Page 48 of Kind of a Dirty Talker

Because I can’t stop thinking about Wes as more than a friend.

I can’t stop thinking about how much I’d like to kiss him again, yes, but it’s more than physical attraction. I’m every bit as drawn to his curious mind, playful spirit, and good heart as I am to his lips and incomparable dick.

Though the dick is incomparable.

And if we decide to stay in the world’s creepiest motel, I’ll be sleeping in the same bed, just a few feet away from it and the tempting man it’s attached to in just a few hours time…

Chapter 19

WESLEY

I want to talk more about kids and whether Tessa wants a family someday—whether that’s through adoption or an egg donor or some other means I haven’t thought of yet—but as usual, I’m getting way ahead of myself.

It’s hard not to with Tessa.

Every minute we spend together only confirms my belief that I don’t want to spend my minutes with anyone else. Not my romantic minutes, anyway. Before that first night in the woods, if you’d asked me if I believed in love at first sight, I would have rolled my eyes. I’d only been in love twice before and both times, the feelings came on slowly, gradually, a simmering pot that eventually came to a boil.

But the moment Tessa ran to me, her face streaked with tears, and I pulled her into my arms, I never wanted to let her go.

The past year and a half, being estranged from her and not knowing if she would ever even give me the chance to explain or apologize, has been pure hell. If I rush things, we might very well end up in the same place again. The fact that she trusted me with her private struggle is huge, but I still need to proceed with caution.

The last thing I want to do is scare her away.

Then you should probably get back on the road and find somewhere else to stay, the inner voice mutters as we step into the dimly lit office. This place was clearly designed to scare people.

“What’s that smell?” Tessa whispers, her nose wrinkling, “It’s like—”

“Vinegar and cloves!” a creaky feminine voice shouts from somewhere deeper in the cottage, behind the front desk and whatever room is concealed by the wall behind it. “Sorry! The smell is vinegar and cloves. I’m making pickles. Homemade sugar dills. They’re going to be delicious when they’re done, but you three won’t be here for that. People never stick around for more than a night or two. There’s just not enough to do around here. Though the trails are lovely in the summer. You should come back in the summer! And bring your ferret! Ferrets love a walk in the woods, though you can’t push them too far. Thirty minutes is usually enough, but they’re so small you can always carry them if you want to keep going. You could get a little sling, like the hippy moms put their babies in at the farmer’s market.”

“How is she seeing us?” I ask softly, glancing around the small office area, but unable to spot a camera.

Tessa shakes her head. “Or hearing us? I wasn’t loud, was I?”

“Sorry! I have exceptional hearing. Just my silly superhuman skill. And I can see you in the mirror there by the deer heads. I’ll be out to check you into your room in a minute.”

Tessa and I exchange another baffled glance before inching forward to peer into the mirror. But the only thing looking back at us is our own reflection.

“Just need to get this last batch out of the hot water bath,” the voice continues. “If you leave them in for more than twenty minutes, the cucumbers get mushy. My sister swears by twenty-five minutes, but she isn’t the Meyer sister with three blue ribbons from the county fair for her sugar dills, now, is she?”

Tessa bites her lip, shooting me a “should we run now or later?” look.

I shrug, answering her with my best “I’m not sure, but this person doesn’t seem dangerous, just strange” expression.

Before she can reply, a tiny woman with gray hair the same shade and texture as a used Brillo pad leaps out from the open doorway behind the desk. “You must be Tessa and Wesley!” she shouts, making us both flinch and Freya duck behind Tessa’s leg. Cackling at our obvious surprise, she bounces over to her ancient computer, pushing her thick glasses up her nose before punching the keys with one gnarled finger. “I thought so. You look like a Tessa and Wesley.” She glances up from her work, squinting. “Though I do think Wesleys are better when they’re blond.” She grins, baring large, white teeth, I’m guessing must be dentures. “But I’ve watched The Princess Bride too many times. Ever seen that movie?” She sighs, pushing on before either of us can answer, “As you wish… If I’d had a man say that to me, even once, I never would have let him out of my sight, even if he was just a farm boy.”

She resumes tapping at her keyboard. “Okay, one night, two humans, one precious ferret that I’m assuming is potty trained.” She looks up again, arching a thin white brow. “If she’s not potty trained, you should take steps to make sure she doesn’t make a mess in the room. I don’t like to charge people’s cards for damage, but I will if I have to. Gotta keep things tidy for the next guests. That’s how I got my reputation as the nicest place to stay in town, and I don’t intend to lose it.”

Willing my face not to reveal my thoughts about this being “the nicest place in town” I assure her, “She’s potty-trained and well-behaved.”

“As long as you aren’t threatening my welfare,” Tessa adds. “She’s very protective.”

The woman nods, grinning. “Oh, they are. My little Diana was the same way. Never met a bad guy she wouldn’t take on in my defense. One time a car full of addicts looking for drug money pulled in here with an eye to empty my cash register. Diana bit every last one of them right on the butt.” She cackles. “They ran out of here so fast one of them fell over the porch railing and into the horse trough. I had a trough out there back then for the horse people. We don’t get them around here anymore, though—too many cryptid encounters—so I took it out.” She hoots again, slapping the counter. “But man, did they look funny dripping wet and clutching at their backsides as they piled into that old car.”

“Cryptid encounters?” Tessa asks, her brows sliding up her forehead as she glances my way. She mouths, “Like Bigfoot?”

“Sure enough,” Mrs. Meyer says. “Got a few different kinds, but the Tommyknockers are the ones who really put the horse people off. Your average Sasquatch is a shy creature. It sees someone coming and runs off into the woods to hide, unless it’s a mama with a baby to protect, and she feels you’re getting too close to her little one. But Tommyknockers?” She shakes her head as she taps a button, sending the printer behind her jolting to life. “Those little monsters love to dig holes on the trails, cover them up with leaves, and wait for a horse to come by and break an ankle. It’s just cruel. My friend Zeke doesn’t think they realize how much damage they’re doing, but I’ve looked a Tommyknocker in the face more than once. Not a shred of empathy in their miserable little bodies.”

She fetches the paper from the printer and slaps it down on the counter with a big grin. “Now, who’s going to sign? Whoever it is, I’ll need your driver’s license and a credit card for the damage deposit. I saw you already paid for the room online, but gotta take a card just in case. Hope that’s okay.”

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