Chapter Two

Fiona

We don't get a lot of guests at Side Street Motel, and even when we do, they're boring or annoying. I see families with kids who are overtired from hours in the car, crying from exhaustion or jumping on the ancient furniture in the lobby. Worse than them are the men that show up with a woman who they aren't married to. Or the ones that show up, clearly irritated at being kicked out of their home after a lovers' spat.

Noah is by far the most interesting person that's walked through the doors. He looked devilishly good, almost dangerously so. His hair buzzed and his chocolate brown eyes direct contradictions to each other. The exterior of him seems tough, impenetrable, but when I looked into his eyes, I could tell there was something soft underneath. I can't help but want to unearth that, get to the center of him.

He didn't come right out and say it, but it was easy to gather that he's a biker who travels the country on his own. It seems like he's a lone wolf type, not mentioning any friends or family during our conversation – though, I suppose there wasn't much of a reason for him to do that. Either way, I'm compelled by the life he lives. It sounds like a dream, and I'd love to do the same. I'm not really sure if I'd be the kind of girl to ride around on a motorcycle, but I can't say that the idea isn't appealing.

I'm finishing up my shift, running the reports and getting everything in order for my relief, when Noah makes an appearance. He looks much the same as he did earlier, his hands in the pockets of his black leather jacket. I give him a smile before glancing down at my work – I think I've done enough. The next girl should be able to figure everything out from here.

"How's the room?" I ask as he approaches the desk. "Is it everything you hoped it'd be?"

"Well, it is one of the nicer motel rooms I've stayed in," he says thoughtfully. "It's a far cry from the Hilton, though."

"Ah, yeah," I giggle, unable to picture him in a fancy hotel. "I don't think this place has been renovated since the seventies."

"That tracks," he says as he runs a hand over his short hair.

"So," I say after a moment, unsure of the reason for his visit, "is there anything I can help you with?"

"You mentioned a restaurant earlier," he says nonchalantly. "I was wondering if you could show me when you get off work."

The side of my mouth quirks up at his divine timing. "I'd love to. I've only got another twenty minutes until my shift finishes. I can drive us over then."

"Perfect," he says, pulling his phone out of his pocket. "I have a call to make. I'll be right outside."

"And I'll be right here," I reply as he walks out of the door with his phone held up to his ear.

The next twenty minutes seem to crawl by. I finish the work that I was planning on leaving for my replacement. Then, when I have nothing else related to my job to do, I set my phone on my desk and use the front camera as a mirror to fix my hair and touch up my mascara. I'm not sure why I'm so concerned with how I look, it's not like Noah hasn't already seen me. Still, I want to impress him.

I don't have a lot of experience with men. When other girls my age started to show interest in boys, I got myself a job. It was essential. Having a single mother meant that our funds were limited. The only way I was going to get myself a leg up in the world was if I found myself a steady stream of income. I was so occupied with work and school that I didn't have a chance to entertain any of my fleeting teenage crushes. At twenty-one, I haven't even had my first kiss.

I'm drawn out of my thoughts by my coworker arriving and giving me a smile. We exchange a few pleasantries while I clock out. Then, I grab my bag and meet Noah right outside the door. His phone call has ended, and he's taking in the surroundings.

"Ready to go?" he asks, glancing over at me with those disarming eyes.

"Yep," I confirm, ignoring the butterflies in my stomach.

We walk to my car, a description not necessary considering that there are only two vehicles in the parking lot and he watched my coworker arrive. I unlock the doors, and as we get in, he admires the clean interior. I glance over at him and cock an eyebrow.

"What?"

"Nothing," Noah says, shaking his head. "It's pristine in here."

"It's the only thing that's mine," I say with a shrug as we pull out of the parking lot. "Figured I might as well take a little pride in it."

"Smart girl," he says with a grin. "The way we keep our vehicles is a reflection of ourselves."

"Maybe for us," I laugh. "There are definitely some people who just use their cars to get from point a to point b."

"People like us?" he asks, sounding like he's smirking.

I take a deep breath, doing my best to keep from floundering for an answer. "People whose means of transportation are their safe place. You know, the only place that's actually your own. Keep up, Noah."

That makes him laugh, and something triumphant flares in my stomach. Talking with him feels like a verbal sparring match. I'm determined to win.

"Alright, I see your point," he concedes. Then, he sighs and says, "So how far out is this restaurant?"

"Just a turn away," I say as I take the aforementioned turn. "There."

"Here?" he says skeptically, leaning forward to get a better look at the place. "It's deserted."

"Most people have already eaten," I say with a shrug as I pull into a parking spot. "We're probably the last customers they'll have for the evening."

He hums, getting out of the car. True to my word, when we get inside, we're the only diners there. The host lets us pick our table, and a server comes over to us immediately. When she comes back with our drink orders, we order our meals and are left blissfully alone.

"So," I say after taking a sip of my soda, "you've been riding your motorcycle all over the country, right? What's your favorite place you've seen?"

A charming smile settles on his face as he no doubt runs through all of the places he's been. After a beat, he says, "I think Montana might be my favorite state. There aren't a lot of people, and there's plenty of natural beauty to be seen."

"I've never been," I say, drumming my fingers against the table. "I'd love to go, though. It'd be nice to spend some time in nature."

"It's therapeutic," he says fondly. "Riding a bike out in all that natural beauty is good for the soul."

"I wouldn't know," I admit, feeling myself blush for some inexplicable reason. "I've never ridden on a motorcycle."

"Seriously?" he asks, tilting his head and frowning slightly. "We could fix that if you wanted."

"Huh?"

"When the mechanic fixes my bike, I'll take you out," Noah says, leaning back in his seat, his mind made up. It's not like I was planning on objecting, though.

"I'd love that," I say, the blush on my cheeks burning even hotter. Just the thought of sitting behind him with my arms wrapped around his middle, holding on tight as we speed down dark roads is enough to make my whole body feel like it's on fire.

"I would, too," he says, his eyes flitting to our server who's walking over with her hands full. "Looks like our food's here already."

"One of the perks of being the only people here," I say with a smirk. "The service is fast."

"That it is," he replies, smiling at the woman as she drops our plates in front of us.

While we devour our meals, Noah tells me more about his travels. I'm most interested in seeing the western states. They seem like a completely different world despite being within driving distance. Noah tells me about Las Vegas and the deserts of New Mexico, and I hang onto every word. By the time our plates are cleared, I can't help but feel a little disappointed that our meal is coming to an end.

"We should probably head out of here," I say begrudgingly, glancing at the staff members performing their closing duties. "I don't want to keep them here."

"We probably should," Noah sighs, digging some cash out of his wallet – much more than our meals were worth – and tossing it onto the table. "This was much better than I expected it to be."

"What were you expecting?" I ask as we leave the restaurant.

"Tasteless cheap slop," he replies without a hint of joking, opening the passengers' door when I unlock the car.

"I take it that's a common occurrence when you're out on the road," I say, pulling out of the parking lot and heading back toward the motel.

"Unfortunately," he says. "That doesn't mean there aren't places that surprise me, though. I ate at this little run-down place in Nebraska that I didn't have high hopes for a few years ago. Now I make it a point to swing by any time I'm remotely close to it."

"It was that good?" I reply, glancing over at him and feeling my breath catch in my throat. He's strikingly handsome in the low light.

"It was," he confirms. "Maybe when you're going on your own tour of the country you'll have the chance to check it out."

"I hope so," I say, slowing down as I pull up to the motel. "Thanks for dinner."

"Thanks for driving," Noah says as he gets out of the car. He leans down before he closes the door and says, "Have a good night, Fiona. Get home safe."

"I will," I promise, watching him as he heads to his door, the sound of my name in his mouth bouncing around in my head.

Chapter Three

Noah

I wake up early, as usual. Some habits die hard, like the one drilled into me by the military: rise with the sun, ready to go. But this morning, I'm restless. I can't get her out of my head. Fiona.

I slide out of the bed in the motel room that feels like it's straight out of a time capsule from the seventies. The sheets are thin, the walls are yellowed, and the air smells faintly of mildew and stale smoke. None of that bothers me, though. What bothers me is the way I can't stop thinking about a girl half my age. Jesus Christ, what the hell is wrong with me?

After a quick shower, I throw on my worn jeans and my leather jacket. I could've kept the jacket off—it's not cold out—but it's like a second skin. Plus, it gives me something to do with my hands, stuffing them in the pockets when I need to stop fidgeting.

I head down to the motel office. I tell myself it's just for the coffee, but we both know that's bullshit. I'm hoping Fiona's working the desk. When I step inside, though, it's not her. Just some older woman with a face like she's been sucking on lemons her whole life. No smile, no warmth—just a blank stare when I ask about the coffee.

"It's complimentary," she grunts. No shit.

I pour myself a cup of the lukewarm sludge they call coffee. It's terrible, but I sip it anyway. I don't see Fiona anywhere, and it irritates me more than it should. I know she's probably off-duty, sleeping or something, but damn it, I hoped to see her.

I take my time drinking that disgusting excuse for coffee, hoping she might pop in or something. When it's clear she won't, I head out. The bike's in the shop still, so I'm stuck here. And as much as I like the freedom of the road, today I don't mind being grounded. As long as she's around.

The day drags on. I go for a walk, try to clear my head, but the more I walk, the more it feels like I'm being pulled back to that damn office. By mid-afternoon, I'm making my second trip. Maybe Fiona switched shifts or something. I don't know. I just want to see her.

But nope. Same sour-faced lady behind the counter. I grab another cup of coffee, wincing at the taste. At this point, I might as well be drinking it just for an excuse to come here. I head out again, grumbling under my breath. I don't get it—this is not like me. I don't hang around places like this for long, and I sure as hell don't let some girl mess with my head like this.

Still, it's not like I can shake her. Those green eyes, the way she smiled at me last night—it's burned into my brain. I never saw her coming, never had any woman take up space in my head like this before. And I'm starting to think it's more than just lust.

By the time the sun's starting to set, I'm back at the office for the third time today. If she's not here this time, I'll give it a rest, I swear. But then the door chimes as I walk in, and there she is. Fiona. And fuck me, she looks even better than I remember.

Her hair's pulled back, her lips part into a smile when she sees me, and just like that, the knot in my chest loosens. I hadn't even realized it was there.

"Hey, Noah," she says, her voice soft but playful. "Back again for more of that gourmet coffee?"

I grin, shrugging. "What can I say? It's the highlight of the day."

She laughs, and it's like a shot of adrenaline straight to my heart. Goddamn, I'm in trouble. "Graveyard shift tonight?" I ask, trying to keep it casual, but I'm already thinking about how I don't want this conversation to end.

"Yep," she says, leaning on the counter, looking at me with those green eyes. "And you?"

"Figured I'd keep you company," I say, surprising even myself. "If you're not expecting too much excitement around here."

She raises an eyebrow, then looks at the empty lobby. "Excitement? At this time of night? I'm lucky if anyone walks in."

"So, I guess you wouldn't mind a little company then."

She bites her lip, thinking for a second, then gives me a grin. "There's a deck of cards in the employee lounge. And we can see the front office from there, so I won't get in trouble if someone shows up."

A card game with her? I'm down. "Lead the way," I say, trying to sound cool even though my blood's pumping faster than it should be.

We head to the back, and the employee lounge is as shitty as I expect. Peeling paint, a few mismatched chairs, and an old, flickering monitor showing the empty front office. But there's a small table, perfect for cards. Fiona grabs the deck and shuffles like she's done it a thousand times before.

"You any good?" I ask, settling across from her.

"Good enough to kick your ass," she says with a wink.

"Oh yeah? Let's see."

We start playing, and the banter comes easy. It's weird—usually, I don't let people in. I keep shit close to the vest, but with Fiona, it's different. I want her to know me, and I want to know her.

After a few hands, I can't stop myself from staring at her. The way she laughs when she beats me, the way her fingers brush the cards, her lips pursed in concentration. It's driving me insane.

Somewhere along the way, we stop caring about the game. Our conversation slows, and the air between us gets thicker. I don't know who moves first—maybe it's me, maybe it's her—but before I know it, I'm leaning across the table, and she's meeting me halfway.

And then we're kissing.

It's soft at first, testing the waters, but it doesn't stay that way for long. I'm not used to taking it slow. I'm used to kissing like I'm claiming someone, making them mine. But with Fiona, I'm hesitant. Like I don't want to scare her off, but I want her, and I want her now.

She's right there with me, her lips parting, her hands moving to my jacket. I deepen the kiss, and she lets out this little gasp that shoots straight through me, making me want to throw caution out the window.

But just when things start heating up, as I'm sliding my hands up her thighs, aiming for that spot between them that calls to me like a siren, she pulls back, her cheeks flushed, looking down at the table. "Noah," she says, her voice barely above a whisper, "I've never…"

It takes me a second to get what she's saying. And when I do, I feel like an idiot. She's inexperienced. Of course, she is. She's what, maybe twenty-one, for fuck's sake, and here I am, a forty-year-old biker, ready to throw her onto the break room table.

She looks embarrassed, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve. "I've never, you know, done this before."

I could go for it anyway. Hell, I've done it a hundred times before. Hooked up with someone and left the next morning without looking back. But with her? I can't. I can't do that to her.

Instead, I cup her face in my hands and kiss her again, slower this time, softer. "It's alright," I murmur against her lips. "We don't have to do anything you're not ready for."

She looks up at me, her eyes wide and vulnerable, and for a second, I forget who I am. I forget that I don't do relationships, that I don't stick around. All I can think about is how much I want to protect her, how much I want to stay.

"I promise that isn't a problem," I tell her, consciously warming my tone. "I can take the lead and take care of you. We don't even have to have sex."

"Really?" she murmurs, turning her face back toward me. Her eyes are wide and trusting. There's a hint of fear there, but excitement is more prevalent.

"Of course," I reply, reaching across the desk and grabbing her hand. I bring it up to my mouth and press a gentle kiss to her palm. "You can trust me."

"Okay," she whispers, standing up. "Okay."

"Yeah?" I say, grinning as I kiss her across the desk.

"Yes," she replies when we break apart.

"Is there somewhere a little more private than here?" I ask, tilting my head. "Or should I take you to my room?"

"There's a security room," she tells me, grabbing a keyring from her desk and gesturing for me to follow her.

I stand behind her, waiting as patiently as I can as she unlocks the door. Then, as soon as she pushes it in, I grab her wrist and drag her through the door. I push her against the door, drawing a gasp from her. Then, I press our mouths together, finally kissing her.