Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 68716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
“You’re doing what you have to do,” I tell myself firmly. “You’re not failing. You’re surviving.”
The pep talk doesn’t quite land, but it keeps me from crying.
My fingers are going numb from the cold. I rub my hands together and dig my phone out once more. The booking app shows a little countdown clock now.
Plenty of time for him to get delayed, change his mind, cancel last-minute. If that happens, I’m screwed. The payout won’t go through. The power company will send a nice truck to flip the switch on me, and I’ll be boiling snow in a pot over the woodstove like a pioneer. Please don’t cancel I silently say over and over in my head.
I refresh my messages just to torture myself. No new notes. A. Brocato’s last communication was the short booking request.
I picture him as I slide into the driver’s seat—anonymous man, faceless. Could be anyone. A tired traveling nurse. A writer escaping noise to write their next bestseller. A guy on a business trip who hates chain hotels.
The who and the why they are here doesn’t matter. He’s a credit to my account and a set of footsteps on the cabin floor. This is my saving grace transaction. It won’t be the last either. I’m one catastrophe away from losing it all.
I turn the key in the ignition. The engine coughs, then catches with a familiar rattle. The heater wheezes to life, blowing out air that’s only slightly warmer than outside. It’ll get there.
As I cruise down the gravel drive, tires crunching, I glance once more at the cabin in the rearview mirror.
It looks small, but sturdy and full of light, the windows catching the last of the sun. From this distance, you’d never guess the electric company has it on a list. That the county’s eye is on its parcel number. That its owner is one missed paycheck away from losing it.
“Whatever angel watches over me, hold it together please,” I whisper under my breath as the cabin disappears behind a stand of trees. “Just a little longer.”
The road down the mountain is familiar and winding, one tight curve after another. I drive it slowly, tapping the brakes only as needed before each turn, my headlights washing over bare branches.
Halfway down, my phone chimes with another weather alert.
Frost Advisory: Temperatures tonight may dip below predicted lows in higher elevations.
I snort. “Of course they will,” I say to the open air in my car, because if there’s anything life has taught me lately, it’s that nothing ever goes exactly the way you plan.
I glance at the duffel in the rearview mirror, at the thin blue blanket peeking out of the zipper.
Upper thirties, the forecast had said.
Mild winter temps.
No snow expected.
Boom, now it’s a winter advisory, really? This is the story of my life, one unplanned problem after the next.
What will come next? The guest cancels… please no. I need this payout more than I need heat on this freezing winter night.
I tighten my grip on the steering wheel and keep driving toward the park, toward the dark lot and the backseat waiting to be my home for the night, and tell myself I’ll be fine.
I have to be.
Five
Stud
The dawn creeps weakly through my bedroom blinds, pale and cold, the early winter light stretching across the hardwood floor like it’s tired before it even gets started. I blink awake to the quiet tick of my bedside clock and the soft, rhythmic breathing of the woman lying half sprawled across my chest.
Jerri, Gina, Jeanie, what was her damn name?
No—Gina. Right. Gina.
Maybe.
Pretty little thing, twenty-something, dark hair spilling everywhere, her leg thrown over my thigh like she owns real estate there.
She doesn’t.
She never will.
I clear my throat once, low. “Time to get up.”
“Mmmph,” she mumbles, burrowing her nose into my shoulder. Her hand slides up my stomach, nails grazing skin. “You’re warm.”
“So is the sun,” I mutter, giving her hip a gentle tap. “Rise and shine.”
She groans and flops onto her back dramatically. The sheet pulls down just enough to make me look away out of sheer habit—not because I’m shy, but because I’m already mentally halfway out the door. Her tits were great for last night, today, I have shit to do that doesn’t involve fucking her again.
A man can enjoy a night without promising tomorrow. I’ve been clear about that.
She stretches like a cat, arms above her head, then rolls onto her stomach and smiles up at me, eyes glittering with mischief.
“Mornin’, handsome.”
“Morning,” I respond, neutral, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. My back cracks. My knees complain. Fifty-eight feels like sixty-eight some mornings.
She makes a soft, flirty little noise and pats the mattress beside her. “Come back here. I wasn’t done with you.”
Twisting my body I look back to her. “Yeah, you are.”