I blink at her, my skin newly warm and tingly. “For what?”
“Whatdoesn’the owe me a drink for?”
“Valid. You did design a sherpa blanket with his face on it.”
“Mm-hmm,” she hums. “Granted, the Chase blanket has outsold his by several hundred units.”
I saunter toward the elevators, suitcase in hand. “When do I get a blanket with my face on it?”
Kenna grimaces. “Do you really want to go down that road?”
It takes a moment for the subtext to register: my face, fleece, and men who definitely wouldn’t be using it for warmth. I scrunch my nose. “Right.”
“Are you partaking in our night of Malibu and mayhem?”
“Um…” I turn, watching as Chase settles into the elevator. Our eyes lock the moment before the doors close him in. Clearing my throat, I shake my head, sending Kenna a small smile. “I’ll pass. I’m beat. This is probably my one chance to catch up on sleep.”
“Heard. Egyptian cotton sheets are hard to compete with.” She glances over at the bar, where Tag, Rock, and Zach are already deep into round one. “’Night, girlie. I’ll text you in the morning.”
“Have fun.” I shoot her a wave, then make my way up to the seventh floor.
Chase’s room key is heavy in my hand as the floor number dings and the doors peel open. He’s only a few rooms down from me. I should probably head to my own, take a long, hot shower, change into pajamas, and inhale enough melatonin to tranquilize a horse.
But…
My pulse revs, my gait slowing as I approach room 721.
I blow out a breath. Second-guess my motives half a dozen times. Step forward, step back.
Five whole minutes later, I’m still standing there, looking pitiful.
“Screw it,” I mutter, holding my head high and rapping my knuckles againstthe frame.
Footsteps shuffle beyond the threshold, and my heart races at double the speed.
The door pulls open.
Chase stands there, sans shirt, a pair of sweatpants slung low on his hips. My treacherous eyes trail over him, landing on the shadowing of dark hair disappearing into his waistband.
Gulping, I glance back up.
His eyes soften at the sight of me. “Didn’t expect you so soon.”
“Yeah,” I murmur. “Same.”
“You didn’t even drop off your suitcase.”
A shrug. “If you’re busy, I can—”
“Come in.” He takes a step back, widening the door.
The room smells like the lobby, fresh and citrusy. Must be something in the air vents. I stroll inside, my shoulder grazing the front of his chest as my grip tightens on the suitcase handle. The bed is still made, stacked with a plethora of cloud-like pillows, while Chase’s suitcase lies sprawled open on the mattress. “Nice digs,” I say.
He closes the door. “As Tag would say, we’ve peaked.”
A smile curves. “Feels like we have.”
We face each other, charged silence infiltrating the air around us.
