For a moment, I imagined just letting her leave with the impression that she was the one in the wrong and had simply gotten too close.
Seriously, how many other birds had I escorted to hotel doors just for insinuating they wanted to see me again and maybe go on a “real date”?
“Real Date” Translation: Use you to be seen out with a famous footballer in a posh restaurant and make my friends jealous.
If I let Kayla walk out the door now without telling her who I was, she’d get on with her trip, and I’d get on with mine.
She’d return to the States none the wiser and probably never figure out that her one-night stand in Paris had really been a world-famous footballer.
I considered that scenario. Considered just letting it happen.
Then, I used all my athletic training to sprint backward and hard shift to the left to block her path again.
“Seriously, where are you goin’?” I demanded, like the much bigger-than-her nutter she hadn’t quite sussed out I truly was yet.
She pulled up short again, her brow furrowing. “Um, back to my hotel? I’m getting out of your hair. Like I said.”
A truth spilled out then. But it wasn’t the one I’d been intending to tell her while I was pacing back and forth.
“I don’t want you to go back to your hotel!”
She blinked at me. Several times. Then she jutted her chin forward to ask, “If you don’t want me to go, then why did you get out of the bath like that? Tell me we need to have a talk with our clothes on?”
My Adam’s apple bobbed as I swallowed down the whole truth—then came back with a partial lie. “Listen, I’m supposed to be at the Parc des Rois Stadium right now, attendin’ a closed practice for the Paris Triomphe football club. It’s, ah… somethin’ to do with the prize package, and they’ve actually got a car waitin’ for me downstairs in the garage.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh, my gosh, that’s why you were asking me all that stuff about soccer? And why you were suddenly in such a rush to get out of the bath? Why didn’t you say something earlier?”
I went with another partial truth to answer her last question. “I didn’t say anythin’ because I can’t take ya with me, and I was enjoyin’ me morning with you. I didn’t want it to end. And, I know you don’t consider us a proper swipe-right scenario, but…”
I waggled both my hands between us, just like she did the night before. “I don’t want this to end. I don’t want us to end. Not yet.”
She stared at me for a few moments, her pretty brown eyes filled with shock.
But then her expression softened, and she admitted, “I don’t want us to end, either!”
“A’right, then.” I didn’t realize I’d been holding my breath until it rushed out of me in one relieved burst. “Neither of us want this to end. Cheers to that. Tell you what, Kayla.”
I reached around her and took the big suitcase from her, like it was a kid in a hostage negotiation.
“Instead of leavin’ with this one, why don’t you go to that Benton Budget and get your other suitcase and bring it back here.…”
“Bring it back here?” She shook her head. “Why?”
“Cos you never shoulda taken it outta here in the first place.”
I guess I was done pretending to be any form of low-key with her. I pulled her to me like I’d been wanting to do ever since she came out of the bedroom, fully reclothed in that fuck-awful purple hoodie.
“Kayla, listen to me. I ain’t tryin’ to get rid of you.” I gently grasped her around the back of her neck with both hands and stroked my thumbs over her soft jawline. “I’m askin’ you to stay with me for the rest of my holiday.”
She made an uncertain humming sound and glanced to the side.
“But, Mick, this is crazy. We only just met. Less than twenty-four hours ago.”
“Yeah, told you I was way more mental than you, didn’t I?” I let out a wry laugh.
But then, I got serious again.
“That’s why we have to make the rest of my time here count.”
