Page 29 of Not Exactly a Small-Town Romance

“G-spot”? I assume they mean Grant. I really don’t want to know the origin of that nickname. At least, IthinkI don’t.

Heispretty.

“Nah.” His cheeks pink up adorably. “We’ll skip that one. Let’s go look at the bears.”

I have a feeling whatever this beaver is named is not going to be very female-friendly. There aren’t any women here.

I don’t feel uncomfortable right now, though, so I head for the front windows, my arm still tucked in Grant’s elbow.

“Who is this?” I ask when we arrive at the bear I first saw from the parking lot.

“Horndog.” His face gets pinker.

I pretend not to get it and point to the one on the other side of the front doors. “And that one?”

“Dick.” He’s gone beet red.

“I see.” I turn us away. “Thank you for that very educational tour. I should check in.” I release him. “Perhaps I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah, sure. We’ll be down here.”

I wonder where they’re refilling their beer. “Is there a restaurant?”

“There’s a bar through those swinging doors. They have burgers and chicken wings.”

Of course they do. “Great. That sounds good.”

“You want to have dinner, like, with me, maybe? No big deal, just down here?”

The room goes quiet. The man at the front desk pretends to sort through a drawer of plastic key cards.

I hesitate. Do I want to have a burger and beer with G-spot under the watchful gaze of Horndog and Dick?

It’s what I’m here for.

“Sure,” I say. “Is seven good?”

“Yeah,” he says. “See you at seven.”

He wanders back over to the circle of chairs by the fireplace. Several men reach out to give him high fives.

“G-spot’s gettin’ lucky tonight,” one of them says.

They’re not even trying to be subtle.

“Can I book a room?” I ask Watson, assuming that’s actually his name. They seem to like their nicknames here at the Pitchfork Lodge.

“Sure. How many nights?”

“Just the one.”

At that, the men burst out laughing. “Better make it a good one, G-spot. She’s a runner.”

I pass Watson my credit card, and he scans a key. “Second floor. Elevator’s busted. Stairs are behind this wall.” He aims his thumb behind him. “Right beyond Dick.”

Awesome. “Thanks.” I take my key and reach behind the desk to grab my pink bag. I’m glad that I didn’t roll in the larger luggage. It would have been a beast to get up the stairs. I avert my eyes from Dick the Bear as I pass by.

Once I’m in my room, fake-wood paneled and decorated with paintings of ducks, I flop back on the bed.

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