Knot So Lucky (Destination Love, #1)(13)
“Anyone want to try to beat that?” I shrug, boasting my win, “No? Cool.”
An incredulous huff that sounds a bit like a laugh leaves her body before she stands, stepping sideways just a little before she grabs my waist and stares up at me.
“Or are you full of shit?” I press. “Maybe you’re just one of those girls who’s all bark and no bite? Likes the chase but doesn’t wanna get caught.”
Her brows raise as she takes a step forward like a little badass, making the backs of my knees hit the seat so we’re forced to switch positions—now I’m sitting, and she’s trapping me in.
She licks her lips, and I don’t even pretend not to stare at her mouth.
“You think I won’t do it? Or that I’ll just cave and go home with you because you tried some wack-ass reverse psychology?” She laughs arrogantly, like she’s about to mic drop. “No. You’re full of shit. I’m a helluva poker player, Crew. And I’m calling your bluff. You want me, then dun-dun-duh-dunnn, playa.”
We’re staring at each other for what feels like forever. Yes, I threw down the gauntlet. But she’s also right. A part of me didn’t think she’d actually call my bluff. She winks, and that’s when the most dumbass decision I’ve ever made solidifies.
The bus kicks into action, rumbling back to start, so I turn my head, bellowing my words.
“Stop the bus. We’re getting married.”
five
“I’m pretty sure there’s still cum on my back from last night.”
eleanor
“Home sweet hepatitis,” I whisper to myself, walking the three steps from the curb to my motel door, avoiding the décor of cans and discarded strip club flyers in front of the building.
My hair’s hanging in my face, so I brush it away before digging into my purse for my key card. All the funny disposition I had before now vanished. Because the moment I hung up with my sister, the adrenaline from my walk of shame plummeted, and all I was left with was a hangover and the mystery filth coating my back.
A tired breath whooshes out as I shove the key card in, but it just beeps, and the little light goes from green to red. So, I jiggle the handle before trying again. But the same thing happens—green to red.
What the hell?
“Dude, I’m too tired for this shit,” I grumble, tilting my head back to the sky before I look back at the lock and try again…only to fucking fail.
“Fuck my life.”
On the upside, I’m staying in the shittiest motel in Vegas. This means I don’t have to walk down luxurious hallways or take gold elevators to the front desk. I can walk about twenty or so feet to the small coffin-sized lobby—that smells like hot dog water—where you can rent a room by the hour, day, or week.
A little bell dings as I open the lobby door, and I’m greeted by a middle-aged guy in a black soccer jersey sitting behind a counter.
He’s licking his fingers clean of whatever sauce is on his chicken wings. Eww, who eats wings at the crack of dawn? Eh, somehow, that seems on-brand for him.
Regardless, the smell makes my stomach gurgle.
He uses his shirt to wipe his licked hands as he lifts his chin to speak.
“Right. Room 17. I’ve been waiting for you.”
He’s got one of those Irish accents that’s hard to understand, like Brad Pitt in Snatched. Except he doesn’t look like Brad, and my attitude is the only snatch I’m introducing to him. I half roll my eyes, not at him, just over the moment as I answer.
“Yeah, my key card doesn’t work. Which you clearly already know. Are you guys having a problem or something?”
I gently toss it on the countertop, trying not to react as he clears his throat, hacking up too many sounds. Ewww.
“Allergies,” he offers, skating my key card across the cheap fake-wood laminate counter toward him.
All I can do is smile tightly because, for fuck’s sake, just get me the hell out of here and into my less gross room. The fact that I can think that should be considered a health violation.
“Here’s the thing, love,” he levels. “I can’t make you another key. It’s impossible.”
“Are you kidding me? How long will it take to get a new one?” I shoot out quickly, but he shakes his head as his words sink in.
What. The. Fuck.
“Your credit card declined. You birds chose to pay by the day. No cash, no room.”
Fuck. Fuckkkkk. We only did that in case we could get a better room.
I open my purse, running my hand through my hair. But all that’s in there is some Mentos, my ID, and a slot machine cash-out slip for $0.32. I left my debit card in my room and took cash with me last night.
Shit.
My chest begins rising and falling faster because what am I supposed to do? Call Millie? Call my sister? The bank? Oh fuck, the bank…they think this is fraud.
“Listen,” I rush out, hoping to negotiate. “All my stuff’s in the room. Just let me in, and I can change out the card. It probably declined because the bank thinks the charge is fraudulent—”
His face says no before he does.
“No. Can. Do. Call your bank. Clear it up. The room’s yours again.”
My shoulders sag as I let out a harsh breath, narrowing my eyes at him. I’m going to punch this dude in the fucking face.