“I know, but I can’t—” She shakes her head slightly, almost imperceptibly. “Just return them.” She hands me the pants and opens the door to the bathroom. “I’m going to take a shower.”
Just like that, she’s back in there with the door closed. I hear the shower turn on, and I put the leggings back in the bag but leave the shirt and socks out. She can at least wear those so her feet don’t freeze. God, when did I start to care about Allie Montgomery’s feet being cold? One minute, I’m planning all the ways I can make her life at work miserable, and the next I’m worried that herfucking feet are going to be cold?I need to get a grip.
My best course of action is to order room service and flop myself on the bed with the remote, so that’s exactly what I do. I find a mindless movie and attempt to watch it, but it’s hard to concentrate on anything knowing Allie is naked a few feet awayfrom me—naked and wet. I shake the thought from my head and try to focus on the movie again.
Twenty minutes later, the shower turns off and I hear soft footfalls against the floor. The bathroom door swings open and Allie emerges, steam billowing behind her.
“Close your eyes,” she calls to me, and I reluctantly obey. She scurries around before going back to the bathroom. When she comes out again, my eyes flick open. She’s wearing the Baybridge Inn shirt with nothing underneath. At least nothing that I can see. It’s one of those oversized styles, so it’s long enough that it reaches her mid-thigh. Her wet hair drips down the shirt, leaving dark gray splotches on the sides, and her ocean eyes sparkle beneath her black-rimmed glasses.
She looks downright edible.
Before I can say anything, she bends down to pick up the socks and I see a hint of red fabric covering her ass. She is wearing panties, but they look pretty flimsy from over here. She sits down on the floor, making sure to cover herself with the shirt as she pulls the socks on. When she turns her hand, I see the flash of black ink on her right forearm. It’s a flower, but I’m not sure what kind. Despite my grandmother’s best efforts, I’ve never been able to identify all the different varieties of flowers. There’s small cursive writing underneath that says “There’s beauty in chaos.” It’s where I got the idea for her nickname. I first noticed it at the gala, but it wasn’t until this afternoon that I actually called her that.
“I ordered us some food,” I say, breaking the silence.
“I’m not hungry.” She grabs a towel to dry off her hair.
Of course. What the hell did I do to piss her off now? It’s best to not even wonder. I would need a Ph.D. in the inner workings of her brain to figure it out.
There’s a knock at the door, and a man wearing a hotel uniform comes in and sets the food I ordered down on the table in the corner by the fireplace. I give him a tip, thanking him ashe rushes off and I’m alone with Allie once again. I turn the movie off and sit down at the table, helping myself to the pasta and salad I ordered for us to share, while Allie sits on the bed, repeatedly swiping her phone. After about ten minutes, I hear a scoff and she shuffles over and sits on the opposite side of me.
“Fine. I’ll have some,” she says as if she’s doing me a favor by eating. I internally roll my eyes as I hand her a plate, and she inhales the scent of the rich tomato sauce. Her eyes flutter and her lip curls upward like she’s suddenly been filled to the brim with warmth. She takes a bite of the pasta and closes her eyes, savoring the taste on her tongue. This is the second time I’ve watched her eat today, but I feel like I could watch a whole season of it. After a few more bites, she looks up at me.
“I don’t suppose you ordered wine?” she asks hopefully.
“Nope,” I tell her, and her face falls.
“So I’m expected to spend the night snowed in with youwithoutalcohol?”
“You’re welcome to order some.”
She looks like she might do just that when her eyes light up all of a sudden, as if she just remembered something. She digs around in her purse for a while before she produces a small flask.
“Are you—do you seriously have a flask in your purse?”
“Look, before you get all Judgey McJudgerson over there, I don’t normally have a flask in my purse, but I used this bag when I went out bar-hopping last and I had brought a flask for…you know…an emergency.”
“An emergency,” I repeat. “Like the bar ran out of alcohol?”
“You never know.”
I shake my head and hold out my hand for the flask. She takes a small sip and hands it to me. “It’s tequila,” she says.
I take a swig, wincing slightly, the room-temperature liquid burning as it slides down my throat. “Whatever this is, it’s past its prime,” I choke.
She grabs for the flask, so I hand it back to her. “It’s not like alcohol goes bad.” She takes another sip. “It’s just a little warm.”
“You enjoy it,” I tell her as I clear our plates and place them on the room service tray.
“Or…” There’s a look in her eyes that I’ve never seen before. I’ve seen anger, annoyance, sadness, even lust in those baby blues, but I have never seen this mischievous glint in her eyes like she’s about to steal all my money and hop in a getaway car, cackling all the way to the bank.
“Or, what?”
“We could play a game.”
A game? My ears perk up. I love games. Not to brag or anything, but I am the reigning Monopoly champion among my siblings. We’ve been playing it since we were old enough to read the property cards. Still, something in the back of my mind tells me that nothing good can come from playing games with Allie Montgomery.
Apparently, I lose all sense of self-preservation when it comes to her, so I respond with a curt, “I’m listening.”
