Page 31 of The (Maybe) Murderer Who Knocked Me Up

Guilt churns in my gut as I realize how devastated she’ll be that I’ve gone six years without telling her I put my paws on someone.

She sends a smiley emoji.Sure thing. See you in a bit.

Now I just need to get through the next hour of sitting in a car with Slade.

The pump stops, and I go through the motions of putting it back and screwing the lid back on the tank. In the corner of my eye, I see bright red letters spelling out the word MOTEL above the building next to the gas station. Damn it, I didn’t notice that was there. The possibilities flood my body with excitement. I have money. I could pay for a room. If Slade and I agreed the sex came with no strings attached, maybe it would be okay.

I feel a tell-tale wetness between my asscheeks. What is wrong with me?

I climb back into the Jeep. Slade watches me with obvious interest. His nostrils flare when I close the door. He can smell my slick.

“Quin,” he whispers.

Every inch of my body aches to touch him, to surrender to this need pulsing through my veins. This is madness. Just an hour ago I was afraid of Slade and what Sciff might have done to him. Now I’m throwing all caution to the wind to lock myself in a room with him?

“We can’t,” I say.

Slade’s whole body tenses. For a moment, I wonder if this is the moment I’ll see the violence in him surface. But he just turns away from me to look out the window.

Why do I feel disappointed? Did I want him to ravish me right here in the parking lot of the gas station?

Maybe. God, that’s messed up.

“There’s a motel next door,” I tell him.

His head jerks up—not to look at the motel, but at me. He stares at me with rapt attention, his body tense. I glance down at the bulge in the front of his jeans. He clearly wants me too.

“We’re both adults, right?” I say. “We could do it just this one time. Get it out of our system.”

He nods carefully. I think he’s holding his breath. We can’t spend another hour like this.

I start the car. For a moment, I consider driving away and trying to white knuckle it all the way to my moms’ house. For all I know, having sex with Slade will only make whatever unresolved connection we have worse. But the horrible truth is, I don’t care.

I’ve yearned for Slade for six whole years, and I don’t want to hold myself back anymore.

The motel parking lot is cracked and uneven, the lines designating the boundary of each parking space too faded to make out. I park a reasonable distance from a rusted truck and kill the engine. Slade watches me closely as I unbuckle my seatbelt and reach for the door.

“Do you want to do this?” I ask.

“Yes,” he says, but he still doesn’t move. “I just don’t have any money yet. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I was planning on paying.”

Besides, this motel won’t cost much if the rooms are anything like the parking lot.

Just before I climb out of the car, I open the center console and pull out the stash of condoms Aunt Emerald keeps there “just in case.” I was slightly annoyed when she told me about them, but now I’m grateful.

The last thing I need is another surprise pregnancy.

I slide a few condoms in my back pocket and join Slade outside. Now that we’re standing side-by-side, I have to crane my neck to look up at him. I remember when we were in high school, his size used to make me feel overwhelmed. Now everything about him makes me feel that way. My heart races as I realize how close we are to making love again. Or how close we are to having sex. This isn’t love.

Slade opens the door and steps aside for me to enter first. I brush past him and feel the warmth of his chest against my arm. My skin tingles from the contact.

An older man sits behind a tall counter in the office. The walls are covered in dark paneling, and the carpet is a dark green. This place certainly isn’t the Ritz. I approach his desk.

“We, uh, need a room.”

The man glances at me, then Slade. “For an hour or the night?”

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