Page 4 of Boss Agreement

ADDISON

Son of a bitch.Jeffrey the clerk had been right. Every single room in the whole town was taken, each of them talking about this ridiculous Snake Tour of America. Now I’m sitting here shivering in my “dry” clothes with the heater on, feeling very much like a nearly drowned mouse.

The storm is only getting worse, and I can barely see through the downpour, so I can’t even just get on the highway and drive for another hour. That’s why I’m sitting in the freaking Neptune Motel parking lot at ten o’clock trying to convince myself that Phillip is not an axe-murderer.

Because the prospect of sleeping, or other things, in his bed is sounding better and better. “Fuck it,” I finally say. If I’m going to die to a serial killer, at least he’s hot.

I grab my laptop bag and backpack before sprinting across the pavement to room twenty-five. My heart is pounding out of my chest as I knock a little too quietly. I don’t know why I’m hesitant. Other than the whole serial killer possibility, of course.

Then the door opens, and he’s only wearing a pair of athletic shorts. Big surprise that he has rippling abs and pecs that look like they’re carved from stone. Part of me, the exhausted part, is tempted to reach out and just run my finger across them to see if they’re real or just some kind of optical illusion. “Did another room try to murder you?” he asks with only the slightest smile.

I look down at myself and realize that I really am just as wet as I was after the roof caved in on me. “The whole world is trying to murder me tonight…” I mutter, and I guess he hears it because he starts laughing.

“Well, come in out of the rain. I thought for sure that you’d found another place to stay.” He turns around and walks toward a cheap table with a chair still pulled out.

I get a look at his back, which is just as ripped as the front, and I decide that I definitely made the right decision coming back here. He offers me a seat and says, “I was about to open a beer. Do you want one?”

God, a beer would be nice. Maybe not as good as the boxed wine and sprite that we had in bulk back in college. Then again, maybe I shouldn’t take a drink from a complete stranger. That’s mistake number two of too many murder mysteries, and I already flew past mistake one by deciding to sleep with Phillip.

I should just accept that I’m going to end up in a basement somewhere being told to put the lotion on the skin.

“Let me open it,” I say, trying to get the best of both worlds.

Phillip gives me a side-eyed glance before going to the mini-fridge, which I’m kind of surprised still works. “Do you think I’m going to roofie you?”

With a shrug, I say. “I have very good kidneys according to my doctor. I’d like to keep them.”

He just laughs as he pulls two beers from the fridge. I look at the one he hands me and frown. “I’ve never even heard of this brand. Are you some kind of beer connoisseur who’s going to tell me to sniff it first?”

“Hints of raspberries in coffee,” he says with a straight face as he hands me a bottle opener.

I squint and try to imagine a beer with raspberries and coffee flavors. I’m not sure if I hate it or love it. “Are you being serious?”

He snickers and leans back in the chair, the legs lifting into the air just a little, and I’m reminded of my nana yelling at me when I used to do that as a kid. “I don’t know. Maybe you should sniff it.”

Bringing the beer to his lips, the smile never leaves them as he watches me. Screw it. I pop the cap and put the beer to my nose. Fucking raspberries in coffee, just like he said.

I really can’t believe it, and instead of responding to what I’d originally thought was sarcasm, I take a sip. Who buys beer that smells like raspberries and coffee? And what the hell does it actually taste like?

Phillip sets his beer down as I stare at him, the flavors washing over my tongue, and I just don’t have words. It’s thick and frothy and very “beer-y”, but at the same time, it’s creamy and stout and infused with raspberry coffee—which is a little strange to begin with.

“Not a bad stout, is it?” he asks, and I can hear the beer snob coming out in him. Yet, this time, I can’t quite come up with something sarcastic.

“I… Alright, this is definitely better than what I’m used to.”

There’s an air of confidence to this guy that I’m not accustomed to. He’s sitting there without a shirt on, drinking with a complete stranger, and the thing he’s worried about is whether I like my beer.

“Are you going to change or sleep in that?” he asks after another sip.

I look down at the soaking wet sweater and cringe. Underneath it is a tank top and bra that are dripping. I want to slap me from yesterday who packed everything except the one outfit and some sleep clothes. “Who cares how much of a troll I look like when I’m moving? I’ll just grab some new clothes when I get there…” Idiot.

The sleep clothes are also soaked completely, something Phillip has already seen. That leaves me with the only options being shivering all night or sleeping naked, which definitely isn’t happening.

“I don’t have any dry clothes, so this is it. Better to be wet in a bed than in the car, right?”

Phillip’s lip twitches, and I realize my mistake. “There are definite benefits to being wet in bed…”

“Are you twelve?”

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