So it seems like the most sensible thing for me to do would be to try and get these out about twice a week, since the whole thing is (nearly) written up. Thank you to the reviewers who took the time to tap out a couple of words for me. They make me happy. Glad you like where it is going and to the guest who thought Dean was a bit mean to poor Lauren, I agree, but I promise he is going to get better. Well, eventually!

Until then, I hope you all enjoy.

Living The High Life

The motel Dean chose was by no means inspiring but after nearly six hours behind the wheel I guess it was fair that he got to pick and if cheap and run-down was his kind of thing then – for one night only – it could be mine as well.

I could handle it. I'd been camping.

"Why don't you go grab us a couple of rooms?" Dean suggested, slinging us up alongside the entrance, "I'll park up and bring the bags in and no, before you ask, I won't drive off and leave you but if I did, I'd make sure to leave your shit – tampons and hair straighteners ain't really my deal you know?"

I rolled my eyes and flung the door open, peering intently down at the ground. Dean's gaze narrowed,

"Now what are you doing?"

"Looking for chalk outlines. This is totally the sort of place a person would get murdered,"

His expression darkened,

"Princess, don't tempt me – just go and get us some rooms."

I clambered out and slammed the door behind me, listening as he revved the rental across the parking lot. Clearly he was trying to show that he was pissed at me, but in reality he just sounded like an asshole instead. In the intervening hours since what I was calling pee-gate, it was safe to say our relationship hadn't bloomed. In fact we'd barely spoken two words besides when we stopped for food and I'd asked him to make the monumental decision between a baloney or tuna fish sandwich. To be honest after having been with him all evening, the prospect of my own space sounded brilliant and with a whoosh of the electric doors – one of which someone had clearly tried to kick through – I stepped across the threadbare carpet and up to the wood-clad reception desk.

The lobby was about as inspiring as the outside of the little place had been, with the whole thing generally feeling run-down and it not helped by the guy behind the counter. He looked like he stepped out of a cheap porno from the seventies and that was by no means an attractive sight. Tall and thin with a greasy black comb over and aviator style glasses that went out with carpet tiles. The final straw however was the sleazy little moustache; hanging limply over his lip. It looked like he'd forgotten about a long piece of licorice and the thing had embedded itself into his skin. In short, he was exactly who I expected to see behind the night desk of motel in the middle of nowhere. It was like I was living out a road trip movie and on seeing me staring he actually checked his breath.

"Hey sweet cheeks, what can I do for you?"

Sweet cheeks?

Wow. Just actually wow.

His voice was nasally, like he had severely blocked sinuses and there were so many teeth jammed into his jaw that I couldn't help but wonder if he was storing them for friends.

"Uh, yeah," I blinked, snapping myself out of it in case he mistook my staring for lust, "Could I possibly get two rooms for the night? Doubles if you have them, or twin, or – whatever."

The gaze of his thin little eyes behind the glasses was starting to get just a little unsettling and he didn't take them off me as he tapped at the computer. How he could he even see what he was doing? I wasn't sure that his fingers were making contact but forgot all about it as he licked at his lips. It wasn't enticing like it had been when Dean did it, instead it made my skin prickle and kind of crawl.

"What's your name pretty?"

"Um, it's Lauren."

"Tell me, are you sharing your room with anyone tonight – or is it just you, by yourself, all alone?"

"No, no, I've got a friend. But that's why we need two rooms."

"I see, well then I'm sorry to tell you, Sexy Lauren, but we only have one double room available tonight. Everything else is taken up, what with the weather and all the cancelled flights."

"Oh."

To be honest, I was still so preoccupied with having been called Sexy Lauren that I was only half-listening as Creepy Guy carried on. My eyes flickered down to his name badge.

Jeff.

Yeah, that figured I suppose.

"So here's what I suggest we do, alright? We let your friend take our last double and you can come and bunk in with me."

Huh?

Was this guy actually serious? Really? I glanced around quickly, hoping to see Dean – honestly hoping to see anyone else – but the lobby remained unenviably empty. If they were booked to full capacity, why was no one else around?

"Uh," I shifted uncomfortably in front of him, dropping my gaze to study the desk and then almost instantly wishing I hadn't as his hand slapped stickily straight across mine. His fingers gripped me tight and vice-like and although I tried to pull back instantly, I found I couldn't free my arm.

Crap.

"What do you say to that, Sexy Lauren?"

"Can – can you please let go of me?"

I tried again to free my hand; my elbow banging down meekly on the desktop and my heart beginning to pound in my ears. What the hell was wrong with the guy? Did he have no sense of social awareness? If I hadn't been so utterly uneasy I might have – might have – admired his balls but as his sweaty palm rubbed over my knuckles, my body decided to shudder instead.

"Don't be like that now," Jeff continued, unleashing a wildly toothy grin, "There's plenty of room for us both in my room, especially if you – you know – spend the night under me."

What?

This time I pulled even harder,

"Let me go."

Fortunately however, before I all-out panicked, a familiarly gruff tone spoke up behind us,

"Is there a problem here?"

Dean. Thank God.

I shut my eyes briefly and listened as his solid footsteps drew in close. Jeff still had a tight hold of my hand but the grip wasn't so much lustful as steadying and it was clear that he didn't know quite what to do about the towering, glowering bundle of muscles crossing the lobby to stand by my side.

"I, uh – ,"

"You really didn't hear her the first time? She said it pretty clearly buddy. Fuckin' let her go."

As Dean's tone moved from cavalier to dangerous, the long sweaty fingers unsuckered from my own and I whipped my hand back and scowled at him darkly while trying to wipe off the residual dew.

Gross. Just gross.

"Good call," Dean nodded, "Means I don't have to beat you into the ground."

Still clinging onto my violated hand, I turned towards him hesitantly,

"They've only got one room for the night."

"In that case we'll take it."

"But – ," I blinked, "How will we – ?"

"Hey hands-y," Dean barked suddenly at Jeff, who positively launched himself in the air. Clearly his tastes ran towards uninterested women and not six-foot something, swaggering men, "That double room of yours got a couch?"

"Uh, yes."

Dean flung his hands out wide,

"Problem solved."

Jeff whet his lips again hurriedly, sensing a sale in spite of his fear,

"That'll be sixty dollars, or five extra – if you want to use the pool."

As the gale force rain battered hard on the windows, Dean smirked up at him,

"We'll give it a miss."

He flipped some bills down onto the counter and scribbled his name in the registry book, going through the motions like a seasoned professional and although I wasn't sure what Sports Entertainment was, it struck me that it obviously involved a lot of travel and probably a whole bunch of creepy motels. Finishing his name with a scratchy-little flourish, he slammed the pen down and held out his hand,

"Key."

"Um, if you like, I can show you up to your room?"

"I think we'll manage," Dean smiled thinly before setting his face more firmly, "Key."

Jeff dropped it into his palm with a hiccup and Dean continued to eyeball him. At the same time he placed a hand against my back and it's warmth seeped in through the damp threads of my sweater and made me tingle.

Damn it Lauren, stop.

Reaching down he shouldered our luggage and steered me – palm still pressed up close – out of the lobby and up some metal stairs.

"You okay?" he asked me gruffly, "I mean, he didn't hurt you?"

"No," I croaked back, "No, it's okay. I'm totally fine."

Except for feeling like an idiot that was.

We climbed in silence after that, with the wind whistling around us and Dean moving on what seemed to be a mixture of instinct and luck. I had no idea how he knew where he was going, but sure enough beyond a misplaced garden statue of a bug-eyed flamingo with a crack in its beak, there was room number eighty-seven. Our little boudoir for the night. Dean unlocked the door with a click and dropped our bags down, reaching over to flip on the light.

The room was even less spectacular than I'd banked on; with a muddy brown carpet, heavy red drapes and a garishly patterned, bright satin bed throw which seemed to emphasise – rather than lessen – the many stains that dotted the walls. Dean headed over to the couch in the corner – in yet another clashing set of stripes – and flopped down onto it with a resigned sounding groan before bouncing up and down lightly on the cushions.

"Ah, what the hell – for one night it'll do. So what do you make of the place then, huh?"

I had a feeling he already knew since I was staring in horror and keeping my arms by my sides. I wasn't sure I wanted to touch anything and if I'd owned a black-light, I wouldn't have done. Eventually however I picked my case up and put it down on the bed with a gulp,

"It's – dry," I offered and Dean smirked back at me,

"Not exactly what you're used to I'm gonna bet?"

Typical. He was enjoying my discomfort and suddenly I felt kind of awkward around him. It was stupid really – totally stupid – especially given how long we'd spent in the car. We'd been even closer in the rental as well. Sitting practically elbow to elbow. But he'd been driving and we'd both staring forwards, whereas now we were alone, in a room, face-to-face.

Trying to shake off my growing embarrassment, I took a deep breath and sat down on the bed. Unfortunately the mattress was better used than I'd expected and it sunk below me and tipped me off onto the floor. I landed with a squeak and my cheeks flushed harder at the sound of Dean's derisive snort. Abruptly my awkwardness turned to anger and brushing grime that I didn't like to dwell on hastily off my hands and knees, I stumbled to my feet and looked up hotly,

"Oh okay, yeah, very funny. Why don't you just – ,"

I stopped as the sight before me grabbed my tongue and trapped it right between my teeth. Dean was standing there suddenly shirtless, his jacket and t-shirt flung over the seat. When I'd been staring back in the rental place, I had guessed that the broad shoulders were part of an enviable physique, but seeing him topless was a thing of wonder and I exhaled bodily.

Holy wow.

His stomach was toned and his abs were well chiselled, but not in a way that looked like it was forced, more that he looked like he worked out a whole lot as his neck and his arms seemed to hint at as well. In short, his body was actually, well, perfect and I stuttered, unable to turn away my eyes,

"What – um – what are you doing?"

The blue eyes flickered up at me briefly and then the mouth quirked into a smile,

"Going to take a shower. Why? Seen something you like?"

"I – what? Uh, I mean, no. I was just – just asking because I know you must be tried from all the driving and everything, so I was thinking I would kind of get out of your hair and – there's a bar, next door, so I might – might get a drink and give you – you know – a moment alone."

It came out at a million miles an hour and was probably the least controlled sentence I'd ever said. It was made even worse and heaps more awkward by the fact that I was trying to act super-cool. We both knew instantly that my attempts weren't working – the beetroot red cheeks fast seeing to that – but thankfully Dean's response was simply to chuckle and give a sardonic little shake of his head,

"Sure, go knock yourself out – here, you'd better have this," he tossed me the key in one-handed throw and I caught it after briefly looking like I'd missed, "Just go easy, alright? I don't want to have to come bail your ass out if you swing at someone or moon the police."

"I wouldn't – ,"

He looked back at me,

"Sure you wouldn't Princess."

Thanks to his mischievous grin, I couldn't help but come away with the impression that I was different from the girls Dean was used to spending time with. I actually pictured his usual grouping with fake breasts, blonde hair and diamante egos. They were probably the type that would have jumped him then and there and the fact that I by comparison hadn't seemed to amuse him.

I didn't know why.

Swallowing down the lump of apprehension, I grabbed my purse and backed away towards the door. It was at that moment however – and why wouldn't it have been – that my fear of abandonment came calling loud and clear.

"You will – ," I stopped, feeling utterly stupid, "You will be here when I get back, right?"

He looked up – still shirtless – and frowned a little,

"What?"

"I mean, you're not going to drive off or something like that?"

I waved my hands about as I spoke, trying to act like it was no big deal. But inside my heart was thumping like a drumbeat and it was so loud I wondered if maybe he could hear it. He seemed to catch on surprisingly quickly, as evidenced by the way he rolled his eyes,

"Lauren," It was the first time he'd actually said my name and my body shivered simply hearing it on his lips, "Don't you think if I'd wanted to ditch you, I'd have already fuckin' done it by now? I coulda hotwired the car when you were pissing in the wind back there – terrible idea by the way, still can't believe you actually did that."

"I didn't exactly have a choice and wait – you can hot wire cars?"

He shrugged and sauntered towards the bathroom,

"It's just one of a number of talents I have," he grinned before stopping and throwing me a wink. My legs began to tremble. Damn his sexiness. Briefly he pointed at me, half-warning, half-teasing, "I mean it alright? Don't go gettin' yourself into any trouble."

Then he went in and shut the door, leaving me standing, heart pounding on the carpet. Okay, I really needed that drink and turning I fumbled around with the handle, calling out to him and once again failing to be cool.

"Um, okay then. I'll be back later, don't wait up for me."

"I won't."

The sound of the shower flipping on was my ending and I groaned and stepped out into the hall. Slamming shut the door behind me plunged the stairway into half-light and outside on my own I sighed and let my eyes shut as I fought down a torrent of jumbled thoughts.

Ugh. Just ugh.

Shaking my head I cleared my throat briskly and set off down the steps at a trot. The feeling of the wind blasting through my hair felt wonderful, like someone with cold fingers massaging my scalp. I needed a drink – or maybe a whole bottle – and I needed it quickly.

Alcohol, you're mine.

Then and only then, would everything feel good again and I could leave this horrible day behind.

"Trouble," I snorted, "Like I would find trouble."

It was going to be a gentle, stress-free night.

Okay, so with a basic show of hands, who thinks Lauren is going to stay out of trouble? More importantly, what sort of trouble do you think she might find? Answers on a postcard or...hmm...actually, you know what? It's probably easier if you just review!

Until next time my beauties!