Jose POV

The low hum of the ceiling fan was the first thing he noticed.

Then the cheap scent of the Febreze Mist freshener– at least he could see the name faintly from where it hung– mixed with the fresh smell of dew.

And finally, the slight weight of the sheet pressed against his skin, tangled somewhere at his waist.

Jose blinked at the water-stained ceiling of El Camino Motel, a rundown place off Route 67, somewhere between nowhere and the next gas station. The kind of place you only end up in when you’ve driven too far, too long, and your feelings are heavier than your luggage.

He sighed and turned to the side.

Adriana was still asleep.

Her back was to him, the cream-colored sheet slipping off one shoulder, revealing her smooth skin that caught the early morning light sneaking past the dusty blinds. Her hair was a wild mess on the pillow, beautiful, chaotic, just like the night before.

Jose exhaled slowly and dragged a hand over his face.

It hadn’t gone as far as it could have. But it had gone far enough.

Enough for his heart to be doing backflips. Enough for his conscience to be trying to convince him that maybe—just maybe—he’d made a mistake.

But then again, if it was a mistake…why didn’t it feel like one?

The reluctant Romeo pushed himself up, the sheet slipping off his chest, and dropped his elbows onto his knees. The only sound in the room was the fan as he got lost in wild thoughts.

She shouldn’t have kissed him like that.

He shouldn’t have wanted to kiss her again.

But when she looked at him like he was the only one who saw her for real and not just the face on a billboard… how could he not?

Jose rubbed his neck, stood, and crossed to the small table where his phone was charging. No new messages. He half expected Silvia to be blowing up his phone, but maybe even she had limits– unlike the mister dangling under his legs, which clearly thought last night was a great idea.

He turned around and leaned against the table, dragging a tired breath as his eyes drifted back to the bed.

Adriana stirred, a soft rustle beneath the sheets. Her lashes fluttered like they were shaking off a dream, and then, slowly, her eyes opened. They landed on Jose, heavy with sleep and a hint of confusion about where she was.

If those orbs could speak, they would fire off a thousand and one questions — most starting with “what the hell happened” and ending somewhere around “why the hell are you still here?”

But she said nothing. Just blinked at him like he was both the problem and the comfort in the same breath.

“Morning,” Obviously he had to be the man.

Adriana blinked again, slower this time, like her brain was buffering.

“Didn’t think I’d wake up to find you still here,” she said, voice scratchy.

He shrugged. “Trust me, I considered escaping. But the bed was warm and I was half-dead.”

That earned him the ghost of a smile. She rolled her eyes while at it.

“Most guys would’ve taken the hint and snuck out.”

“Well,” Jose said, scratching the back of his neck, “I guess I’m either not most guys… or just not that smart.”

She didn’t argue with that. The lady looked away, and Jose could tell his attempt at humor wasn’t landing. Not this morning.

Adriana pulled the sheet a little higher over her chest, her eyes drifting to the blinds like the uneven slats were suddenly fascinating.

“About last night—” Another attempt at him being the man, feeling like the air had gone stale.

“Don’t.” Her voice was soft, but there was a bite to it that stopped him mid-thought.

“I’m not trying to ruin anything,” he said carefully.

Her eyes met his for a second, then slipped away. “Then don’t treat it like it means something.”

He let out a low laugh — the kind that said he was amused. She’d practically thrown herself at him, and now she was saying it meant nothing. Great. So he’d been used. Yeah… that sounded even worse in his head.

“Maybe that’s the problem. It did mean something,” the words found their way out quieter than the man expected.

“To you,” she replied. “And maybe to me… in that moment. But I can’t afford to feel things right now.”

Jose crossed his arms, exhaling slowly through his nose. “So that’s it? We act like it didn’t happen?”

“No,” she said, tucking her knees up under her chin. “We act like it did… and that we survived it.”

The way she said it — like what they shared had been some kind of wreck they had crawled out of — made his chest tighten. He grabbed his shirt from the chair and pulled it over his head.

“We should head out before the sun gets too high.”

Adriana nodded but stayed where she was.

He was halfway to the door when she called, “Jose.”

He paused, hand resting on the knob.

“Thanks… for not asking me to explain last night. For just… being there. It would be safe if we don’t push further about this. I hope you understand.”

“Didn’t need you to explain,” he said without looking back. This whole sharing-a-bed-with-a-supermodel-after-an-emotional-breakdown thing wasn’t sitting in his chest like a bad tattoo decision. Now, she confirmed it.

Seeing her face would only plant the idea that maybe this could be fixed, and he’d rather not pretend it was just some messed-up dream he’d wake up from any second.

The latch caught with a quiet click behind him. The corridor outside smelled faintly of burnt coffee and floor cleaner.

Jose walked down the creaky wooden steps, squinting as the sun caught him full in the face. Somewhere across the street, the Lone Spur Diner’s bell chimed, followed by the muffled murmur of voices.

One of those voices was watching him.

Silvia leaned against her car, a paper coffee cup in hand, the heat curling the ends of her hair. She’d been there long enough for the Styrofoam to sweat through, long enough to hear a trucker in the diner mention a red Jeep parked recklessly.

Now, here he was.

She kept her expression flat, but her grip on the cup tightened until the lid warped. He didn’t look around. Didn’t notice her. Didn’t even have the decency to look guilty.

Fine. She could work with that.