Page 89 of Hot Mess Express
I smirk. “Was she worth it?”
He staggers up to me like a zombie, clings to me to keep on his feet, then groans: “She’s a fuckin’ maniac. A total f-fuckin’ …” His eyes change as his mouth gives way to a dreamy smile. “… sexy …beautifulmaniac.”
“You’re something else,” I say through a chuckle, then push the dollar at the machine again. Rejected once more.
Pete grabs it out of my hand and starts flattening it outover his thigh, running it back and forth. “She’ssomething else. Unlike anyone I’ve ever met before. I’m kinda scared of her.”
“A little fear is healthy.”
He pops the smoothed bill into the vending machine. It works. Of course it does. “You catching feelings after all? Your problems all solved now? I said all you needed to do was bump his butt.”
“Pete, my guru.” I select the chips Anthony said he liked, then pull them out from the bottom when they drop. “Just let me know if I need to stop by a store and get some ass ointment for you tomorrow. That wasyourass getting spanked for the past hour, right? Anthony and I were taking bets. Been enjoying it this whole time.” Pete’s silence draws my attention. His face is flushed. “You realize our rooms are next to each other, right? Adjoining in fact.”
“Of course I did,” he blurts at once.
Of course he didn’t.
I give Pete a pat on the back. “You always did say you liked a kinky gal. Now you’ve got one who’ll chew you up, spit you out, roast you, spank you silly, and do just about everything you’ve ever dreamed … and probably more than you wanted, too.”
Pete gives me a look. Then he smirks and offers his fist. “And you got yourself a guy who keeps you on your toes, and hopefully knocks you off of them now and then, too.”
I grin and bump his fist with my own, then hand him another bill to work his magic with. “Snacks are on me, bud.”
When I return, I find Anthony passed out on top of the sheets, still naked after his shower, apparently unable to wait up. He’s on his stomach, his cute butt showing. I toss the chips onto the table and join him on the bed. He moans as I slip my arms around him, mumbling something I don’t catch. I pull him against my body and hold him tightly, snuggled and warm. It’s just a few minutes later when I realize what he mumbled:“Thanks for staying.”
20
ANTHONY
I’ve had countless Saturday mornings in this motel. Routine’s always the same. Wake up with a headache. Recall barely half the night. Juni sometimes wakes up on the floor, always rolling out of bed somehow during the night. Then we stumble across the street half-dressed to the diner around noon to enjoy a cheap breakfast.
This isn’t like those Saturdays.
I wake up exhilaratingly refreshed. Birds practically sing in my ears as I yawn, stretch, and rise from the bed like a sultan. And standing at the counter is Bridger, already awake and dressed, trying to figure out the coffee machine. He turns when he hears me stir. “Can’t for the life of me get this stubborn thing to work.”
“Don’t bother,” I tell him, wiping my eyes with the back of my fists. “There’s a place across the street that’ll do it for you.”
His forehead screws up in that cute way it does. Then he says, “Do they have French toast?”
Ten minutes later, we’re seated in a booth by the window at that diner across the street, and Bridger learns they do. Delicious French toast, at that. A sweet old lady in a purple apron who could be anyone’s grandma has already served us coffee and juice.
“Every weekend since you guys met?” he asks me after aslurp of his coffee.
“Just about,” I confirm.
“Friday night clubbing, Saturday morning stack of pancakes, Saturday night round two, then Sunday morning in time for Trey’s service?”
“Well, when I don’t gotta work,” I clarify. “Like last Saturday. Duncan needed a shift covered at the gas station last minute, and thank God he did ‘cause otherwise … well …” I chuckle, thinking about it. “Can’t believe it’s been just a week since we met.”
Bridger nods over his coffee. “Longest week of my life. You’ve been a downright menace to deal with.”
“Speak for yourself,” I throw right back with a laugh. He goes for another sip of coffee, smirking. I cross my arms on the table and lean in. “Fuckin’ glad I decided to put up with you, though. I’d go through it all again if I could have a repeat of last night.”
“Including the premature—?”
“There wasn’t anything premature about anything last night,” I cut him right off. “I nut when I intend to nut, and I intended to nut precisely when I nutted.”
Of course I say that entire sentence the moment after our nice aproned grandma has returned with our orders, not having seen her standing there. She sets down our plates in front of us, smiles sweetly, and says, “I didn’t quite catch that, hon. Did you say you’d like a side of nuts with your pancakes?”
