Page 27 of Quietly Falling
His eyebrows practically fly into his hairline. “Can we?”
“Honestly, this is the least surprising thing to happen since this trip started.”
“I can sleep on the couch or the floor so you can have the bed and?—”
“Can we just get inside before you decide it’s better to just sleep in the truck and I have to drag you back to the room?”
His eyes widen and his lips part for only a second before his tongue peeks out to wet them.
“Sure.”
“Great.”
What is the matter with me? I’m either yelling at him or climbing into his lap. Is there no middle ground?
Stomping around the truck, I pull my jacket tighter around me as I grab my purse from the back, my overnight bag already slung over Bodhi’s shoulders.
“I can carry that, you know,” I huff as I hustle to catch up to him.
“Remember that little speech about dragging me back inside?”
“Yeah…”
“This is the same thing,” he says pointedly as he pushes the key into the lock of room 218, the light-blue door bright and cheery for the unexpected Tennessee weather.
My brows furrow as I follow him inside, the door slamming behind us with the wind, making me jump and Bodhi tense.
“Sorry,” I mumble, unzipping my coat and pushing it from my shoulders. “Are you hungry?”
The words are more of a nervous ask as I look around the room, a queen bed taking up the majority of the space with a small table and two chairs off to the side. The walls are painted an off-white color, and the bedding is blue and white.
Bold choice for a motel if you ask me, but it’s clean and it will do for the night.
“Uh, no. I’ll”—he swallows hard and it’s audible in the quiet room—“be fine. For now, I just need sleep. Might need something when I wake up though.”
Warmth pools between my legs at the thought ofsomethingbefore I shake some sense into my psyche.
Food.
He’s talking about food.
Obviously.
But that doesn’t stop my stomach from dipping with the anticipation that it might be something…else.
And God do I want thatelse.
But that’s not what he needs right now, as he seems frozen in place, holding our bags and staring at the bed.
“Hey,” I hum, taking my bag from him and setting it onto the floor. “What’s easier? Do you want me to stay? Or I can go and grab food and give you a chance to relax and then bring you a sandwich for later?”
“Ella?”
“Yeah?”
“I need you to stay.”
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