because I’m sure he thinks he’s won. I grab the last three bottles of water from the long dresser with the TV on top. I smile at him as he opens the door to let me out.

  “Have fun spying on our neighbors,” I say halfway through the threshold.

  Lukis smirks. “Not a word to anyone.”

  I do a half salute with two fingers and nod my head. The door closes, and I keep my mouth shut for at least a good fifteen feet. But when I cross an older woman pushing a maid’s cleaning cart, I smile and give her a cheerful hello.

  Four rooms later, when I run into the same redhead who checked Lukis in yesterday, I do the same thing. There’s also an old guy with his head stuck in the ice machine and two men standing beside a car. I smile extra big for them.

  That’ll teach Lukis to tell me I can’t talk to people. Spend one night sleeping next to a guy and he thinks he gets to boss you around.

  Even though the temperature is already soaring at 8:30 in the morning, no other families gather at the pool. Apparently, all those men surveying the mines don’t feel like in a dip before the workday starts. Is Lukis here to spy on one of them? Is something dangerous going on in the mines?

  Either way, it is not my problem. I plan to sit in the sun, burn off the top layer of epidermis, and figure out what in the heck I’ll do with my life and how I will get home.

  Lukis isn’t a guy I can bum a ride from out of here. I lay the towel over the lounge chair and spread my body out on top. The backpack slides under the chair to keep it out of the sun’s rays, and I take out one water bottle for easy access. My eyes flutter closed. I didn’t get much sleep last night since I woke up every few minutes with lots of tossing and turning. That’s what happens when you’re sleeping next to a hot guy who promises he’ll stay within his half of the bed but you aren’t sure if you can trust him. Or if you want him to.

  I fall asleep for a few minutes and when my eyes open again, the sun has moved in the sky, forcing me to stand up and readjust my lounge chair. Nobody ever wants to get burned on one side more than the other. If I become a lobster, I want to have an even red coloring.

  “Bella, I’d wondered when you’d wake.”

  I drop the water bottle I’d been about to sip from, water spilling over the lounge and my towel. I hurry to snatch it up and put the lid back. Warm water spills down my leg.

  “Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t see you,” I say, fumbling with the water bottle.

  An older guy two chairs over stands. “Do you need a fresh towel?” the newcomer asks, holding out a much bigger towel than the one I grabbed from our bathroom.

  “Um no . . . No . . . Thanks,” I stammer, trying to move my lounge chair to the correct position without making more of a moron of myself.

  After taking time to study him, he’s not much older than me. Maybe in his thirties, in my doable range. Jet black hair gelled back on the top of his head and his deep brown eyes track my every movement. His face and upper torso are tan, but the shade of coloring which doesn’t come from the sun. He’s Italian . . . Or something. Cute, but there’s something different about him. A soft body, not strong and rigid like Luk. A little city in his looks. Probably from Vegas.

  “Are you sure? I have plenty.” The smile on his face grows again and points to a stack of four towels sitting on the concrete next to his lounger.

  A nervous and s
cratchy laugh escapes. “No, I’m okay. A wet towel will cool me off.”

  “I’m Antonio. And you are?”

  I lean across the lounger separating us and shake his hand. “Hannah.” No way is he getting a last name until I decide on his creep factor level.

  My phone, stored in my backpack under the lounger, vibrates, the cloth material of the bag rustling enough I notice. I reach down and dig around to find it without flashing a tummy roll at Antonio.

  “Yes, that has been going off for a while. I almost woke you.”

  “Oh,” I find the phone and look at the display, “I hope it didn’t bother you.”

  “Not at all, Bella. Do you need to answer it?”

  A number flashes across the screen. One I’ve never seen. A weird 207 area code. “Yes.” I slide my finger across the front and answer the call. Before I finish with hello, a masculine voice cuts in.

  “Pretend I’m your mom.”

  “Okay.” My eyes narrow in confusion.

  “No, say hi Mom,” Lukis says over the phone.

  “Hey, Mom,” I parrot.

  “Jesus, woman, you’re horrible at this. Come back to the room.” He’s so irritated, I easily imagine his annoyed expression.

  My body tenses in anger. “Why?” How is it that someone I just met could irritate me so greatly?

  “Because I see who you’re talking with and I knew you’d get yourself in trouble.”

  “What?” My eyes flutter across the space to find Antonio sitting back in his lounge chair not paying me any attention.

  “Promises were made that you wouldn’t talk to anyone. You need to get your ass away from that man.”

  I sigh. “Fine, Mother. Let me call you back when I’m in the room.” The call ends before I say goodbye.

  “Is everything okay?” Antonio asks, proving he was paying attention. Men. Can’t trust them.

  My face heats, and it’s not because of the temperature. “Yes, my mother. You know how mothers are.”