“Au contraire, mon frere,” she replied in her best high-school-level French, which was a sign she was heading into dangerous territory. Haddie Martin usually brimmed with confidence, but the second someone got under her skin, she began to spout aphorisms or pithy quips—in the language of love.
“At least you’re using that absolute waste of a college minor!” her grandmonster would say if she were here. Of course, she wasn’t here. Dead people couldn’t judge you from the grave.
“But could you be the bestest of best men and fill the ice bucket?” she added. “Thought we might enjoy another cocktail first.”
Haddie was sopping wet, naked, and goose bumps were starting to pepper her flesh. In what world would she want a drink when she could have this man’s strong, dry body to warm her up?
“You want another drink?” he asked, and she could sense the hesitation in his tone, as if he knew that taking his eyes off her meant the chance that she might disappear.
Haddie nodded and batted her lashes, wondering what might have been if her life were anything other than the mess it was, if she—Haddie Grace Martin—actually had someone in her messy life who laid down bath mats for her and offered her free rein of the minibar.But Haddie wasn’t big on sharing, especially when it meant sharing the burden of her life with someone who shouldn’t have to bear it.
“Do you have protection?” she asked.
He swallowed, then let out a nervous laugh of his own. “I feel like this is a damned if I do/damned if I don’t sort of scenario. If I say yes, then I’m a fucking cliché, a groomsman hoping to nail a bridesmaid. If I say no, well then…I miss out on what might be a pretty spectacular night.”
Haddie snorted. “You did not just saynailed.”
He winced. “Regretted it the second it came out of my mouth.”
She squeezed his hand.
“I like clichés,” she whispered. “And mini bars.”
“Then I’m a cliché,” he whispered back.
They both released their grip, and the second his hand left hers, she felt the absence of it, like something she didn’t realize she’d wanted had gone missing.
Shit.
Before he grabbed the ice bucket off the counter, he slung a towel over her shoulders and pulled it tight.
“I’ll be right back with the ice,” he told her.
But Haddie wouldn’t be here when he returned. She already liked him too much, and she didn’t even know his name. How much more would she like him—and, what…miss him?—if they actually went through with this? She was in no position to like or to miss or… Ugh. She was a self-sabotaging idiot. That was what this was. So the second the hotel-room door clicked shut, she scrambled to get back into her clothes, but her bra was nowhere to be found.
What the actual…? It wasn’t like she’d tossed her undergarments all over the room. Had the bra gone rogue? Skipped town knowing she couldn’t chase after it because that would mean running with the girls untethered? She didn’t have time to contemplate the universe’s plan for her or her bra, so she tossed the dress on sans brassiere, managed to slide back into her shoes, and slipped out the hotel-room door. With the ice machine near the elevator, she had no choice but to bolt in the other direction and take the stairs.
“Please don’t let it be murder stairs,” she pleaded to herself. But when she pushed the long metal bar on the door beneath the Exit sign, she was greeted with concrete walls, floors, stairs…and a flickering fluorescent light.
Murder stairs.
Haddie clutched her purse (into which she had stuffed the second Toblerone) to her chest—hoping it would do double duty as a surrogate bra—and gripped the railing tight as she raced down to the lobby. Only when she was through the door and in the presence of strangers milling about did she let herself breathe.
She glanced up toward the direction from which she’d come, where Mr. Tux had likely just found himself stood up.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, chest heavy and throat tight. “I’m really, really sorry.”
There was no way she could spend the night at the hotel now, not when she might bump into him in the morning. Good thing she hadn’t brought anything up to her own room yet. Haddie could simply leave.
So she did, but not before firing off a quick text.
Haddie:Hi. So… I’m about an hour outside of Summertown. Got any rooms at the inn?
Emma’s response was immediate.
Emma:There’s always a room for you. You okay? Thought you weren’t coming until tomorrow.
Haddie sighed and opted for partial honesty.
