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“No, I got into a fight. You went out back with two guys intent on turning you into some kind of human sandwich filling, but you were out of it and not really aware, so I stopped them. Brought you here. I didn’t touch you.”
“I believe you.” He trusted Jackson implicitly. “I can’t believe someone drugged me. Ugh.”
“You told me you only drank club soda, so yeah. I didn’t report it to the bar manager yet, because I needed to ask you directly and while you were sober. Did you take anything last night before or after you got to the Tavern?”
“No. I mean, I smoked weed and did speed a few times in college, but I’m not really into that shit.” Wyatt scrubbed both hands over his face. “I’m glad you were there last night, man. I mean it.”
“I’m glad, too.” Jackson finally had mercy, stood and handed Wyatt the water.
He sipped, glad to get the stickiness out of his mouth. “Thanks.”
“No problem. Been taken advantage of a few times in my life, so I don’t like letting it happen to other people if I can stop it. Do you want me to call the Tavern and report this? I took pictures of the guys who were mauling you.”
“I don’t know. Will you get in trouble?”
“Dunno. I did hit them first without them threatening me, so they could probably press charges for assault. Worth it, though, to keep you safe.”
Wyatt’s heart skipped happily. “Then I don’t want to report it if you’ll get in trouble. What if we left an anonymous message or something so they can keep an eye out for the behavior?”
“We can do that.”
“Okay. Um, are you afraid of getting into trouble with the law? Because of your past?”
Jackson’s eyes narrowed. “Not afraid but I’d rather avoid police whenever possible. Don’t have a great track record with them. You?”
“I got a speeding ticket once, but I’ve never been arrested.”
“Keep it that way. Jail sucks but prison is worse.”
As curious as Wyatt was about that statement, Jackson’s expression clearly said to leave it alone. “You mind if I take a shower? I feel gross.” And not just because of the possible roofie. Guys whose faces he didn’t remember had been gropey last night and he wanted to wash the phantom hands away.
“Sure, help yourself. There’s a few clean towels under the sink.”
“Thanks.” It took Wyatt a minute and a bit of mental pep talking, but he finally got up and stumbled into the bathroom. Even in the bad light, he looked pale and had dark smudges under his eyes. If he remembered having a good time last night he might not have minded the hangover quite so much. He inspected his neck but didn’t see any hickeys so that was something.
The shower felt great. Jackson used basic Ivory soap, which fit what he knew about the older cowboy. He found the towels but no secret stash of dildos or other sex toys, just a box of condoms and bottle of lube. The discovery might have given Wyatt some fun ideas if he didn’t still feel like he might barf if he moved too fast. He made a face at himself in the mirror. Here he was, naked in the motel room of a guy he was attracted to and his body wouldn’t cooperate.
Fucking figures.
He also didn’t want to take advantage of Jackson’s kindness in saving his ass (probably very literally) last night. Wyatt could have woken up this morning in a very different situation.
He put his old clothes back on, glad they weren’t too smelly from body odor or cigarette smoke, and finger-combed his wet hair to fluff his curls out a bit so they didn’t dry in a big frizzy puff. He usually used a bit of styling gel to tame them but Jackson didn’t even have hair spray, just toothpaste, a toothbrush, and deodorant. Very, very basic guy.
Jackson was doing something on his phone when Wyatt left the bathroom, and he looked up. “How’s your stomach?”
“Okay.”
“Feel up to getting breakfast before I drive you back to your car?”
“Sure.” He might only order a dry pancake but it was more time with Jackson, and neither of them worked today. Thank fuck. “I’ll pay. It’s the least I can do.”
“Okay.”
Jackson collected their coats, and they headed for the truck. Instead of Weston, Jackson drove them to a truck stop on the main state road. It wasn’t a huge one like the big travel plazas Wyatt had stopped at on his trip across the state, but it had a few pumps, a small diner, and a convenience store that looked like it needed a good clean.
A young woman with pink streaks in her blond hair seated them in a sticky booth by a window that overlooked the gas pumps. “Coffee to start, Jackson?” she asked.
“Yep, thanks.”
