Free Trouble by Samantha Towle

that it matters in regards to her, but Mom and Dad spent their first night as a married couple in Lakeview. That’s why I steer clear of it.
    “We do,” I say. “It’s one hundred and seventy five a night.”
    “That’s fine,” she replies. She doesn’t even blink.
    Like I thought. Loaded. I wonder if it’s Daddy’s money, or maybe she has a husband?
    She doesn’t look old enough to be married, but who knows the ages of women nowadays. Earlier this year, I banged a chick who looked twenty, but she was thirty. The marvels of plastic surgery.
    I give a quick check to her ring finger. Empty.
    Picking up a pen, I mark out the week. I pull out a booking form from the drawer for her to fill out her details, then slide it across the counter to her, putting the pen I was just using beside it.
    “Fill this out with your name and home address.”
    She picks the pen up. I notice her hand is trembling. Odd. Is she nervous, or afraid?
    Not a damn reason she would have to be afraid, so I’m betting on nervous.
    Now why would a hot girl like her be nervous around me? Only one reason. She wants a piece. They always do.
    Hey, I’m not an arrogant ass. I’m just aware of how I look. And most women like how I look. Okay, all women like how I look. It’s the hair and tattoos. They like the bad boys, and I’m bad. What can I say?
    But this girl is not worldly. I can tell. This one is inexperienced, hence the nerves. Maybe she’s a virgin.
    Nah, she can’t be a virgin looking like she does.
    She finishes filling out her details and hands the paper back to me. Her fingers brush mine in the exchange. She snatches her hand back like touching me is a big no-no.
    Odd. Women usually can’t wait to get their hands on me.
    I glance down at her name on the paper in my hand.
    Mia Monroe.
    Huh. Like Marilyn Monroe, but not.
    I didn’t just say that out loud, did I?
    I cast a glance at her. She’s staring off toward the living room.
    No, don’t think I did. Thank fuck for that.
    “I just need your card details and we’re done. Your card won’t be charged until you check out.”
    “Okay.” She bends down to her bag. I take the opportunity to lean over the counter and check her ass out.
    Nice. Real nice.
    I shouldn’t have looked because I’m getting hard again.
    She comes back up with her card in hand.
    I key the amount in and hand the card device to her.
    “Put your card in … and now your PIN.”
    I take the device back and wait for it to ring through.
    When it’s done, I pull her card from the machine and hand it back to her.
    I notice she takes care not to touch me this time.
    She shoves the card in her back jean pocket. For a moment, I actually wish I was that card.
    I grab the key for Lakeview and step out from behind the counter. “This way.”
    She reaches down for her bags and sluggishly lifts them to her shoulder. That’s when I realize how tired she looks.
    Here I am checking her out like a total douche, and the girl is exhausted. I feel like a complete tool. My mom raised me better than this.
    “Here let me get those for you.” I hold my hand out to take her bags.
    She hesitates. Her fingers curl around the handles, gripping them tight to her.
    What does she think I’m going to do, run off with her stuff?
    Retracting my hand, I scratch my head. “It’s my job to carry your bags. We’re not the kind of establishment that has a bellboy.” I grin so not come off as an asshole. She is a paying guest after all.
    Her death grip relaxes and she lifts the bags from her shoulder, placing them in my hand.
    “Thank you,” she says in that sweet voice of hers.
    She doesn’t talk much, but when she does … it’s effective .
    Then she smiles.
    I called her stunning before. I take it back. With that smile, she’s nothing short of beautiful.
    I don’t think I’ve ever referred to a woman as beautiful before. Now, there’s a first.
    If she can look this beautiful with those huge hideous sunglasses covering what I