The staff basically trip over themselves to get Jamie taken care of as I stand next to him, fisting my hands until crescent-shaped indents crease my palms as I attempt and fail to hold myself together.
In my own kind of fog, I let the heat of his hand guide me to his room with Jamie blessedly silent for a few minutes while I try to pull my shit together.
It’s just one night.
I can do this.
Our flights will be rescheduled tomorrow.
I’ll be in Philly by the afternoon, have Mom dealt with by tomorrow night, and hopefully back in Chicago by the following morning.
Thirty-six hours.
Forty-eight max.
I can do this.
Iwilldo this.
Even if I don’t want to.
We stop in front of a closed door next to an open one that has a housekeeping cart in front of it. Three bottles of champagne sit discarded. Two of them unopened with a box of chocolates thrown haphazardly on top of them. Two champagne flutes sit next to them, lipstick staining one.
Someone has already had their fill, and these appear to be the leftovers.
I debate my next move for a hot minute before my brain decidesfuck it, and I grab both bottles and the chocolate before slipping inside Jamie’s room.
Maybe these will help get through this disaster of a day...
And what’s no doubt going to be a nightmare of a night.
JAMIE
Dude – Your dog is an asshole.
Tell me something I don’t know.
—Text from Ryker to Jamie
Ashton Carmichael storms past me into the small hotel room like I’ve personally caused her shit day, instead of being the reason she’s not spending an even shittier night passed out on a hard airport chair with some dick drooling next to her, debating whether he can get away with touching her tits. Because there’s no man alive who’s into women who’s not looking at her perfect tits, straining against the little white sweater wrapped around her and tied in a perfect bow at her waist, like a sexy birthday present waiting to be unwrapped.
One that might bite you if you get too close.
She’s small, but she’s vicious.
Always has been.
Juggling two bottles of champagne and what looks like a box of candy I think she may have just grabbed from the trash, I watch as she toes off flat black shoes and stretches her feet. What the fuck? Did this woman even bother to look at the damn weather before she got dressed today? There’s no coat in sight, just her thin sweater and skinny jeans cuffed at her ankles, making this already tiny woman look even shorter. She doesn’t even have on socks. Just red polished toes shining brightly in stark contrast to her pale skin.
A matching red flush creeps up her neck and over her cheeks as she looks around the room, muttering something under her breath that I strain to hear.
“Can’t fucking believe this. Like this day didn’t suck already, I’m stuck spending the night... with him.”
Oh yeah... she’s pissed, and it’s cute as hell.
What’s the name of that animal—the one that looks like it should be in a petting zoo, but really it could eviscerate you before you get close enough to touch it?
I blow out a breath, trying not to laugh, and she spins on me, long strands of rich, chocolate-brown hair whipping against her face as her eyes narrow.
