Eligible Receiver (Men of Fall #3)- S.R. Grey Page 0,23

don’t want to be out in this mess.”

“No, no we don’t,” Becca concurs.

I pull out my wallet so I can give the lady a credit card, which she runs through.

Becca offers to give me some cash to chip in for the cost, but I tell her, “Don’t be silly. I got this. Besides, you’re providing the food.” I nod to her jacket pocket, where she stashed the hearts.

She winks at me, murmuring, “Ah, yes. There is that.”

The motel lady finishes checking us in and hands me the room key, which is an actual metal key on a chain.

“I put you in room fourteen,” she says. “Once you go back out, turn left. Your unit is about halfway down the walkway.”

“Great, thanks,” I say, glancing down at the old-style key.

It’s not the red heart keychain that grabs my attention, though that does stand out. Still, no, it’s the observation that we’re in room fourteen that has me shaking my head.

The Valentine’s Day reminders continue.

When I tune back in, the motel lady is informing us that there are vending machines on the other side of the motel, and that she keeps them fully stocked.

“Guess we’ll have more than just candy hearts to sustain us after all,” Becca says quietly, leaning into me.

Softly, I agree, “Yeah, it looks that way.”

Her closeness doesn’t go unnoticed. There’s a hitch in my throat and a longing to wrap my arm around her shoulders.

But I keep it together and just say, “We better go to our room. It sounds like it’s getting worse out there.”

And it does.

The pounding on the roof is picking up in intensity.

Since Becca and I don’t have luggage to retrieve, we head straight to room number fourteen.

I’m expecting a lot of pink and red inside, a continuation of the “love” theme, to remind us of Valentine’s Day. But when we turn on the light, we discover there’s an even bigger problem.

“Uh oh,” Becca says. “There’s only one bed.”

“And it’s covered in pink satin sheets and shaped like a fucking heart,” I blurt out. “You have got to be kidding me.”

Misunderstanding my frustration, she turns to me and says softly, “I can stay on my side, Lars. I promise.”

It’s not her I’m worried about.

“No.” I shake my head. “I’ll just sleep on the floor. You take the bed.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” She frowns as she peers down at the threadbare faded red carpeting. “This floor looks really uncomfortable. Just sleep in the bed with me.”

“Becca…”

Giving me a stern look, she says, “Lars, stop. We got this. We’re not children.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of.”

Can we really spend the whole night in a bed together with nothing happening?

A bed that’s heart-shaped and covered in pink satin.

In a motel named The Love Nest.

One thing for sure, this is shaping up to be our biggest challenge yet.

Temptation

Hmm, this should be interesting… and definitely not easy.

Lars and I have to sleep in a heart-shaped bed, surrounded by themes of love and reminders of our Valentine’s Day make-out session. The one we’re not supposed to allow happen again.

How am I supposed to stay strong?

Do I even want to anymore?

I can’t help but think how much fun it’d be to let go and give in to my feelings, especially now that Lars and I have an actual friendship. There’s not just a strong attraction between us, there’s a growing need for more—a very palpable need.

Even though we don’t discuss it, it’s there.

Yes, how many times have I found myself checking out his firm ass, admiring his broad shoulders and wide chest, and drooling over his defined muscles?

The answer is a lot.

I haven’t even gotten to Lars’s face, which is so nice to look at.

I peer over at his full lips now, remembering how they felt pressed to mine.

So good, so very good. Soft, yet firm and forceful.

Gah!

I tell Lars that “we got this,” but do we?

I hope he does, because my resolve is definitely crumbling.

Maybe it’s because of all these hearts everywhere?

Or maybe it’s due to the love theme in general?

It could also be that Lars and I had such a fun day, despite the freezing rain ruining our plans.

I don’t know.

Maybe this is better.

Maybe this is meant to be.

Should I keep denying that I freaking want him to hold me in his arms?

Or, more precisely, that I want him to hold me down on this stupid heart-shaped bed and touch me like I know he can.

I’m tired of kidding myself.

What I want is for him to fu—

“Becca? Becca, are you