Page 22 of Biker's Tribute: Property of Bear

He grunts, which I assume he considers to be a response.

I tell myself that I won't fall asleep, but the jacket thrown over the blankets, and Ethan's large physical presence give my body a sense of safety that it really shouldn't be feeling considering the circumstances. It's enough safety that I fall asleep with the giant man's arm slung on top of me.

* * *

Eight

Ethan

Sun pours through the motel room window, oblivious to the wispy sheer fabric that passes as a curtain here. I would much rather be at a family place along the old Route 66 highway than here, but it's safe and we spent the entire night without me having to put a bullet in someone.

Amanda breathes too deeply to be awake. I don't move my arm off of her yet. She won't ever admit it, but she slid closer to me throughout the night to the point where I was forced to spoon her and cuddle her close to me.

I'm not the type to cuddle, but I gave her shoulder a kiss to keep her soothed and sleeping as she pushed her butt back against me and nuzzled in like she wasn't curled up next to a man she just called a racist. I don't care about my arm or the rest of my body falling asleep as long as I get to hold her this close, but the sunlight coming in through the window blinds me and reminds me that I can't lie in bed all day cuddling.

We have to get our asses in gear and get out of here -- which will be difficult to do without easy access to a vehicle.

My body shifts uncomfortably. This bed sucks. My ass nearly sends the damn thing to the floor beneath us. Amanda fell asleep quickly, which I expected. The tactic works on all women. They find the scent of my jacket soothing.

She believed my bullshit lie about my attraction to her, which made it easier for her to fall asleep, but I can't believe she didn't see right through me. They don't teach you everything at fancy therapist doctor school -- apparently.

Amanda makes a frustrated groan like a middle schooler who doesn't want to get to the school bus on time. She causes an annoying physical reaction in my chest that just makes me want to waste the entire morning when we really need to get our asses in gear.

"Wake up," I grunt. "You've slept long enough."

The tougher I act, the better she'll behave. I honestly don't have a plan for her once we get to New York City, or what I'll do with her while the Boston PD and the mob poke around her old office.

"No..." she whispers.

"Get up."

"Mal..."

"Who the fuck is Mal?"

I hate that I sound like a jealous boyfriend. She sighs, but doesn't answer the question.

"I'll get up."

We roll out of bed together. She turns to look at me and her eyes drop straight to my crotch.

"That thing woke me up, anyway."

Fuck. I hoped she hadn't noticed.

"I have to piss."

She rolls her eyes. "Yeah. Go do that."

"If you run for the door, it'll be hell."

"Whatever," she says. "My ass won't be running anywhere without coffee..."

She yawns again and plops down on the edge of the bed, seated, and bold enough to take my jacket to cover her shoulders. I don't stop her. She looks weirdly hot wearing it over her shoulders and I would much prefer she hold onto it than break for the door.

I take the fastest piss of my life and when I return, she's shaking the motel room coffee maker instead of running for the door.

"I'm sorry, but what is this?"

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