Pulse beating in my neck, I turn out the lights, then shuffle to the right side of the bed. Max doesn’t stir when I slip under the covers. Even with my back to him, I can feel his warmth, and again my body begs me to scoot closer to him.
Stay professional.
I fall asleep with that mantra echoing through my mind.
WARM LIGHT NUDGES ME from sleep. It thins the darkness behind my closed eyes, a gentle call back to consciousness. As my thoughts slowly climb out of the sluggishness of dreams, shock cuts sharp through my chest, kicking my pulse into overdrive. Gasping, I shove up onto my elbows, eyes foggy, mouth tasting like death. Sunshine filters through the part in the curtains on the other side of the motel room.
Mouth hanging open, I stare. The last time I slept through the whole night was before my curse. How...? A gentle weight on my back registers as the shock fades. I look down to find Max’s hand resting gently there. He squints up at me, removing it to cover a yawn.
“Sorry,” he says in a mutter. “You started whimpering and I thought it might help.”
“Thought what might help?” My words snap in my panic.
“Rubbing your back. I know I should’ve asked, but under the circumstances...” He shrugs a shoulder. “Sorry.”
Pulling my legs under me, I sit back on my heels and stare down at him. I slept through the night for the first time in years because Max rubbed my back when I started to wake up at midnight. Though a fairly innocent gesture, it’s also oddly intimate.
Embarrassed warmth floods my face, but a far stronger heat flames in my gut. “You rubbed my back to calm me down.”
Max shrugs again and his cheeks darken. “I thought it might be comforting.”
I mash the heels of my hands into my eyes. “Clearly it was. Um ... thanks. Thank you. I, uh, I’m going to go brush my teeth because ew.”
Scrambling out of the bed, I half-sprint, half-stumble to the bathroom. My whole body shakes as I lean against the counter, gasping. Desire swells to an absolute crescendo. It muddles my brain so bad my head swims and all the professionalism in me disintegrates.
“Get a hold of yourself, Fee,” I say in a whisper, glaring at my reflection. “You cannot maul him. He pet you like ... like a freaking cat. That’s not intimate. It’s something you do to a child having a nightmare. It was pity. Nothing more.”
This speech is complete and total B.S.
My skin flames as my imagination stirs up images of his hand on my back. Sensations ghost between my shoulder blades and down my spine. With a quiet growl, I crank the faucet and splash cold water on my face.
“Everything okay in there?” Max asks through the door.
“Be out in a minute.” I curl my toes into the cold tile, mentally cursing myself for the tremor in my voice, then force a painfully fake laugh. “Just not used to sleeping through the night like that. It’s got me off-kilter.”
That’s not a total lie, even if it does sound intensely lame. I focus all my powers of concentration on brushing my teeth, scrubbing with such ferocity my gums bleed a little, then change into my jeans and t-shirt. With a final scolding sneer at my reflection, I shove my toiletries into my backpack, then fling open the door.
My preplanned snappy comment dies before it even reaches my lips when I’m confronted with Max again. He grins and my professionalism pep-talk fades to the shadowy place at the back of my mind. The muscles just below my belly button coil up like live wires, burning with the same heat from before.
Smirking, Max crosses his arms, and leans against the doorframe, all swagger. “You sure you’re alright, mama?”
Face aflame, I grab my backpack, throw it over a shoulder, then march toward the door. “Never better. Ready to head to Houston?”
Max waves with a flourish. “Consider me your chariot. Though this time. Let’s make a few more pitstops for some water, huh?”
After we check out at the front, Max again takes my hand. New waves of pleasant goosebumps scatter across my skin at his touch. Soft and smooth, while at the same time firm, strong. I’m only able to enjoy it for a moment before that feeling like a rush of water closes over me.
I quickly lose count of the times we pause for Max to refuel. At each stop, as he guzzles sports drinks and the like, I eye customers with suspicion, certain that at any moment one of them is going to jump us. Apart from the occasional “howdy,” most folks ignore us.
I take over a few times, carrying Max as far as I can until my strength gives out. This only works so long as we have tree cover though. As the forests thin out, we’re forced to rely solely on Max’s water travel, which is much easier to do without calling attention to ourselves.
The ratio of purple LSU gear to maroon or orange Texas university gear shifts dramatically once we cross the border. While the gas stations contain ample cowboy hats, I don’t actually see too many of them on people’s heads. Wide swaths of pastureland full of grazing cows replace Louisiana swamps, massive state flags stream off the backs of pickup trucks, and the occasional slow moving tractor plods along the shoulder.
By the time we reach Houston, my nerves ache and my head pounds. We bamf back into solid form right in the middle of a small room with a cozy fireplace and mini kitchen. My mouth waters at the spicy sweet scent of BBQ and fries and coffee permeating the air.
Then my focus lands on
