“Okay, my girl is here from Indy and I haven’t seen her in months and I’m out here with you, without a coat, and it’s fuckin’ cold, and it’s about to rain, and I’d rather be in there with her, so do me a solid here, yeah? Come back with me.”

I kept walking, with him beside me, and pointed out, “I’m not stopping you from going back.”

“Where are you going?”

I had no idea.

Damn.

I stopped and looked around.

Then I looked to him.

“Do you know anything about train tickets?’

His chin shifted back into his neck. “Say what?”

“Train tickets. Like, if you have one for one time, can you get on one for another time?”

“When’s your train leave?”

I was not telling him that.

“Do you know the answer to my question?”

“No.”

Again.

Why did I come to Chicago?

I looked him in the eyes. “Go back to your girl, Jesse.”

“When’s your train leave, Lyla?”

I changed my mind in order to answer and hopefully end this conversation.

“Tomorrow at ten,” I told him. “And I just need to get to the station and hang out until then.”

“That’s a lot of hours from now.”

Whatever.

I made to walk again but Jesse stepped in front of me.

“You can’t be a girl alone waiting all night in the train station in Chicago.”

He was right.

But this was my only choice because I was a huge idiot.

I was wrong about that night in that motel room.

Preacher McCade wasn’t what he’d convinced me he was.

He was what I’d thought he was when I first saw him and that band.

A rock stud out to get laid.

Okay, so he was an insanely good-looking rock stud.

But he was a rock stud.

And I didn’t need this.

Not now.

Especially not now.

He’d already kicked me when I was down…twice.

No, counting him pretending to be what he was not in that motel room, it was three times.

So, I definitely did not need this.

Oh yes.

I was a huge idiot.

“We have a suite,” Jesse said. “We’ll take the bed, you take the couch, and I’ll get you in a taxi tomorrow to meet your train. Deal?”

“I’m not going to cramp your style with your girl and I’m not getting anywhere near Preacher.”

He lifted his hands up to his sides, palms out in the “don’t shoot” gesture and shook his head. “No Preacher.” He crossed his heart. “My vow. And we got a door.” He grinned. “And we’ll be quiet.”

I blew out a breath and looked beyond him. “You shouldn’t need to be quiet, reunited with your girl.”

“She isn’t loud anyway, Lyla,” he cajoled. “Come on. Yeah?”