I blink out the window and see a small, squat building in front of us.
“Where are we?” I ask sleepily.
“Baker,” he says. “We’re staying here until morning.”
“What? But I need to get to Vegas.”
“Not past midnight you don’t. And I’d rather you get there alive.” He pulls into a parking space and kills the engine. Then he turns to face me. “I’m tired, Jamie. I was up all night before the wedding, and then throughout the party. I didn’t get much sleep after that, either,” he adds.
He looks at me, his expression cool. “I’m running on fumes, and I know you are, too. So we are staying here, and we are going to sleep.”
“Fine,” I say because what else is there to say?
As far as I can tell, this is the only motel in Baker, and it’s tiny. It’s also almost completely sold out, which I find surprising. There is only one room, and it has a king-size bed. When Ryan tells me this, I stoically nod my head. Secretly, though, I am worried. I ran because I believed it was the right choice—and because I am weak.
I am still weak, and simply having him nearby makes me weaker. I cannot remember ever being as affected by a man as I am by Ryan Hunter. And if he makes a move during the night, I’m not at all certain I will have the strength to say no.
Because the truth is, though I am certain that going back to Texas is the right thing, I regret the way I ran from him. I regret even more the nights I lost with him.
Maybe The Plan really is only about Texas. And maybe taking the memory of Ryan Hunter back with me would have made me stronger.
And maybe I’m pulling rationalizations out of my ass to justify sleeping with him in this tiny hotel.
Right. Best to just not go there.
The room is small and dingy and smells like old socks. There is a lumpy bed and a threadbare armchair.
I sit in the armchair.
Ryan doesn’t sit at all. Instead he paces, and I know him well enough to see that he is debating something. I presume it’s whether or not to yell at me.
I decide to dive in. I figure I owe him that much. “I’m sorry,” I say for about the four millionth time.
He sighs, then sits on the edge of the bed facing me. “Just tell me why. Because honestly, Jamie, I’m baffled. I thought we were having a good time. I know damn well that I was.”
“Me, too,” I say, my voice small but earnest.
“And I thought we’d reached an understanding. I thought I’d made it perfectly clear that I wasn’t going to be one of the men you tossed away. And I sure as hell thought that we were on the same page about you not simply sneaking away.”
“I fucked up,” I say. My breath shudders and I feel tears sting my eyes. “I didn’t want to hurt you. Or piss you off.”
“You managed both,” he says, and when I look at his face, I see something vulnerable in his eyes.
I open my mouth to say that I’m sorry again, but then I stay silent. I have said those empty words too many times already.
“Dammit, Jamie.” He sounds ripped up, and I force myself not to reach for him when he kneels down in front of me, his hands on my knees. “I want you, make no mistake. But if I can’t have you in my bed, I still want you in my life.”
My heart stutters. He’s speaking words of friendship, not just sex. Of a connection that’s more than just physical. It scares me—but even as I want to shrink away, I also can’t deny the little spark of hope that is now dancing inside me.
He reaches up and strokes my cheek. “I care about you,” he says. “And I thought—”
“What?” I’m breathless.
“I thought you felt the same.”