And he was right. He walked into the bedroom after his turn in the bathroom and closed the plastic accordion door behind him. The space was just big enough for a double-sized mattress, one nightstand—not to be confused with a one-night stand—and a closet barely deep enough to hold two shirts. One, if it was fleece. The room was surrounded by long, horizontal windows covered in short, green curtains, and a modest amount of light came from a single-bulb lamp. A couple of faded quilts sat in a pile on top of dingy beige sheets, but Elaine was standing off to one side, staring at the bed like it was littered with roadkill.
“What’s the matter?” He kept his voice low.
She whispered back, frowning, not taking her eyes from the center of the mattress. “Do you have any idea how much DNA is in this bed right now?”
Grant smiled at her unease. He’d slept in virtually every possible condition, in dirt, on rocks, and in between stinky motel sheets that were far more infested than these were. This was nothing for him, but for her, it was obviously different. “It beats sleeping in the car. I didn’t want to tell you this, but I was getting a little nervous about being found.”
“Oh, I’m grateful. Don’t get me wrong. It’s just, things in here are a little . . . crusty.” She nudged one quilt with her index finger and then wiped it on her borrowed sweatpants.
God she was cute. “It’s the boogie-woogie room, Lane. In fact, I’ve heard rumors there are party favors in the drawers.”
Her eyebrow arched and she finally looked at him.
“Party favors?”
“In the drawer.” He nodded at the nightstand and her gaze snapped to it as if the thing might come to life and get its freak on all over her. He couldn’t resist. He stepped over and tugged open the drawer. An abundance of brightly colored foil wrappers glinted in the dim light, and an industrial-sized tube of KY jelly rolled forward.
“I’ll be damned,” Grant murmured. “I thought he was kidding.”
Elaine let out a slightly breathy chuckle, and he realized she was not nearly as traumatized as she’d first appeared. She reached into the drawer and plucked a white square packet from the pile. It looked like a wet wipe from a restaurant. She flipped it over. Then burst out laughing and handed it to Grant.
He squinted a little to read the label. “Sweet Sack Ball Swipes. Get fresh before you get fresh.” He smiled at Elaine. “That is marketing genius right here.”
“That is the tackiest thing ever.”
“I think it’s thoughtful, and it says right here it’s cinnamon scented. I wonder if it’s flavored too?” He smiled optimistically.
“It doesn’t matter. I’m not tasting it. I’m not even smelling it. Put it away.” She clasped her hands to prevent touching anything else.
There was no doubt in his mind she was serious, but she was smiling and he felt himself going rigid again—for about the tenth time since they’d climbed aboard that bus. She was adorable, and funny and sexy, and the way she’d gazed up at him and whispered, “I love that idea,” had nearly made him push her down on that sofa and kiss her senseless. He tossed the packet into the drawer and nudged it closed with his knee. “OK, but just so you know, I really want to kiss you again.”
She moved around, evading his arms. “No, you don’t. You’re drunk. You’re just imagining things.”
“Oh, trust me. I’m imagining all sorts of things.” Oh, God, he really was.
“Well, stop it, because it won’t do you any good. And check your phone, will you? I want to see if Melody has sent any updates.”
He pulled the phone from the pocket of his jacket, which had been hung to dry on a hook on the wall. He checked the screen.
“Two messages,” he said. “First one says PHONE IS STILL IN BENTLEY.” He moved his thumb over the screen. “And the second message says, PHONE IS STILL IN BENTLEY. WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU AND WHO THE FUCK IS GRANT? LOVE, MELODY. XOXO.”
He smiled at her, and she smiled back. “It’s too late to answer her now. I’ll call her tomorrow.”
He set the phone on the little shelf above the bed as she stared at the mattress once more.
“Which of these pillows do you suppose is the least nasty?” she asked, reaching down and spreading the quilts over the bed using just her thumbs and index fingers.
“No telling. But here.” He pulled off his shirt. “Put this around one. It’s not much, but it’s clean and smells like fabric softener. Apparently Reggie likes to wash shirts too.”
Elaine chuckled. “Won’t you be cold?”
He’d be lying next to her. No chance he’d be cold. In fact, he’d be lucky if he got any sleep at all. “I’ll be all right.” He slid under the blankets and sheet and patted the spot next to him.
She stared for a minute, and he sat back up. “Do you want me to go sleep on a bunk or the couch? Because I will if you ask me to.” Every speck of testosterone in his body was calling him a dumbass right now. What kind of moron offered to go sleep someplace else?