Miles and Miles of You, page 13
“Oh, really?” She crosses her arms. “And when did this magnanimous desire to help come over you? When you realized I’m kicking your ass and you’re going to lose the bet?”
“This morning. When I realized you’re serious about becoming a travel influencer.” I roll my eyes, taking a page out of her book. If she thinks this means I’m giving up, she hasn’t been paying attention. “Is that really so hard to believe?”
She arches a brow but says nothing.
Fortunately, I know exactly how to push her buttons, because despite what Lucy believes, she’s got my undivided attention.
“If the Tently endorsement is any indication, you’ll still need a side hustle—like working at Triada—unless you want to spend the rest of your life eating beans and franks.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that any deal negotiated in the span of ten minutes over social media couldn’t have been that lucrative.”
And nothing she says is going to convince me otherwise.
“My platform is growing.” She reaches for her sneakers and slips them on, suddenly in a hurry to escape the confines of the tent. “More followers means more endorsement deals.”
“Exactly. And giving your followers a vested interest in So Savvy Traveler—just this once—will accelerate the process.”
“What’s in it for you?” she asks, unzipping the tent flap. “Why do you want my followers to choose our next destination?”
It’s a good question, but I’m not about to show my hand, so I just give her the hint of a smirk and a wink. “There’s only one way to find out.”
Chapter Nineteen
Lucy
Five days to Santa Monica
I never should have let Miles talk me into this. What the hell was I thinking letting the internet choose our next destination?
Everyone knows the web is full of trolls, bullies, and people who think they’re a lot funnier than they actually are.
Which is why we’re standing in front of a tacky little motel called The Love Shack, a pink-and-white mid-century monstrosity with a red neon heart on the sign.
Did I mention it also looks like the kind of place you can rent by the hour?
“No way.” The sun has nearly set, but the heat remains oppressive, and a bead of sweat forms between my breasts, sliding down my abdomen. “We cannot stay here.”
This is all Miles’s fault. If he hadn’t touched my face and said all those swoony things about my eyes, I would’ve been able to think rationally. And rational Lucy?
She definitely would not have agreed to this.
It’s not too late to make a run for it.
“Don’t even think about it.” Miles snakes an arm around my waist—because apparently he’s a mind reader now—holding me in place. “We have to stay.”
I whirl on him, prepared to plead my case. “Miles.”
“Lucy.” He stares down at me, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, and my lovesick heart skips a beat.
That smile is infuriating. Sexy. And I want nothing more than to erase it—with my lips.
Which is reason one hundred and ninety-eight on the list of reasons we can’t stay here.
“It’s a freaking love shack.” I point to the neon sign, just in case he missed it.
“Yeah, and it’s amazing.” He’s full-on smirking now. “I didn’t think places like this actually existed in real life.”
I huff out a breath. “All the more reason for us to leave.”
“Come on, Luce.” He releases his grip on my waist, but he must still think I’m a flight risk, because he takes my hand and pulls me toward the rental office where a shit ton of gnats are fluttering around the Open sign. “Your followers are going to eat this up.”
For the love of God, please let them be booked solid.
I quickly scan the parking lot and realize there’s a vehicle parked in front of each of the twelve white doors lining the building.
A sigh of relief escapes, and I quicken my pace.
The sooner we get the “bad news” from the clerk, the sooner I can shoot a sad-face video explaining the motel had no vacancies.
“You’re right,” I say, my feet a thousand times lighter. “I have to follow through or risk losing the trust of my fans. It’s just good business.”
“Exactly. As an influencer, your reputation is everything.”
I push the office door open, and an overhead bell jingles noisily. There’s an older man seated behind the desk. He’s watching TV, but he looks up, flashing a smile when we enter.
“Welcome to The Love Shack!” he says, slowly climbing to his feet. “What can I do for you folks?”
“We wanted to see if you had a room available, but the parking lot looked pretty full, so we totally understand if you’re booked up for the night.”
Miles coughs something that sounds like “you wish.”
“It’s your lucky day.” The clerk chuckles, a full belly laugh, and gestures to the pegboard on the wall behind the desk. There’s a single heart-shaped key ring hanging on the board. “I’ve only got one room left, so I’ll upgrade you to the honeymoon suite for free.”
My stomach drops. “I’m sorry. Did you say honeymoon suite?”
Surely not. I must’ve misunderstood. It’s probably the difference in accents. We’ve got our Texas drawl, and he’s got whatever accent New Mexico has and—
“Perfect,” Miles says, giving me that damn wink again. “After all, we’re on a strict budget.”
The clerk hands me a clipboard—because this place really is stuck in the fifties—and I fill out the paperwork while he and Miles chat about the weather.
When I return the clipboard, he swipes my credit card and hands me the red heart key chain. “The honeymoon suite is in the cottage around back. Very private.”
I force a smile. “Thank you.”
“Oh, and I almost forgot.” He holds up a finger, signaling for us to wait. He disappears through a door to the right, and when he returns, he’s holding a bottle of champagne. “Comes with the suite.”
“That’s very kind, but we couldn’t possibly accept.” Adding a bottle of bubbly to this train wreck is the last thing we need. “You’ve already given us a complimentary upgrade.”
He waves me off and hands the bottle to Miles, who accepts with a wide-ass grin. “Leave us a review, and we’ll call it an even trade.”
Oh, he’ll be getting a review all right.
Miles thanks him again, and we grab our things from the Airstream before heading around back to find our accommodations.
Like the rest of the property, the small cabin is pink stucco with white trim, and there’s a sign next to the door with the words Honeymoon Suite painted in black script.
“Remind me to never take marketing advice from you again,” I mutter, sliding the key into the lock. My pulse skitters, and I draw a fortifying breath as I turn the knob and push the door open.
A cold blast of air wafts out, raising goose bumps on my arms, and I freeze.
“Want me to carry you across the threshold?” Miles asks, voice ripe with amusement.
I give him the side-eye. “Don’t even think about it.”
He leans forward, peeking into the dark room. “I wonder how many couples have honeymooned here.”
“I’d rather not know.”
Some things are just better left a mystery.
“I could shoot a video,” he offers. “You know, film your reaction as we go in.”
“Hard pass.” Something tells me I’m going to need a minute to get my face camera-ready. And that’s saying something, given I’ve posted pics with sweat-damp hair, bedhead, and smudged makeup over the past week. “Let’s just see what we’re dealing with first.”
He chuckles. “You make it sound like we’re about to enter the Bates Motel.”
“Bite your tongue.”
I feel along the doorjamb for the light switch and flick it on.
A soft glow illuminates the suite, which is one big open-concept room. I’ve never seen so much red in my life. It’s everywhere. The drapes. The couch. Even the freaking carpet. It’s like Cupid designed the place himself.
It’s a whole mood.
“Holy shit.” Miles lets out a low whistle. “It’s like a seventies porno.”
“And just how would you know that?” I ask, immediately regretting the question. “Never mind.” I throw a hand up. “Don’t answer that.”
My gaze settles on the heart-shaped bed with its red satin comforter and matching canopy. Above it, my own shocked face stares back at me, reflected tenfold in the mirrored panels that line the wall above the headboard.
“Five bucks says the ceiling is mirrored, too.”
No way I’m taking that bet.
My throat tightens as anxiety takes hold.
I cannot spend the night with Miles in this absurd love nest. It’s too much. But if I don’t follow through, my career as an influencer will be over before it even gets started.
Because if I bail, there’s a good chance my followers will do the same.
Or worse, they’ll drag me for being a lying liar.
I draw a slow breath and release it as Miles moves to the couch and drops our bags.
“It could be worse,” he finally says.
“Could it, though? Because I’ve got to be honest, I have my doubts.”
“It could have roaches. Or bed bugs. Or—”
“Stop!” I don’t want to know what’s worse than bed bugs. Just the thought has a shudder racking my spine.
He grins. “It has a hot tub.”
True. But like everything else in this room, it’s cringe. Honestly, who needs a red heart-shaped hot tub?
“And the folded towel animals on the bed are welcoming.”
The white towels are folded to look like two swans kissing, their necks forming the shape of a heart.
“At least they’re not red.” I sigh and drag the back of my hand across my forehead. “You’re right. We shouldn’t panic. I’m sure we can stage a few decent pics.”
Ones that don’t suggest we’re living our best lives in a tacky no-tell motel.
“Let’s get this over with.”
“What’s the rush?” He holds up the bottle of champagne. I’m no connoisseur, but even I can tell it’s the cheap stuff. “You’ve been working your ass off. You deserve a night to relax.”
I shoot him a wry smile. “Where was this Miles when we were burning the candle at both ends before the last investor meeting?”
“Rumor has it his head was shoved so far up his ass he couldn’t see what was right in front of him.”
“Is that so?”
“It’s one theory.” He grins and moves to a small black wet bar where two champagne flutes sit next to an empty ice bucket.
“Do you think he’ll be making a return?”
I shouldn’t be asking. It won’t change anything.
But I have to know.
“Only time will tell.” He peels back the foil on the champagne and pops the cork. It explodes from the bottle and flies across the room, landing on the carpet as white foam spills onto the counter. “After all, talk is cheap.”
My stupid heart flutters, clearly reading too much into the words. It’s a luxury my brain can’t afford. Not if I want to get Miles out of my system once and for all.
He fills two glasses and offers me one.
I take it, nervous energy coiling low in my belly.
“What are we drinking to?” I ask, hating the way my voice warbles.
He lifts his flute, pinning me with a heated stare. “To the future.”
I echo the sentiment and then drain my glass in one long swallow.
The champagne fizz burns my throat going down, but it’s a welcome distraction from the temptation before me. Because if I know anything, it’s that I can’t allow myself to get sucked back into Miles’s orbit.
“It’s getting late.” I pull my phone from my back pocket. “We should probably get to it.”
He nods and, like the good sport he is, poses for several photos. When we’re done, I perch on the edge of the bed, scrolling through them. The one of Miles lying casually on the bed is the best, so I post it.
After all, he’s the one who said we should give my fans what they want.
The instant I post, the likes start coming in.
No surprise there.
It’s just like I said. Pretty people get all the love.
My phone vibrates, and a message from Gran pops up on the screen.
InstaGran: I hope you’re making the most of that sexy little honeymoon suite! Spill the tea, sis.
Spill the tea? Sis? I groan and flop back onto the bed. How is this my life? And when did it become a low-budget comedy?
“Hey, Luce.” Miles’s deep voice cuts through the silence. “I’m going to fire up the hot tub. You want to join?”
Yes.
I close my eyes. I don’t have a swimsuit, but I could wear my bra and panties. A nice, hot soak would be heaven right now. The perfect way to melt the tension coiled deep between my shoulder blades.
Stay strong, Lucy.
“No, I’m good.” Lie. “I’m tired, so I think I’m just going to crash.” Also a lie. “But don’t let that stop you. You should make the most of it.” Truth.
So much for two truths and a lie.
Who am I kidding? I’ve told more lies than I can count. But the biggest lie of all is the one I tell myself.
That I’m falling out of love with Miles.
Chapter Twenty
Miles
Soaking in the hot tub did wonders for my sore back and stiff neck, but it would’ve been far more satisfying if Lucy had agreed to join me. Just the thought of her sitting next to me in only her bra and panties has my cock hardening.
Which is why it’s a good thing she declined.
At least one of us can claim a lick of sense.
Lick? I can think of plenty of things I’d like to lick, starting with her luscious little—
Christ. I need to get out of this hot tub and into a cold shower before I do something incredibly stupid.
I towel off and duck into the bathroom to strip off my wet boxers.
Like the rest of the suite, the bathroom is an explosion of pink and red from the floor tiles to the sink. It’s completely over the top, but it was worth the price of entry just to see the look on Lucy’s face when she flipped the lights on.
For a second, I thought she was going to bolt.
Or stroke out.
Not that I blame her. I stayed at some real shitholes back in the day, but even I’ve never stayed at a place like The Love Shack.
My phone buzzes on the vanity, and I grab it, checking my messages.
It’s a group text from my brothers.
Nick: For fuck’s sake, please tell me you didn’t elope to Vegas?
Beck: Dude. If you were getting hitched, the least you could’ve done was invite us.
Nick: I swear to Christ you better not come back married…
Beck: What he means to say is, we wish you a long and happy marriage with [insert your new wife’s name here]
Nick: This isn’t a fucking joke! Where the hell are you?
Beck: Do you need Nick to send a prenup? You know how he feels about dotting his Is and crossing his Ts.
That’s what I get for sending them a picture of the hot tub. I should let them stew a while. The assholes deserve it.
They know I’d never elope. I’ve made it quite clear I’m not interested in marriage. And I sure as hell don’t plan to fall in love.
Nothing good can come from it.
Not for me.
A memory of my mom, bruised and battered, whispering the words “I love you” hovers at the edge of my consciousness, but I shove it aside.
I wring out my boxers and hang them over the side of the tub to dry. Then I slip on a clean pair of athletic shorts and shut the light off.
When I step out of the bathroom, the suite is dark save for a dim light over the bed. Lucy’s already sound asleep, wearing that damn T-shirt.
The one that’s been driving me wild since our first night in the camper.
If I didn’t know better, I’d think she’s doing it on purpose.
I start toward the couch and hesitate.
The bed is enormous. Far bigger than the sleeping bag. Hell, it’s bigger than the damn tent.
There’s plenty of room for two.
Moving slowly, I tiptoe to the bed and pull back the comforter, careful not to disturb Lucy. I slide in and nearly sigh with relief as I sink into the soft mattress, stretching my legs.
The instant my head hits the pillow, Lucy starts, scrambling to a sitting position.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she demands, clutching the blanket to her chest.
“Going to bed.”
“No way.” She shakes her head, and her hair spills over her shoulders in dark waves. “We are not sharing this bed.”
Not this again. “And where exactly do you expect me to sleep?”
“The couch.”
She doesn’t say it, but I’m pretty sure the obviously is implied.
“You mean the loveseat?” I stare pointedly at the tiny two-seater with its heart-shaped throw pillows. I’m six-two. There’s no way I’m sleeping on that thing. “You can’t seriously expect me to pass up an opportunity to sleep in an actual bed, even one shaped like a heart.”
“Fine.” She throws back the blanket. “I’ll sleep on the couch, then.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. There’s no reason we can’t share this bed.”
“I can think of a dozen reasons we shouldn’t share a bed,” she shoots back, crossing her arms.
