Dare to Resist (Wedding Dare, #0.5)(7)
“O’ course,” the man said, glancing at the television. “Except we don’t have any vacancies.”
She settled her purse and laptop bag on the counter. “You mean—”
“Booked,” the guy said, pointing at a long row of empty hooks on the wall above him. Colton hadn’t realized the significance of that emptiness when he’d checked in because it hadn’t mattered then. He glanced out the door and saw the blurred shapes and colors of cars parked here and there along the front of the building. And then he recalled the private who drove them here saying this motel represented the only accommodations in town. His stomach began the long, slow crawl into his shoes.
“There must be something you can do,” she said, the first real hint of being upset slipping into her voice.
“Wish there was,” he said.
Kady’s fists curled around the straps to her bags and she looked down as if collecting herself. “Okay,” she whispered, her shoulders rising and falling as if she’d taken a deep breath. “Thanks, anyway,” she said as she glanced up again. Grabbing her things, she slowly walked across the office. “Well…”
An idea came to mind, and as revolting as it was, it was miles better than the alternative. “Uh, sir?” Colton asked, approaching the counter. “Can you tell me what room my friend is in? Albert Beckstein?”
“Seven,” the man said, not looking away from the television.
Good to know security was rock-solid here. But at least they didn’t have to go knocking. “Come on,” he said to Kady as he hit the door.
“Wait. You’re gonna—”
“Bunk with Beckstein. Only reasonable solution,” he said, glad that the narrow sidewalk forced them to walk single file. That way he couldn’t see whatever expression she might be wearing right now. Because anything in the neighborhood of disappointment or disagreement might do very bad things to his self-control. And anything that resembled happiness would just make him pissed off. Not a fair reaction, since he’d been the one to shut them down—hard. But there it was all the same.
Toward the far end of the building, she came to a stop in front of the door marked number seven and turned to him.
Ah, motherf*cker. Her expression was part confused, part concerned, and the frown shaping those pretty red lips looked a helluva lot like disappointment to him.
Not letting his brain churn on what her reaction might mean, Colton knocked on the door. Being locked in a room with Albert freaking Beckstein would be a lot less painful than sharing the same space with the star of his darkest fantasies while not being able to touch her. That was for damn sure.
No answer. Colton knocked again.
Kady stepped closer. “Colton, we can just—”
Fist, meet door. This time the knock was more of a bang.
The door swung open. “What?” Beckstein said.
“I, uh…” Colton’s words trailed off as he noticed three things in quick succession. Beckstein’s pants were not fully secured. A bottle of what Colton guessed was lotion or something similar lay on the floor behind the guy. And a box of tissues and his open laptop lay near where pillows were propped against the headboard on the rumpled bed.
Holy mother of f*cking hell.
Colton’s stomach churned. It was one thing to jack off. It was another thing to jack off and not secure your shit before you opened a goddamned door. That was like, Puberty 101. Or Being a Guy 101. Or Basic Fucking Common Sense 101.
“I’m busy. What do you want?” Beckstein said, zipping himself.
Kady gripped Colton’s arm. “Nothing. We, uh, just wanted to tell you the diner over there is supposed to have good food,” she said as a sense of doom closed in over Colton.
Colton shook his head, rejecting what she was trying to do—namely, rescue him—even as he appreciated the gesture. But damnit, he’d faced down jumping out of airplanes and deadly insurgents and IEDs and living in a hot, sandy hell for months on end. He could damn well handle one disgusting, grating, but otherwise harmless computer nerd for a night.
Right. So get your ass in there before Kady convinces him—and more importantly you—that you didn’t come here for anything more than a restaurant recommendation.
Beckstein huffed. “Diner. Good. Yeah, yeah, got it.” His beady-eyed gaze bounced between the pair of them for another moment, and then he stepped back and closed the door in their faces.
And Colton was immediately saved from torture and damned to hell.
…
“I think I just threw up in my mouth,” Kady said, still kinda stunned. She tugged the lapels of Colton’s coat tighter around her, as if it could shield her from what’d just happened. Who the hell answered the door when they were in the middle of masturbating? And, if you had to answer the door, who didn’t hide every last scrap of evidence of said masturbation first??? Albert freaking Beckstein. That’s who. “Am I crazy, or did we just…was he just—”
“Yeah.” Colton scrubbed a hand over his face. “Never speak of this again.”
Kady chuckled and leaned her head against the thick bulge of Colton’s arm, making her realize she still had a death grip on his biceps from when she’d been trying to warn him away. Since touching him when she now had to share a room with him probably wasn’t the best idea, she let him go and stepped back. A flock of butterflies whipped through her belly. “Well, you dodged a bullet, Brooks,” she said, acting like she wasn’t nervous and excited and really freaking nervous. “Looks like you’re stuck with me.” She peered up at him from beneath her lashes…and tried not to get her feelings hurt that he didn’t look particularly happy about that fact. But, damn, if he thought rooming with her was worse than rooming with Beckstein, that didn’t say much about his opinion of her, did it?