Sharing a suite with Miriam didn’t sound like a big deal at the time. Having rooms across from each other would cut down onthe time it would take me to get to her. Separate spaces also guaranteed we wouldn’t cross any boundaries.
The problem is, we’re not in the two-bedroom suite I reserved at the previous hotel. We’re in a suite with a panoramic view of the city and one bed.
Technically, there’s a sofa in the living room, which became my space after I evicted her. She’s so damn stubborn. Once she sets her mind on something—ignoring my pleas to take the bed, in this case—she’ll stop at nothing to get it.
I didn’t expect to go toe-to-toe with her, or chest-to-chin, given our height difference. I’m not arguing with anybody at one a.m., and definitely not after a six-and-a-half-hour flight to the other side of the country.
I rolled her suitcase into the bedroom.
She rolled it right back to the sofa.
I stood at my full height.
She stood on a chair.
The only reason we got what little sleep we did is because I waited for her to fall asleep before carrying her to the bed. Where she belonged.
I tucked the sheets into the mattress extra tight to keep her from getting up in the middle of the night. Then I spent an hour jacking my dick to the city skyline. Apparently, I don’t know how to fucking act in the same space as the woman who’s had me in a vise grip since I was a preteen.
I’ve been in bed with plenty of women. Hundreds, if I had to guess, and in multiple-player situations. The most I worried about was forgetting where I was during the few nights I partied too hard, or someone trying to steal my wallet. My heart never left my chest the way it does when I’m around Doe. It’s already hard to breathe around her at times, trying not to sound like an idiot or let my attraction to her beat my ass like it has for almost two decades.
I’d be lying if I said the bond we’ve developed doesn’t scare the shit out of me. I never let myself get this close to a woman, never worried about any emotional attachments. Miriam is different, and that makes our temporary living arrangement—with one fucking bed, no less—a challenge.
She doesn’t see me as anything more than a friend, and I didn’t invite her out here to run game. I want her to have a good time and feel comfortable being herself. If that means cold showers and tugging on my dick like it’s a Nintendo joystick in order to keep it together, so be it.
I meant what I told her last night. Her comfort is my priority. Her happiness too.
The door to the suite opens when I wave my wallet over the sensor. I step inside and inhale the air, which is now saturated in the fragrance of coffee, eggs, and ham.
The growl I release while taking off my shoes is from my stomach touching my back. Another growl comes when I turn the corner to find Miriam seated at the dining room table.
Two parts of my body are starving for different reasons.
Her hair is still twisted up into a tiny bun that pokes out of the silk scarf wrapped around her head. Her foot is propped on a chair, summoning my attention to the thick, oiled thigh on full display. The bottom half of her pajama set inches up to the source of her nectar, which I wouldn’t mind with a stack of pancakes.
“There you are,” she says around a mouthful of eggs. “I looked up what professional rugby players eat for breakfast.” She aims her fork at the spread on the table that I missed. I was too busy imagining what else I’d like to spread. “Is this okay?”
I flick a glance at the overnight oats next to plain yogurt and bowls of fresh fruit and granola. There’s avocado toast topped with eggs and bacon, and scrambled eggs and spinach.
“Aww, honey. You shouldn’t have,” I say, dropping my stuff to join her.
“Shut up and come here.” She moves her foot for me to take the chair. “How was your workout?”
I reach for the avocado toast. “Good.”
“I can tell.” Miriam gestures to my gray shirt soaked in sweat. Black basketball shorts cling to my legs. I need a shower.
“Anytime you want me to work you out…” I waggle my brows at her and flex my bicep at the sting of her slap. “Sleep okay?”
She huffs. “After I extricated myself from the straitjacket you created with the bedsheets? I slept good. No waking up remembering that my savings isn’t limitless and the job I’m taking is part-time.”
“You know I got you.” I motion for her to hand me her empty coffee cup, which I refill.
“I gotmyself, Papa Smurf.” A smile spreads over her lips, and I return it at her use of my team nickname. “You’ve already done enough. With my housewarming presents and all of this.” She waves a hand in the air. “Ms. Amber said she’s looking for additional funding. Hopefully it will go full-time soon, but I’ll figure it out. For now, I want to enjoy my weekend. It’s my first time in Sin City.”
The suite at the twenty-one-and-over hotel we’re in is nice. There’s a full bar, floor-to-wall windows, and a dining space big enough for us to take down the feast she ordered. The navy and cream color combo is a welcome change from the suites across Las Vegas that are drowning in beige and marble. Some people might enjoy living like they shit gold foil, but I’ll pass.
Miriam butters a piece of wheat toast. “At least let me cover our food and drinks. You can’t be that stubborn,” she says at my headshake.
