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He snatches the keys from the desk, and I pull my phone out of my purse to see three missed calls and texts from Stella, asking how things are going and when I’ll be back intown.
Me: Not until tomorrow. This is me officially calling in late. We’re stranded because of aflat.
My phone beeps secondslater.
Stella: Strandedwhere?
Me: Neverland, for all I know. I’d say thirty minutes from the auction. Doubt it’s on amap.
Stella: You need us to pick youup?
Me: No. Dallas got us to a motel. We’re okay for thenight.
My phone abruptlyrings.
“Hello?”
“You’re staying the night together?” she shrieks. “This is the best dayever.”
“You damn liar!” I hear Hudson yell in the background. “You told me the same thing last night when I made you orgasm four times in arow.”
“Ignore him,” she mutters. “Sooo …what are you guysdoing?”
“Dallas is raiding the vending machine, and I’m sitting on the bed. No excitement over here.” My response is along the lines ofpathetic.
“You can always make itexciting.”
I sigh. “I’m hanging upnow.”
“Call us if you change your mind and need aride.”
“I will. See youtomorrow.”
“Damn straight you will. I’ll be sitting on your doorstep, waiting to drag every detail out ofyou.”
As I’m ending the call, Dallas walks in with drinks in his hand and a duffel bag draped over his shoulder. He sets the cans on the desk to hold up the bag ondisplay.
“You didn’t take me up on my clothes offer earlier, but I keep my gym bag in my truck. You need something to sleepin?”
“Are they dirty or clean gym clothes?” Not that it matters. I’ll gladly sleep in anything that smells like him—dirty, bloody, stained, you nameit.
“Filthy. Dirty. Sweaty.” He chuckles, and I fake a horrified look. “I’mkidding.”
I blush at the thoughts running through my head. “Iknow.”
He drops the bag next to me on the bed and starts to rummage through it. “What’s your preference? Pants?Shorts?”
“Shorts,please.”
He holds up a pair of blue shorts with a red stripes down the sides. “These okay?” He pulls out a T-shirtnext.
“They’ll work.” I play with the fabric in my hand when he hands them to me. “I’ll go, uh … change in thebathroom.”
I’m getting my pervert on when I shut the door behind me and smell his shorts. Fresh linen. I never knew what that smell was until my mom bought me the scented candle for Christmas. It was my favorite scent until I got a whiff of Dallas’sfreshlinen.
Even with my growing stomach, I have to tie the drawstring tight around my waist to keep the shorts from falling to my ankles. I grab the shirt and contemplate taking off my bra. It’s usually the first thing I dispose of when I walk through the front door, but I’m notalone.
I unsnap it, snap it back, hesitate, and decide to leave it on. I pull the shirt over my head and pause to take in my reflection in the mirror before going back out. I grimace and smooth my hands over my hair. Rain turns it into a frizzymess.
