Page 26 of Rev

I step into my room, ushering him—I immediately regret this decision, because I’m not the neatest gal in the world. My suitcases appear to have exploded—T-shirts litter the floor, as do jean shorts, tennis skirts, khaki cutoffs, daisy duke running shorts. My underwear are everywhere, too—thongs, bikini cut briefs, boy shorts, scraps of lace, all in a myriad of colors. At least eight bras hang off the bathroom door. My makeup is all over the bathroom sink. Shoes in a pile near the suitcase—mainly my collection of classic Converse, which runs to at least a dozen pairs in a wide range of colors and designs, along with several pairs of custom Nikes, and a few pairs of sandals ranging from flip flops to going-out heeled sandals.

“Fuck me running,” Rev murmurs, his shades pushed up onto his forehead, revealing his hard dark eyes as they sweep my room. “You got issues.”

“Not everyone can be hyper-neat freaks like you, Mr. Military.”

“There’s not a neat freak, and then there’sthis.” He sweeps a hand at my mess. “Givin’ me hives.”

“You insisted on coming in,” I point out.

“Right.” He turns away, but not before I notice his gaze lingering on my thongs and my bras, then flicking to me, ever so briefly, before turning to the locks. He examines the chain, then the locks on the door. “Show you somethin’. Lock the door with me on the other side.”

“Gladly,” I mutter.

He exits, and I lock and chain the door. “Start a timer,” he says.

“A timer?”

“Yeah.”

“What am I timing?”

“Me, woman, what else?” A pause. “Got the timer ready?”

I pull out my phone and bring up the timer. “Yeah, yeah. Ready.”

“Start it…now.”

I hit start, and I hear rattling, scraping. Within thirty seconds, the door bursts open to yank the chain taut.

I boggle at him as he eyes me through the crack. “What the heck? It was locked.”

“Exactly.” He wiggles his ID at me. “What was that, thirty seconds, at most?”

“Twenty-eight.”

“Right.” He tugs at the taut chain with a hooked index finger. “This thing?” He snorts. “Babe, I could break it without tryin’. I won’t, cause you’d have to pay for it, but I could.”

“And?” I undo the chain. “What’s your point?”

“Point is, ain’t safe here.”

I gesture at my tent, on the floor near the suitcases. “I usually stay in that. Been on the road for a couple months, and I’m fine. But thanks for the concern.”

He towers in the doorway, arms crossed. “Askin’ for trouble, Myka.”

“And that’s sweet of you to worry, but I’m fine. I can take care of myself.”

“Got a gun?”

I snort. “Heck no.”

“A knife?”

I shrug. “With my camping stuff, yeah.”

“Know self-defense?”

I shrug again. “Sort of.”