I rest my tripod on the floor and prop it up against the wall outside my room, then rummage through my bag to find my key card.
“Do I want to know what happened?” he asks, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his broad chest.
“Would you believe me if I told you it was actually an accident?”
“Only if you want me to,” he offers, his mouth curving upward and his tone so coy that, for a moment, I forget we’re talking about Molly Spencer and not something else entirely.
“Well, it was an accident,” I mutter. While the petty part of me wants to make it seem like Molly intentionally tried to push me down a hill…she didn’t.
Molly’s always been somewhat clumsy, like her center of gravity is permanently off-balance. The number of times I’ve seen that woman slip, trip, or fall over the span of our friendship—and now nemesis…ship—is simply not natural.
Nolan makes a soft noise of consideration as I finally locate my key card wedged between two batteries and swipe it through the scanner. I wait half a second for the light to blink green so I can push my way into my cool and—thanks to the maid who takes care of our floor—no longer atrociously messy room.
Only, nothing happens.
I swipe the card again.
Still nada.
“Oh,fuck me,” I burst out, and Nolan’s brows shoot up. I glance up at him and our eyes lock momentarily—as if each willing the other person to make a crack about my ill-timed colloquialism—but Nolan makes a big show of pursing his lips. I give him a pointed glare, and he throws his hands up in defense.
“I’m not sayinganything.”
“Right,” I say, narrowing my eyes, then flicking my gaze back to my still-locked door with a sigh. “I think I’m going to need a little bit of time to get a new key card and get ready.”
“Of course. I mean, I think you lookgreat—but there is a dress code where we’re going, and I don’t think dirt-caked khakis are on the list of approved apparel,” he teases. “Hmm…dirt-caked khakis is actually a great phrase. Sounds like the name of a band, doesn’t it?”
“I can’t tell if you’re being serious or not,” I say, “but if you are, thenyes, it does. But only if that band is country.”
“See, I would say heavy metal.”
“Really? I guess we’ll have to agree to disagree, then,” I retort.
“Actually, you might be on to something. Dirt-Caked Khakis could be the first mainstream heavy metal–country western band.”
“With a female lead singer,” I add.
“Now you’re talking.” He flashes me a confident wink that demolishes my ability to think.
I roll my eyes because it’s all I can manage at the moment, then croak out, “I’m going to head to the front desk. Can I meet you somewhere?”
“Lunar Lounge, top deck. Bring your camera. If you want. Only if you want. I think you’ll like what I have to show you.”
My mouth goes dry at his last sentence because I don’t think he fully understands (a) what he’s just insinuated, and (b) how sexy he sounded when he said it. I blink approximately fourteen times in a row, trying to decide how I want to answer—because my brain is too tired to come up with anything clever—but the pause seems to give him enough time to realize his mistake, and his eyes go wide.
“Ohhh, shit—oh, no. No, no, that’s not what I meant, I just—” I roll my lips inward, trying to keep my face straight, but Nolan flustered is a sight that I haven’t experienced yet and am thoroughly enjoying.
“Uh-huh.” I quirk a brow suggestively and cross my arms over my chest.
This is too good.
“You know what?” he says, taking a deep breath—as if accepting that what came out of his mouth is exactly what he meant to say. “Yes. Bring your camera. I want you to film something awesome. Not my johnson. Unless you want to. In which case, we probably need to have a different conversation, because I’m not at all opposed, I just think I should probably know where you’re going tousethat kind of footage,and?—”
“Nolan,” I interrupt, scrubbing a hand over my face to hide my own blush and the laughthat is threatening to push me over the edge.
“Got it. I’ll see you soon!” he says, smiling brightly, and I notice that there’s no hint of mortification onhisface.
This man is going to be my undoing.
