Page 8 of Rook

“I would.”

Rook’s brows shot up at that.

His gaze moved over me, brows pinched. “Why would a pretty thing like you settle for a fake marriage?”

“Because I have shit taste in men… and I could use a place to crash.”

Two truths.

To cover the one I wasn’t telling him.

“Where are you crashing now?”

My chin lifted slightly, refusing to be embarrassed by my situation. “The backseat of my car.”

“For how long?”

“A couple weeks. Well, months now, I guess.”

“Christ, babe.”

“I would say that it’s not as bad as it sounds, but it’s pretty awful. I’ve had this chronic crick in my neck since that first night. And, well, the creeps.”

“Creeps? Meaning men?”

“Unsolicited dick pics pale in comparison to the disgust of waking up to someone watching you with their dick in their hands.”

“You’re sleeping here tonight,” he declared, face twisted up at the mental image I’d burned into his mind.

“I know I’m supposed to turn that down, but I’m totally not going to.”

“Good. I don’t want you to. You can have my room.”

“You’re not gonna need it?”

“Nah.” Something in his face told me that, if it weren’t for me, he would use his room. But I wasn’t about to feel guilty about putting him out. He had a whole apartment to himself if he wanted to sleep in a bed. “Is the room furnished?”

“Come on. I’ll go show you.”

“Don’t you want to party?” I asked, waving my coffee out toward where the girls were dancing and the bikers were enjoying the show.

“It’ll be going all night.”

With that, he led me out of the kitchen and into the freight elevator.

The upstairs was the same size as the lower level, but cut up into bedrooms and hall baths.

I think, more so than anything, I was surprised how damn clean everything was.

I grew up in a clubhouse where it wasn’t just cobwebs or scattered clothes around, but used condoms and fucking meth spoons and needles all over the place.

This clubhouse seemed like someone ran a vacuum and mop several times a week.

“That’s my room,” Rook said, pointing toward a closed door. “So this is the bath you can use.” He reached inside, flicking on the light. “You good?” he asked, making me realize that weird whimpering sound that I thought was just in my soul had escaped from between my lips.

“Have you ever bathed in one of those public showers at rest stops?”

“Can’t say I have. They as bad as they sound?”

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