Inevitable Detour (Inevitability Book 1) by S.R. Grey

Author:S.R. Grey [Grey, S.R.]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Tags: New Adult/Romantic Suspense
Publisher: S.R. Grey Publications
Published: 2014-09-02T16:00:00+00:00

We find a place to stay for the night. It’s in the middle of nowhere, somewhere west of Santa Rosa. The tiny motel is adobe stucco. I like it, it’s cute.

Farren, who took over driving duties after my near spinout in the desert, pulls into a tiny gravel-and-sand parking lot. Dusk has descended and a blue neon cactus sign, suspended on a pole, flickers to life. The letters under the cactus spell out “Blue Cactus Inn.”

“This place is so quaint,” I muse. “It feels kind of special.”

Farren parks the Ferrari outside the motel office, and when he cuts the ignition, he turns to me and says, “I’m glad you like it.” He opens the driver’s-side door. “I’m going to run in and get us a room, okay?”

There’s a small store with a café attached across from the motel—the only other establishments in sight. Pointing to the tiny wooden structure, I say, “Do you want me to grab us something to drink?”

“Sure,” he replies, “that’d be great.”

I’m sure Farren is expecting me to buy soft drinks, but when I step into the store, I decide this night calls for a bottle of tequila. I grab some salt and a few limes, too.

“Having a party tonight, young lady?” the grizzled old man behind the counter asks when I place everything on the counter.

I’m not sure how to respond, until I see in his faded but sparkling blue eyes that he’s teasing. Smiling, I say, “Kind of.”

I don’t plan to get annihilated tonight, but I sort of long to cut loose. This whole day has been about pushing boundaries and feeling free. I want to keep that vibe going.

When I return to the room and start taking things out of the bag, Farren raises an eyebrow. “Tequila, Essa?” he chides playfully.

“I figured we needed to loosen you up,” I tease back.

“Be careful what you wish for,” he retorts.

A couple of hours later, we’re seated in the middle of the king-sized bed that takes up most of the space in our small motel room. I am cross-legged. I’ve showered and changed into a pair of running shorts and a racer-back tank.

Farren is facing me. He leans back against the headboard, his long legs stretched out in front of him. He’s wearing faded jeans and nothing else. I’m trying not to stare at his smooth chest, ripped abs, and the fine trail of dark hair that disappears into his unbuttoned jeans. Oh, but not staring is tough.

Sighing, I force myself to look away. I’ll get some of that later.

Raising the bottle of tequila, I declare, “Time for another shot.”

“Go for it, killer,” Farren replies.

“I meant for you,” I say.

I’m a little tipsy, but Farren appears to be barely affected by the alcohol he’s consumed. Plying him with more might make him open up. Sure, he’s been forthcoming, far more so than at the beginning of the trip, but I sense he’s holding something back, something big.

I pour him a shot, and then hand him the glass along with the saltshaker and a wedge of the lime we cut up earlier.

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