“You’vegotto be kidding,” Tripp says again, this time, scrubbing a hand down his face in frustration.
“What are you guys doing in my room?”
“This isourroom,” Tripp argues. “You’re gonna have to get your shit and get out.”
My eyes move between them, my hand flexing against the strap of my purse, and Connor grips the towel to hold it in place as the two of them posture at each other like a pair of animals.
They’re both hurt, they’re both angry…and in this moment, I hate myself for being the reason why.
A sting settles behind my eyes as tears prick at them, and I chew at the inside of my lower lip. I’m not sure if saying anythingto either of them will help or hurt right now, so I keep my mouth closed and my racing thoughts to myself.
Tripp’s hand lands possessively on my ass with a squeeze and he gestures with his head, keeping his fiery gaze locked onto Connor’s.
“Go unpack your stuff, baby,” he tells me. “He’ll be gone in two minutes.”
Sliding past Connor’s carved body to take my things further into the room, I try to tune them out as they continue to argue. I try to ignore it when Connor walks past me to reach his suitcase. I try to ignore the sunkissed glow on his skin and his toned back as he dips to pull clothing from the case.
I think I’d like to disappear entirely, right now, if I’m being honest with myself.
My breathing halts when the two of them leave the room, and all I can do is hope – maybe even pray – that they aren’t going somewhere to fight each other. It’s flattering, even romantic, in the books that I read; it wouldn’t be so nice in real life.
I’m not sure that I take a breath for the entire fifteen minutes that they’re out of the room. I’m not sure that I do when they finally step back inside, either.
Both of them are agitated and their voices are still raised as Tripp throws his backpack onto one of the beds.
“They fucking double booked us,” he tells me.
“There aren’t any other rooms?” I ask.
“No.” Pointing to the sliding glass door at the opposite end of the room, he tells Connor, “You can sleep on the balcony.”
Connor hoists his own bag onto the second bed, dropping it harshly onto the mattress without breaking eye contact with my husband as he pulls open the zipper.
The silence in the room is so thick and so deafening that I can hardly pull together any amount of focus while I finish putting on my makeup and I tie a ribbon into my hair. When I step intothe bathroom to change my clothes, I almost expect to walk back out to a bloodbath.
As Tripp and I walk hand in hand through the hotel and on our way down to dinner, his thumb stroking back and forth against my skin, I can’t decide if it’s his pride or the expense of being here that is keeping us from leaving.
I just hope we make it out of this in one piece.
I hope that our marriage does.
Chapter 24
CONNOR
Iperform well under pressure; in fact, sometimes I think I might even do some of my best work under it.
A client’s friend or parent hovering over my shoulder and watching every single movement that I make, knowing that I’m about to smack face first into an important deadline, being in charge of organizing a meet – I’m good at that.
I need the added pressure to help me do the best job I’m able to.
What I don’t do well with, apparently, is the man who I once called my best friend standing twelve feet away from me and glaring daggers in my direction every chance that he gets.
It doesn’t help that his wife is perched in front of him, swiveling back and forth on his chair and watching while he works the table. Our eyes meet every now and again, and I’m not sure if she looks away from me, but I have to look away from her.
I think I’m going to have to quit my job.
I’ll need to find a new shop, maybe a new city.
