Keep Her Safe(38)

My cheeks flush at that awkward moment, firmly emblazoned in my memory.

It’s not like Noah’s the first naked guy I’ve ever seen. I had boyfriends in high school. Plus, living in the Hollow, where drunken disorderliness goes hand in hand with public indecency, I’ve come across more than one asshole who gets a kick out of a midday stroll in the flesh. It’s always the sweaty ones, too, with their bellies permanently swollen from hard liquor and tufts of hair growing in places where tufts of hair shouldn’t be growing.

And then, there’s the time I finished my English exam an hour early and came home to find my mom on her knees in front of some scrawny guy, his pants pooling around his ankles, a ziplock bag of Oxy pills dangling from his fingers like bait.

I’ve seen my fair share of naked men, but none of them have looked anything like Noah. Every inch of him is sculpted in golden muscle, and the tan line that sits low around his hips proves that he has no qualms about showing off that broad chest.

And to top it all off, he was covered in soap suds, water dripping from every—

A soft knock comes from our adjoining door, startling my thoughts. I drag myself out of bed and do a quick mirror check to confirm that my hair is a wild mess. My mom always told me how lucky I am to have inherited her silky, soft texture and Dad’s curls. I wonder when I’ll agree with her on that, because most days it seems more of a nightmare than anything resembling luck. Going to bed with it damp does awful things, but the hotel’s hair dryer didn’t have a diffuser, no surprise. So I was forced to braid it and cross my fingers.

By the halo of frizz around my face, I’m thinking that wasn’t the best move either.

Doing my best to smooth it down with my fingers, I finally give up, throw on the clothes I bought yesterday, and then open the adjoining door.

Noah has his back to me, giving me a brief opportunity to admire the way his soft gray T-shirt clings around his muscular arms and shoulders and his dark jeans sit low on his hips. He’s busy stuffing his toiletries bag into his backpack. “How’d you sleep?”

“Fine.” When he glances over at me, I notice the circles under his eyes.

“Better than you, from the looks of it.”

He chuckles. “Yeah. I need at least a week to catch up on all the sleep I’ve missed lately.” He swallows hard.

I mentally kick myself. His mother just shot herself and here he is, helping me deal with my shit. “I’m sorry about your mom.” Regardless of what my mom believes Jackie did, Noah had no hand in it.

He offers me a sad smile and nods, but it doesn’t mask the flash of pain in his eyes.

“Hey, you should find a safe place to keep that money, like the bank.”

“Right.” But not my bank account. There’d be red flags waving above my head the moment I passed ninety-eight thousand dollars over the counter.

“Checkout here is at eleven, but they’ll take cash payment, if you want to stay a few more nights. You know, until you find a place to live. I’ll let them keep my credit card on file so they don’t give you any hassle.”

Another check in the “nice guy” column.

“I could rack up your bill with room service.”

“They don’t have room service here.”

I struggle to keep my expression smooth. “Fine, then. Porn.”

A deep dimple forms in his cheek. He reaches down to fasten his belt, flashing his taut belly. “I’m sure they have that. But I just drove twelve hours to give you almost a hundred grand that I could have kept for myself. Something tells me you’d feel a bit guilty.”

He’s right, I would.

His forearm cords under the weight of his backpack. With his free hand, he scribbles something on the hotel notepad and tears the sheet off. He holds it out to me. “Here. You should have my number.”

“Why?”

He sighs. “I don’t know why, Gracie. Why not?”

I bite back the urge to correct my name. I don’t mind it so much, coming from him. And he’s right—he could have kept that money. Instead, he drove across two states, saved my mother, tried to save my home, and gave me a place to stay, all in addition to handing over enough money to fix our problems. And what have I done besides wave a knife at him, accuse him of being a heroin dealer, scream at him while he was naked and vulnerable, and generally act like a royal bitch?

Despite all that, I don’t want him to leave. It’s been nice, not being alone to deal with everything.

Setting the paper on the dresser, he peers at the door. “I really should . . .”

He really should get the hell away from me and Tucson, is what he’s thinking.

“Yeah. I have to head over to the hospital.”

His features soften. “Do you need a ride?”

“No, I’m going to sort out this room first.”

“And then what?”

“I don’t know. I’ll figure it out. I always do.”

“Okay.” He slides on a pair of aviator-style sunglasses. I feel his friendly blue eyes studying me from behind the mirrored lenses, and I instinctively cross my arms over my chest, though I doubt Noah’s into ogling poor, homeless girls with drug addict moms.

“So, I guess this is it?” Are we supposed to hug?

His face tenses. “Take care of yourself. You’ve got the money to find your mom a good rehab center. Make her go.”