“Woah.” I hold my hands up in front of me, blocking him from my view. “Don’t move. Just stay there…covered.”
“I think it might be a little too late to worry about seeing my dick.”
Well, that confirms my suspicions that he’s naked and that I…we…I’m never drinking again.
I groan loudly, then hurriedly pick up my clothes and look around for the bathroom. This hotel room is so big I think I could get lost. And way nicer than the one I was planning to sleep in before…I hold in another groan.
Shut inside the bathroom, I stop in front of the mirror. I look worse than I feel. My hair is a tangled mess and what remains of last night’s makeup is smudged under my eyes. I drop my head and try to remember how I got here. We were dancing and drinking and then…my throat is thick with a swallow as the memory of kissing him resurfaces. I bring two fingers to my lips. They’re swollen and tender. I think we did a lot more kissing. And…other stuff. Try as I might, there’s nothing after the club.
Travis’s scent clings to the shirt I’m wearing. I drop my nose to the collar and inhale. A faint memory resurfaces of me telling him I liked the way he smelled. There goes my dignity along with my pride.
My phone pings, this time with a text from Kinsley reminding me that our car to the airport is coming in thirty minutes. I don’t even know where I am, but she doesn’t seem concerned for my well-being so I must have told her I was leaving with Travis. Hopefully she can fill in a few more key details as well, like, what the hell was I thinking?
I assure her I’m on my way and then change quickly back into my dress and heels. At least I’m in the one city where walking around like this before noon is perfectly acceptable. I pull up the map on my phone, relieved to see I’m in the same hotel as Kinsley and Skylar. One less disaster to fix.
“Hannah?” Travis knocks lightly on the door, making me jump and my heart race. “Everything okay?”
Speaking of disasters…
I pull open the door. Travis stands on the other side, thankfully not naked. He’s pulled on his dress pants from last night but left them unbuttoned. A light trail of dark hair descends from his belly button and disappears into his boxers. His hand is still poised in a fist like he was going to knock again. His gaze sweeps over me in a slow, appreciative way that makes my stomach dip.
“I have to go.” I breeze by him, handing him his shirt as I go.
“Wait,” he says. “Don’t rush out. I ordered breakfast and we should talk.”
It’s a more mature, direct response than I was expecting. He wants to chat about what happened last night. Meanwhile, all I want to do is flee. I can’t think with him looking so…so…damn good. I might be questioning the decisions that led me into this room, but I can no longer deny how much I’m attracted to him. Or how good it felt to kiss him. I can only imagine everything else was just as good.
“I really have to go. Kinsley and Skylar are already downstairs. Our flight leaves soon.”
“Ride back with me and the guys. We have room on the jet.”
How different is his life from mine? I sat in a middle seat in the back of a commercial flight because I couldn’t afford the thirty-five-dollar upgrade to a roomier seat, and he rode here on a private plane.
“I can’t.”
“Can’t or don’t want to?” There’s a flicker of hurt on his face that I don’t have the time or the emotional bandwidth to dissect.
“My friends are waiting for me.”
He nods and smiles, though it’s not his usual easy one. “Got it.”
“I’ll see you back in Moonshot,” I say, feeling the need to smooth over some of the weirdness. It isn’t his fault I drank too much and put myself in this situation.
I grab my purse and start for the door. My hand is on the handle, so close to freedom, when Travis says, “Hannah, wait.”
I pause, muscles tensing before I look over my shoulder.
“Don’t forget your bouquet.” He walks over to the nightstand and picks up the floral arrangement I’d noticed earlier. The flowers are light pink and purple, gathered and held together with a ribbon. As he walks it to me, I replay his words while staring at the strangely familiar and yet unfamiliar flowers.
“That’s not mine,” I say. And wait, did he say bouquet? As in…
His grin resurfaces, along with a little of his usual playfulness. “Actually, it is,wife.”
13
HANNAH
“You’re fucking with me,” Kinsley says the next day while we’re warming up before practice.
