Don't Tell (Don't 1)

This place didn’t look like it would have running water, but a girl could dream. All I wanted was for him to swipe my credit card and point me to my room and maybe some food. My stomach growled. The pretzels I had eaten on the morning flight from Raleigh hardly counted as a meal.

“How are you here, Cole? What are you doing in South Padre?”

He sighed. “That’s a long story. One I haven’t had a chance to talk to your brother about. I want to have a beer with him when he’s back State-side.”

“So Ryan doesn’t know you’re here either?”

He shook his head. The white T-shirt that clung to his torso was speckled with paint, and he had hooked a hammer along the rim of his back pocket. When had Cole turned into a hot handy man? And why?

“I’ve had a really terrible day, and I could use a hot shower and something to eat. Do you have a room for me?”

He pulled out a notebook and flipped open the faded blue cover. He traced the lines with his finger. “Yep, there’s a room for you.”

“You keep your reservations in a notebook?” I hadn’t really noticed until now that there wasn’t a computer in the office.

He looked at me. “Do you want a room or not, Kaitlyn?”

“Sorry.” I bit my lip to keep from sparring with him further.

“It’s fifty dollars per night. Do you have a credit card?”

“Right here.”

“What happened to your hand?” He glanced at my knuckles.

With the hotel hopping, I had forgotten that it had turned red and was starting to swell. “I ran into something. It’s nothing. Really, it’s fine.”

“Something or someone?” I thought I saw the corner of his lips form a smile.

He withdrew a piece of carbon paper and a metal rectangular device. I watched as he affixed the paper, placed my card on top, and then swiped a lever across my card.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

He stared at me. “It’s a credit card machine.”

“Are you serious?” I think I had seen something like it in an eighties movie.

“Yes. I’m serious. Here you go.” He handed the card back to me and pointed to the bottom of the slip. “Sign here.”

I scribbled my name along the line, being careful not to press too hard with my knuckles. They were tender. He handed me a brass key attached to a palm tree key chain.

“You’re in room twenty-three, which is all the way down this side.” He pointed out the window. “You’re the last room on the right. Ocean side.”

Ocean side? At least there was something redeeming about the Dune Scape. The palm tree was heavy in my hand.

“Thanks. Is there somewhere around here I could get dinner and maybe some clothes?”

I was worried the airline still hadn’t called me and I would have to face the morning with my alcohol-stained jeans.

“There’s a local hang out a few blocks down and across the road on the sound side called Peabody’s. It’s not a party scene. You’ll have to head back to the resorts if you want music and dancing. About a block down is a surf shop and general store. I’m sure they’ll have something you can wear.” I caught him eyeing the dip in my shirt with his smoldering eyes. Eyes like that were hard to ignore.

“I’m not here for the party scene. Dinner sounds good.” I wanted Cole to know I was older. He didn’t know this version of me. I was more than Ryan Sinclair’s little sister.

I turned to pull the inside frame of the door. I wasn’t sure why I had told him that. “Thanks.”

“Oh, and, Rocky, there’s an ice machine on the way to your room. You might want to put some on that hand before it gets much worse.” He grinned.

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