Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 75323 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75323 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Or to stop me from being crushed by the fall when she inevitably turned me down.
Lula climbed out of the car as I slammed my head back against the rest and sighed hard.
There was a knock at my window, making me jolt.
“You coming, or not?” she asked, waving toward the hotel.
Oh, I was coming.
I’d follow her into the damn depths of hell if she asked. No matter how hot the flames. No matter how much it burned.
“Yep,” I said, climbing out.
And I’d swear the fading Tucson sun felt a little bit like those flames I’d been worried about.
CHAPTER TEN
Lula
He’d reserved me a single king suite with a mountain view. Which, judging by what I knew about the prices of rundown little motels I’d stayed at along the way, had to be around two hundred a night.
Not crazy money. But more than I felt comfortable letting him spend on me. Again.
I waited until he did a sweep of my room to make sure there were no creeps (or creepy crawlers) hiding in the closet or shower stall, then made his way down the hall to his own room to pull out my phone. I opened a new note and labeled it What I Owe Raff.
Then I spent a few minutes looking up room prices and jotting them down, along with my share for the restaurants, take-away, and gas station snacks.
When I was back on my feet, I would pay him back for all of this.
I’d barely gotten a chance to tour my room before there was a knock at my door.
And there was Raff.
In a fluffy white hotel bathrobe and shower shoes.
“What are you still doing with your clothes on?”
“Excuse me?”
He frowned at that and glanced behind me. “Didn’t you see your itinerary?”
“My itinerary? No. What itinerary?”
“I asked them to put it on your nightstand,” he said, moving into my room. “They promised—yep, there it is. They framed it and everything. Fancy.” He held the picture frame out to me.
In a fancy little font was a list of spa treatments: back massage, foot massage, facial, mud bath, lash lift, body wrap, and manicure. Next to each were times.
“Raff, what the hell is this?”
“Your spa package. And you’re cutting it close to missing your massage.”
“You bought me a spa package?”
“I got one too. Well, not the lash lift or manicure. And I’d never make someone rub my feet. But I’m getting a back massage. And I’ve always been curious about the mud stuff.”
The only reason he booked himself anything was that he knew I’d try to turn him down if he didn’t and would insist he go in my place.
And there was no refusing this. You paid up front, whether you actually went or not. If I didn’t take advantage of it, he was pissing the money away.
“You knew exactly what you were doing,” I grumbled, even as a little part of me started happy dancing at the idea of a little pampering.
“I did. Now go strip down and throw on your robe.”
I rushed to do just that, mentally trying to calculate what these kinds of treatments would cost at this kind of place. But I started to get a stomachache at that figure, so I went ahead and left that for future me to figure out and add to my list.
Right then, I slipped into a robe and shower shoes, double-checked for my key card, then rushed to follow Raff down to the treatment center.
Where, as I was led to a room, I saw Raff having what seemed to be a serious discussion with the woman at the desk, who nodded profusely at whatever he said.
I fretted over that for all of ten seconds. Until I was on a table and someone was massaging the tension I’d been carrying for weeks out of my shoulders, back, and hips.
I nodded in and out during the back and foot massages, so relaxed that I couldn’t even keep my eyes open.
By the time I’d had a scrub, mud bath, and facial, I was feeling more like myself than I had in a long time.
The lashes and nails were just icing on the already very decadent cake.
It wasn’t until my nails were done that I panicked, my stomach dropping as I realized I hadn’t been tipping anyone who’d been working on me.
“Don’t worry,” the woman, a pretty brunette with short, blunt nails of her own, said as she inspected mine. “Your man made it very clear he is handling tips. You aren’t supposed to spend a penny.”
Of course, that was what he’d told the woman at the desk.
“In that case, thank you so much. I haven’t had my nails done in a long time. I’ve been feeling naked without them.”
I didn’t even do anything crazy.
I did a mid-length almond shape with neutral shades, so they always went with my outfits. But I loved the longevity. How I would never have to worry that my polish was chipped before I left the house.