My Always One - Aleatha Romig Page 0,50

giggles. “I’m going to pee.”

Letting go of her wrists, I reach for her waist and roll until she’s on top of me. Somewhere during the tickling, giggling, and rolling, Sami’s long hair became loose and is now hanging down around my face, leaving us in our own tunnel.

“Thank you,” she says before leaving a kiss on my lips.

“Honey, I’ll take your laughter over tears any day.”

“I don’t know how you do it.”

“Do what?” I ask, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“How you can find me angry and sad and make it all go away.”

“I wish I could make it all go away, but I think you found the answer to that asinine invoice tiny-dick sent your parents. How about this weekend we take a trip to Holland?”

She nods as my cock remembers that Sami and I are more than friends.

We’re friends with benefits, and now that we’re awake and unclothed, it’s time for more benefits.

Sami

“Did you request Feliena’s Room?” Marshal asks for the third time during this thirty-minute drive.

“Yes, but on short notice, they couldn’t guarantee we’d get it. Honestly, we may not get a room at all. Besides, I’ve been thinking. How can we prove that we didn’t install cameras if we find them?”

“This isn’t about legal action against the bed and breakfast. It’s about confirming our suspicions.”

I stared out the window of Marshal’s car as we made our way into Holland. “You know, this is such a cute town. I hate that he has ruined it forever.”

Marshal’s hand comes down gently on my knee and squeezes. “Only if you let him.” As we brake at a stop sign, he looks both ways. “It’s been forever since I’ve been here.” He turns his sexy smile my way. “Do you remember coming here for field trips?”

“I do. I think my mom still has wooden shoes with all of our names on them, even Byron.”

“With the upturned toe.”

“Yes. If I remember, the shoe is made that way so you can walk. The wood doesn’t flex, so you kind of roll when you step.”

“See,” he says, “I told you that you’re smart. I’m an architect and I didn’t know about wooden shoes.”

“You better not make a bid to build the little old lady’s house.”

Marshal’s gaze narrows as he looks my way.

“You know...the little old lady who lived in a shoe.”

The car fills with his laughter. The sound washes over me like a warm shower. It’s so familiar and yet unexpectedly comfortable. I lay my head against the headrest as we approach the Centennial Inn. “Parking is behind the buildings, off Central Avenue between 12th and 13th.”

Marshal slows and turns into the parking lot, and as the tires bump over the joining of two uneven surfaces, my stomach drops. “Stop.”

Marshal hits his brakes and we both lunge forward, only to be stopped by our seat belts. “Well, fuck,” Marshal says. “Maybe that’s not his BMW.”

I shake my head. “No. It’s his.” My eyes go to the second floor of the clinic building. It’s the rectangular building behind the main old Victorian home. As I scan the windows, I feel the growing pressure as my heart thumps against my breastbone.

Marshal pulls his car next to Jackson’s BMW.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I ask. “We’re leaving.”

“Or we can go up to that room” —his chin lifts toward the clinic building— “and knock on the door, tell him exactly what we know, inform his companion that she’s most likely being photographed, and let him know if he so much as sends Paul and Jean a fucking Christmas card, you will take his photo collection to Fred Wilson.”

With each of his phrases, my eyes open wider. “Shit, you’ve thought this out.”

“You’ve said parts of that.” He reaches for my hand. “I just put it all together in a nice little concise package for you. But hey, honey, if you have a better blackmail in mind, forget mine and go with your gut.”

I inhale as I look up at the building before us. “My gut says run.”

“That’s not your gut.” He lifts my hand to his lips and brushes kisses over my knuckles. “It’s not. You are the girl who convinced me to sneak out of my house and walk around the cemetery after midnight. You were the one who took the beer from your refrigerator, and we shared it in the boathouse.”

That makes me smile. “The beer was warm and gross. I think I threw it up.” I tilt my head. “Now, the more recent memories