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He stepped around her, close enough for her to feel the heat coming off his skin. “It’s all yours.” He gestured to the bathroom.
She hurried inside and shut the door, the humid air scented with Roman’s shampoo or body wash—whatever it was. When she peeked in the shower, she saw that it was both. Why was she surprised that a guy like him would bring his own stuff? As for Shay, she would need to use the motel’s crappy shampoo—the bottles that were sitting untouched in the metal rack below the shower-head, promising dry, tangled hair. She grimaced.
Or…she could steal some of Roman’s. That was probably the better option; he did have a really good head of hair.
She was finishing up and about to wash her hands when she heard the door to the motel room open.
Oh no.
She rushed out into the room, now silent and empty with Roman’s departure. Cursing under her breath, she stuffed her bare feet into her shoes and sprinted out the door—
To find Roman standing right there. Sparking a cigarette.
“Who hurt you, pup?” His words were slightly muffled by the cigarette hanging from his mouth. He still didn’t have a shirt on, but at least he’d put on a pair of gray sweatpants. Shay tried not to let her eyes drift downward, to the sweats that would draw attention to something she definitely shouldn’t look at. But the effort it took not to look at that only caused her to notice more things about his upper half—the scars, the tattoos. There were a lot of both.
And a lot of muscle. His stomach was so defined, she swore there were muscles there that didn’t even exist in hellseher anatomy.
She blinked rapidly, her failure to answer his question suddenly occurring to her. “Pardon?”
He blew out a mouthful of smoke. “You are way too untrustworthy to not have abandonment issues.”
She crossed her arms. “Why aren’t you smoking inside?”
“I wanted some fresh air.”
She eyed the cigarette with amusement.
Roman ignored the pointed look. “I promised you five days,” he said, taking another drag. “This is day two. Better not waste it.”
She drifted toward the open door, blindly feeling for the threshold with her foot. “Don’t go anywhere,” she warned.
He stared out at the sunrise. “Time’s ticking.”
She went back inside and slammed the door.
The store where they’d stocked up on supplies last night—Everything but the Kitchen Sink, it was called—even had a tiny mom-and-pop diner tucked into a corner at the front of the building.
After skipping dinner last night, Shay was desperate for a proper meal, so she’d dragged Roman here as soon as she was finished getting ready. Her hair was freshly washed and dried, her body scented with the motel’s floral soap—not the best, but it was better than the sweat she could smell on herself yesterday.
Now, she sat across from Roman in one of five booths. He was staring at her in tense silence, and she was doing the same to him.
The only waitress on shift came to their table with a couple of ice waters, a cup of coffee for Shay, and a teapot and mug for Roman. After jotting down their orders, she left.
As soon as she was gone, the silence and the staring resumed.
Shay sipped her coffee. “Aren’t your eyes dry?”
Roman was staring really hard. “What?”
“You haven’t blinked in like five minutes.”
“I didn’t sleep last night, either.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t trust you.”
“Weren’t you just accusing me of having trust issues?” She took another sip of coffee, the liquid warming her empty stomach.
