I thought I didn’t like cocky men, but Nathan Slater has just proved me fucking very wrong.
I lie underneath the crisp sheets in the hotel room, staring up at the ceiling, and I can hear Madison’s laboured breaths as she sleeps. The cold air wraps around me like a shroud, making it hard to find comfort. I can feel the weight of the upcoming performance pressing down on me.
I’m not nearly as nervous as I was, thanks to Nathan’s reassurance, but my ankle is still a little sore, and I’m panicking that it’s going to give out mid-jump and I’ll land on my ass in front of millions of people.
Although it would make for a great viral video.
I toss and turn, finally pulling the sheets off as my mouth feels parched. I need water, but the irritating sign in the bathroom warns that the faucet water isn’t safe to drink.
Slipping out of the room in my pale blue pyjama shorts and tank top, I pad down the steps to the hotel reception. I purchase a bottle of cold water from the vending machine and climb the stairs back up to the floor where my room is as I sip at it.
But my face drops when I realise I’ve forgotten my key card, and the time is currently one in the morning. Nobody was manning the desk, and I curse under my breath as I gently rattle against the door, trying not to wake anybody nearby.
But Madison doesn’t hear me, and I don’t have my phone.
“Give me a break,” I complain.
Sliding down the wall and resting my head against it, I thump to the floor. It’s freezing out here, and goosebumps cover my skin.
I’m hoping Madison will miraculously wake up after hearing me telepathically begging. There’s nothing I can do besides pounding on the door and pissing everyone else around me off, and I don’t want to do that. The boys have a game, and I don’t want to disturb their sleep and be the reason they lose concentration tomorrow because of lethargy.
My fingers pick at my lip as I sit on the floor, contemplating what to do.
“You’re doing this to me,” I grunt as I point to the sky.
But, just as I thought the situation couldn’t get any worse, a door a few rooms down from me opens, and a shirtless Nathan stalks out. He’s dressed in only tartan pyjama pants, hanging low on his waist and showing off his impressive V-line.
“What are you doing on the floor?”
I’m about to faint. His muscles ripple under his skin, each one defined, like he’s been sculpted from marble. The way his shoulders taper down into his chest—a chest that I want to be pressed up against—has me infatuated. By looking at him, you’d think Nathan spends every spare second he has in the gym, but I know he rarely goes. His striking physique is from years of hard work on the football field.
“You need glasses?” I almost splutter the words.
They’re not the round Harry Potter type. No, the glasses he has on are sharp and sleek. The frames are thin, and the angular shape somehow makes his face look even more defined.
Who would have thought that Nathan having bad eyesight would be a turn-on?
“No, I’m just wearing them for fun,” Nathan says sarcastically, shaking his head.
I stand. “Did I wake you up?”
“No. Why are you out here?”
“I forgot my key card.”
“So you’re locked out?”
I nod.
“Have you tried knocking?”
I can’t help but glare. “You know that? That didn’t cross my mind. Thanks for the advice.”
He chuckles, swallowing. And then, on a sigh, he says, “Alright, come on.” His head beckons me.
“What?”
“You’re not sleeping out here.”
