Chapter 2 I Had That Under Control

The wheel on my Samsonite gives out exactly three feet inside the lobby of the Whispering Pines Motel, sending the suitcase tilting violently to the left. I catch it with a grunt as I drag the dead weight across the stained maroon carpet.

Behind the front desk, a woman with electric-blue hair and rhinestoned reading glasses looks up from a crossword puzzle.

“No parties,” she says sounding bored. “No sneaking extra guests through the back window. And if I hear a single bass line after midnight, you’re out on the highway without a refund.”

I blink, adjusting my grip on the handle. “Good evening to you too. I’m just checking in. The reservation is under Kingston.”

“I see the reservation, sweetie. I also see a kid who looks like she just ran away from home and expects six of her closest friends to pile into a double-queen room with three cases of cheap beer.” She taps a manicured finger against the laminate counter. “ID.”

I dig into my purse, pull out my driver’s license, and slide it across the desk. “I’m twenty-four and employed. I’m definitely not hosting a rager on a Tuesday night.”

She holds the plastic up to the light, squinting at my birth year before handing it back. “Fine. But the rule still stands. And no bringing men back from the lounge across the lot. I know your type. You get a little lonely on the road and suddenly some local grease monkey is tracking mud all over my clean sheets.”

The comment hits a very specific nerve, one cultivated by years of listening to my mother lecture on the inherent right of women to exist in public spaces without being policed by a motel clerk with a grudge.

“By my type, you mean a girl who expects basic courtesy from someone whose job depends on paying customers like myself?” I lean against the counter, offering her a sweet smile. “I’d like my room key now, please.”

The blue-haired woman scowls at me for a moment before she reaches behind her and slaps a plastic key card onto the counter. “Room one-fourteen. Around the back. Keep it quiet.”

“Delightful doing business with you,” I murmur, snatching the card.

When I get to my room, I drop my bag, collapse onto the stiff floral comforter, and stare up at the ceiling. I think about ReImaged, the creative agency where I work, and the massive autumn campaign I’m supposed to be designing while on this trip. Then my mind drifts to Riley and that ridiculous, alcohol-fueled bet.

One random hookup.

The idea feels entirely absurd in this dim room. I don’t do random. I’m the most organized proper person I know. Maybe I did deserve Marcus.

Then a rhythmic, buzzing hum catches my attention.

Outside the grime-streaked window, across the parking lot, a massive neon sign flickers in the darkness with the words The Rusty Nail written on it.

Beneath the sign, a handful of motorcycles are parked in a neat row. My rational mind tells me to lock the deadbolt and go to sleep, but there is a restless energy humming under my skin.

“Just one drink,” I whisper to the empty room. “To help me sleep.”

I change into a pair of fitted black jeans and a cropped knit top that shows just a hint of my cleavage. I run a brush through my dark hair, touch up my lipstick, and slide my pepper spray into my front pocket. Then I head out of the Motel.

As I push open the door of The Rusty Nail, the scent shifts to a thick mixture of whiskey, sawdust, and old cigarette smoke. A jukebox in the corner is lowing a classic rock track. I navigate the space, taking a stool at the far end of the counter.

“Hey,” I say, leaning slightly toward the broad-shouldered man sitting two stools down. “Can I get a gin and tonic?”

The man turns his head slowly, evaluating me with a pair of striking light hazel eyes holding a lazy arrogant amusement. He has black, messy curls that fall over his forehead and a light dusting of stubble along a very defined jawline.

“Do I look like I work here, babe?” He indicates his glass of dark amber liquid. “I don’t know about you… but where I’m from, the staff doesn’t drink the inventory on this side of the bar.”

“My mistake,” I say, feeling slightly embarrassed as I turn away, then I turn back. “And don’t call me babe.”

He lets out a soft, huffing laugh, turning his stool fully toward me. “An honest mistake. But you’re definitely not from around here. You have that look...”

“What look is that?”

“The kind that belongs in a place where the drinks cost at least twenty dollars,” he says. His eyes drop to my mouth, then down my body, lingering briefly on my cleavage. “Anyone ever tell you you look like a Barbie doll?”

“Oh, perfect. A promotion to a plastic toy,” I say with an eyeroll.

“It was a compliment,” he says, then takes a sip of his drink. “You have the personality of a Bratz though.”

“Ugh,” I huff. “You’re an asshole, you know that?”

“Frequently.” His smile widens to reveal a slight dimple. “But I’m a hot one.”

Then he winks at me.

“You listen here mis–”

Before I can fire back another insult, a heavy-set older man with an apron steps into the space between us. “Don’t let Arden bother you, miss. He lacks basic social skills. What can I get for you?”

“I can see that,” I say, cutting a glance toward the man – Arden. My eyes drop to the drink in front of him and I glance back at the bartender. “Give me whatever his favorite is.”

Arden raises an eyebrow, looking amused. The bartender pours a bourbon neat into a glass and slides it toward me. I pick it up, hold Arden’s gaze, and take a long swallow, letting the heat burn all the way down my throat without flinching.

“Impressive,” Arden murmurs. “Most girls your size order something that tastes like liquid candy.”

“Bet you’ve never seen a doll do that, huh,” I say, setting the glass down with a soft click. “Now fuck off.”

I turn back to my drink and completely ignore Arden.

A few minutes later, a heavy calloused hand suddenly drops onto the shoulder of my stool. I turn my head to find a tall, menacing man with a braided beard and a leather vest. His friend is standing right behind him, blocking my exit route.

“Well, look what drifted into the desert,” the man smiles with stained teeth as he looks down at me. “You look a little lost, pretty girl. Why don’t you let me and Duke buy you something sweeter than that medicine you’re choking down?”

“I’m fine, thank you,” I say, turning back to my drink.

Duke leans closer, his chest nearly brushing my arm. “Come on now don’t be like that. A girl like you shouldn’t be sitting by herself in a place like this. It’s dangerous.”

“I said no,” I repeat while sliding my hand silently into my front pocket, wrapping my fingers around the familiar cylinder of my pepper spray.

Before I can pull it out, Arden stands up, his entire demeanor shifting from lazy amusement to something cold and lethal.

“The lady said she’s fine,” Arden says, his voice drop-dead quiet. “And since you clearly have trouble with auditory processing, let me translate for you… It means move along.”

Duke glares at him. “This ain’t your business, Calder. Mind your own shop.”

“Everything in this room is my business if I have to look at your ugly face while I drink,” Arden says with a mocking smile. “Now go back to the pool table before you embarrass yourself in front of the tourists.”

Duke evaluates Arden’s broad frame, glances at his friend, and apparently decides the math doesn’t work out in his favor. He spits on the floor, mutters a curse, and shuffles back toward the darkness of the pool tables.

Arden watches them go before sliding back onto his stool, entirely unaffected by the confrontation.

“I had that under control,” I grumble, staring at my glass.

He lifts up an amused brow. “Did you now?”

I say nothing as I pull my hand out, setting the small pink canister of pepper spray directly on the bar between us.

He turns back to me, eyeing my hand, which is still resting on the canister's pump. “You can take your hand off the trigger, doll. The bad man is gone.”

“Call me that again and you’ll be on the receiving end of a chemical facial.”

“I don’t doubt it,” he says, looking at the canister with genuine amusement. “But it ruins the atmosphere. Let’s start over… My name's Arden Calder.”

“Ava,” I say, letting my guard drop just a fraction.

The bartender slides two fresh glasses of bourbon toward us, courtesy of the house, and within ten minutes, the tension completely melts away. Arden is surprisingly easy to talk to, his smart wit matching mine beat for beat. I learn that he’s twenty-six, a military veteran who spent four years overseas before returning to Bend to open a motorcycle restoration and repair shop.

“What about you, Ava?” he asks. “What do you do when you aren’t fighting off local bikers?”

“I throw parties for corporate entities,” I say, taking another sip of my drink. “Event marketing.”

“Control,” he repeats, a slow, knowing smile spreading across his lips. “Yeah, you look like a woman who likes to be in charge. Which makes me wonder why you’re sitting in a dive bar in Bend at midnight.”

“My friend Riley thinks I’m a serial monogamist who can’t handle a pure, no-strings-attached encounter,” I say, feeling the alcohol make me bolder. “She actually dared me to have a random hookup during my vacation.”

Arden lets out a low, deep laugh that vibrates through the space between us. He leans forward until his chest is inches from mine, the scent of him completely overwhelming my senses.

“Is that right?” he murmurs. Under the bar, his leg shifts, his knee sliding firmly between mine, creating a sudden friction-filled heat. “And what happens if you lose the bet?”

“I have to pay for a trip to Vegas,” I say, my voice dropping an octave as my heart rate begins to pick up.

My brain is screaming that this is too fast, too reckless, but my body is completely betraying me. The sheer attraction I feel for this man is unlike anything I experienced in six months with Marcus. It’s magnetic.

Arden looks down at my lips. “You know, Ava… if you want to go home alone, I’ll walk you across that parking lot and make sure you make it to your door safely. No harm, no foul.”

“And if I don’t want to go home alone?”

He smirks slightly, then leans in until his mouth is against the breath of my lips. “Then things are going to get very complicated for your friend’s bank account.”

The heat in my chest boils over and I reach out and wrap my fingers into the thick, messy curls at the back of his neck, and pull his face down to mine.

Our lips meet with a fierce, sudden hunger that knocks the breath clean out of my lungs. He tastes like bourbon and dark promises, his mouth opening against mine with a fierce, possessive confidence that makes my head spin. He groans softly into the kiss, his large hand sliding up to grip my waist, pulling my body flush against his stool.

From the back of the bar, a few of the bikers let out a loud, appreciative cheer. I pull back slightly, just enough to speak.

“My room is next door,” I say, my voice breathless but entirely certain.

Without replying, Arden stands, pulls me up together with him and crashes his lips against mine once more, eliciting another cheer from the bikers at the back of the bar.

We both turn and flip them off in perfect sync as we push open the heavy wooden door, stepping out into the cool night air with our bodies already burning for what comes next.