Chewing her bottom lip, Nevada looked up at the cream-colored hotel, then blew a strand of hair out of her face and forced her legs to move toward the front door. If he wasn’t in there, okay, but at least she could say she tried. If she didn’t try, she would always wonder what-if.
Maybe he wouldn’t be there, and then she didn’t have to worry about talking to him. They were both obviously bad at conversing, but she’d been taught manners, and she felt obligated to say thank you in a meaningful, oatmeal-and-raisins type of way. It definitely wasn’t because he was rough, gruff, and didn’t seem to care about anything, nor because he had a sexy beard, which she hadn’t ever thought would be sexy before now. He looked like a lumberjack, all dressed in plaid with those big…sexy…muscles. And tattoos. Maybe he was covered in ink. She’d never been into bad boys, but then again, it wasn’t like anyone was knocking on the door to her Poontang Temple, so maybe she needed to cast her net out a little wider and consider bad boys and— Oh my gosh! No. This was a thank you, not a booty call. Focus.
She reached for the door, chickened out twice, then succeeded on the third try. Poontang was a gross word. Where had that come from? It was as close to a curse word as she said. Mom had raised her a lady and had beaten it into her head that ladies didn’t say words like that. Her mom would poop a literal brick if she knew Nevada had even thought the distasteful word.
Beardo had used the F word three times last night. She’d counted. He was bad.
And what did it say about her that she’d thought about his piercing blue eyes all night, or the way he’d felt all warm and dominant when he’d walked close to her, or the way he’d cradled that bacon like a little baby?
“Can I help you?” the woman at the front desk asked. Her name was Anita, even if it didn’t say it on a nametag. Nevada knew who she was, because she’d gone to school with her. Anita had been a senior when she was a freshman in high school. She’d escaped this place for a little while, and made a life in Atlanta, but ended up right back here. Everyone did. This place was like a sinkhole.
“H-hi. Ummm.” Think. “I’m looking for someone?”
“We don’t give out names here. It’s against policy.”
“Oh, that’s okay, I don’t even know his name.”
Anita’s dark eyebrows drew down. “Okaaay.”
“Um…he is about yay tall.” Nevada held her hand up a foot above her head. “And he has this epic beard. Muscles. Tattoos.” Her voice was going dreamy. Cut it out! Nevada cleared her throat and shuffled her feet nervously. “I baked him cookies. He kind of…saved me. My life. He saved my life maybe. I think. I’m not sure because I’m a little confused about how everything—”
“Don’t need your life story,” Anita muttered as she typed away on the computer. She hadn’t been that nice in high school either.
“R-right. Do you know what room number he is staying in?”
“I already told you it’s against policy to give out information.” Anita’s voice sounded so bored right now.
“Okay,” Nevada whispered. “Sorry. Thanks anyway.” She turned to leave but forced herself back around. “It’s just…I really wanted to tell him thank you.”
Anita rolled her head back on her shoulders, stared at the ceiling, and blew out a long, annoyed noise. And then leveled Nevada with narrowed eyes. “The description you gave…” she said slowly. “He’s probably the type of man who likes to shoot whiskey.”
Nevada frowned. “I beg your pardon?”
“He probably likes whiskey.” Anita jerked her head to the right. “Drinking. Drinks. He probably likes drinks.”
Baffled, Nevada stared at the riddle-filled woman.
“Oh, for chrissakes, he’s at the bar.”
Nevada jerked her attention to a small bar area on the other side of the sprawling great room. Sure enough, Beardo was there, and his icy blue eyes were trained right on her. Oooh, she wanted to run. Talking to Anita had been hard enough, but now she felt stupid and embarrassed. Heat was already creeping up her neck, and no doubt she would have cherry-red cheeks by the time she made it over to him.
And just as she’d convinced herself she should leave, Beardo shook his head in agitation and waved her over. Well, she really didn’t want to do this now if he was just going to be angry with her.
As she meandered over to him, he tossed back another shot of what really did look like whiskey, and then he set the tiny glass down too hard. It made a thunk sound that prickled her oversensitive ears and made her jump. He was too rough. And as she got close enough, she noticed his boots were muddy. Again. He had trailed the dried chunks of it all over the carpet. This guy was a mess. A hot, sexy mess.
“I came to say thank you,” she blurted out at the same time he asked, “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“Oh.” Nevada laughed nervously and couldn’t meet his eyes, which were staring directly and rudely right at her. She held the tin of cookies against her stomach as if that could stop the nervous flutters there.
“It ain’t Christmas yet,” he said in a deep, rumbling voice.
“I’m sorry?”
“What does that mean, you’re sorry? Sorry for what?”
“Oh, no, it just means what?”
His blond brows jacked up like two McDonalds arches. “Then why don’t you just say what?” He jammed a finger at the tin of cookies. “It’s got dolphins in Santa hats. It ain’t Christmas, so why are you carrying that around?”
“Oh! Right.” She gave another nervous laugh and shook her head at her stupidity. “Um, this is the only tin I have. I got it from this flea market for seventy-five cents. Actually, the lady who sold it to me had the whole set, but for some reason I just wanted this one. The others had wolverines and koalas and goldfish in little Santa hats and…” He was staring at her like she’d lost her mind so she explained, “I ramble when I’m nervous. And I don’t talk to a lot of people, so I’m kind of…bad…at this.”
The man gave a slow blink.
Nevada shoved the tin at him, eyes averted to the carpet again. “I made these because I think you beat up those guys because they were waiting for me outside Essie’s Pantry last night and my mom always told me the best way to thank someone is with an expensive gift but I can’t afford expensive stuff, and furthermore I’m pretty sure she just said that because she likes when my dad buys her sparkly things and I made oatmeal raisin, but you probably don’t even like that kind, but I make these best.” Nevada bit her bottom lip so she would stop rambling.
“I hate cookies.”
“Ha!” she blurted out, then clapped her hand over her mouth when her laugh echoed through the room. Her cheeks were on fire all the way to the tips of her ears.
“My hatred for cookies is funny?”
“Yes. No!” Nevada scrunched up her face. “A little? It’s just I called it when I was going over in my head how this conversation would go. Although…” She looked around to see if people were watching, but they weren’t. “It’s actually going worse than I imagined. And that hardly ever happens. Usually I think of the worst-case scenario, and then when it’s not so bad, I’m relieved.”