The Great Escape (Wynette, Texas #7)(11)

She’d nearly forgotten what sex felt like. Three months ago, she’d told Ted she didn’t want them to sleep together again until their wedding night so it would be more special. Ted said he’d go along with them not sleeping together—as long as it didn’t interfere with their sex life. But in the end, he’d done as she’d asked with only a minimum of complaining. Now she wondered whether she’d put him off out of sentimentality or because her subconscious was sending her a message.

She took her things from the duffel. Panda kicked off his boots, carried the beer to his bed, and picked up the remote. “I hope they’ve got some porn.”

Her head shot up. “Tell me more about your life in prison.”

“Why?”

“Because … I’m interested,” she said in a rush. “I used to be a social worker.”

“I did my time,” he said. “I don’t believe in looking back.”

Surely he was lying. “Has … your prison record impeded your career goals?”

“Not so as you’d notice.” He flicked through the channels. Fortunately, the motel didn’t seem to offer porn—the cross on the wall might explain why—and he settled for NASCAR.

All day she’d been looking forward to a shower, but the idea of stripping naked behind that flimsy bathroom door with him on the other side wasn’t appealing. She grabbed her things anyway, carried them into the bathroom, and shot the flimsy lock.

She’d never appreciated a shower so much, despite her uneasiness over sharing a room with him. She shampooed her hair and brushed her teeth, reveling in the sensation of being clean again. Since she hadn’t thought to buy pajamas, she dressed in her new T-shirt and shorts, both of which fit her better than the clothes he’d bought for her. As she came out Panda shoved something in his pocket. “TV here sucks.” He flipped to a show about monster trucks.

I’m sure life without porn is challenging for a man with your vast intellect. “Sorry about that,” she said.

He scratched his chest and nodded.

He was exactly the kind of guy her biological mother would have gone for. Sandy had drunk too much, slept with too many men, and ended up dead when she was only a few years older than Lucy. They had the same green-flecked brown eyes, the same delicate features, and now the same irresponsibility.

She needed to prove to herself that wasn’t entirely true. “Could I use your phone?”

His eyes stayed glued to the monster truck rally as he leaned on one hip and pulled his phone out of the same pocket she’d seem him slip it into moments before. She took it from him. “Were you talking to someone?”

His eyes didn’t leave the screen. “What do you care?”

“Just wondering.”

“Ted.”

“You talked to Ted?”

He glanced up at her. “Figured the poor son of a bitch deserved to know you’re still alive.” His attention returned to the trucks. “Sorry to break the bad news, but he didn’t say anything about wanting you back.”

Her treacherous stomach did its customary death spiral at the thought of Ted, but if she started picturing what he was going through, she wouldn’t be able to function, not that she was functioning all that well now. And then another thought struck her. What if Panda was lying? What if he’d been calling the tabloids instead of Ted? Her story would bring him more money than he could make in a year. Years.

She itched to check the call record on his phone, but she couldn’t do it with him watching. The moment he went into the bathroom, she’d check. In the meantime, she had to let Meg know she was still alive, but when she started to carry the phone outside, Panda growled at her. “Stay here. Unless you don’t care about making friends with some of those characters I saw hanging around in the parking lot.”

“A problem decent hotels never seem to have,” she couldn’t help but point out.

“Wouldn’t know about that.”

She punched in Meg’s number and kept the call brief. “I’m fine.” “Not sure what I’m going to do.” “Rather not say.” “Tell my folks.” And finally, “I’ve got to go.”

Over the years, she and Meg had talked about so many things, but she couldn’t do that now. Fortunately, Meg seemed preoccupied and didn’t press.

It wasn’t even nine o’clock when she hung up. She had nothing to read. Nothing to do. When she’d returned from her honeymoon, she’d planned to start work on the writing project about Nealy that her father was spearheading, but she couldn’t concentrate on anything like that now, and she definitely couldn’t think about the lobbying work she intended to resume in the fall.

She moved to the far side of the unoccupied bed and pushed the pillows against the wobbly headboard. The truck show finally ended. She jumped as the springs squeaked next to her. Panda grabbed some of his things and disappeared into the bathroom. She got up to look for his phone but couldn’t find it. It must still be in his pocket.

The shower went on. She hadn’t noticed him buying pajamas either. Viper, the biker girl she wished she could be, would take something like that in stride, but the idea of a naked Panda made Lucy nervous.

Sleep offered an escape from her enforced confinement. She rearranged the covers and sandwiched her head between the pillows. As she told herself to go to sleep, she heard the bathroom door open. Once again, she thought about how much Sandy would have loved Panda. He was swarthy, surly, and dense. Guys like Panda explained how her mother had ended up with two daughters by different fathers.