I started with the room, needing to get the smell of stale wine out. Thankfully, the window opened to let some air in.
I cracked up the air conditioning, collected the trash, and used the brown paper takeout bags as makeshift garbage bins. I would need to tip housekeeping big time.
I was next.
I needed calories, but I needed a shower more. I kept it quick, washing my hair, scrubbing my face, and rinsing off my body. The knocking started the moment I finished brushing my teeth and blow-drying my hair.
I wasn’t surprised. I knew they’d give me space, then show up eventually. I made an ass of myself in front of an entire conference yesterday, and I had to own up to that.
As much as I didn’t want to be confronted by Whitney and Wander, it had to happen.
Time to face the music.
I threw on the complimentary hotel robe and yanked open the door.
“Morning, beautiful.”
My eyes went wide. I shrieked and slammed the door in Ryan Ford’s smug little face before round two of second-hand spaghetti rocketed up my throat.
The knocking started again as I spat toothpaste into the sink for the second time. A reasonable person would have left at the first sound of vomit, but Ryan Ford was not a reasonable person.
I opened the door and slumped against the doorframe. “What?” I groused.
“Morning to you too,” he said cheerily as he stuffed a cup of coffee in my hand, dropped a quick kiss on top of my head, and waltzed right into my hotel room.
I left the door wide open. “You are the last person I want to see this morning. Out.”
But he was already unloading a large brown bag. Flowers were placed on the hotel desk where the boxed wine had died a slow death. The smell of bacon was overwhelming as he pulled out—what I assumed to be—two wrapped breakfast sandwiches.
“You look . . . Uh . . .” He gave me an up-and-down assessment and chose his next words carefully. “Well rested.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I have a headache, I’m hungover, and I’m pretty sure if you don’t leave in the next three seconds, I’m going to throw up on you.”
Ryan reached into his Mary Poppins grocery bag, pulled out a bottle of over-the-counter painkillers, dumped a few into his hand, and offered them to me.
I huffed. “And now you’re trying to drug me.”
That made Ryan’s smile grow even wider. “You and I are going to have fun, cupcake.”
“Don’t call me that,” I said as I took the pills from him and dry swallowed them down before chasing them with the coffee.
I grimaced. “It’s black.”
“I figured cream wouldn’t be too amicable with your hangover,” he said as I rifled through the bag and pulled out sugar packets.
I narrowed my eyes. “How did you know I was hungover?”
He chuckled. “Because you peeled out of the ballroom like your ass was on fire as soon as the panel was over. Can’t say I blamed you.” He glanced at his watch.Seriously, who still wears wristwatches?“But I’m down to eleven weeks, six days, and twelve hours. So we need to get this show on the road. Falling in love takes time. So, how do you usually take your coffee?”
I snorted. “I appreciate the hangover breakfast, and I’m sorry for putting you on blast on stage, but you can go.”
Ryan lifted an eyebrow and crossed his thick, tattooed arms over his chest. His t-shirt stretched tight with the motion. The silence thrust us into a standoff.
I stole the moment to take him in.
Ryan’s dark hair was messy, like it had been styled this morning, then became mussed throughout the errands he ran. He was in a clean t-shirt that molded to his arms and torso, showing off the tattoos that had been so conveniently hidden on Friday night when we met in the checkout line. His gym shorts were tight around his ass and thighs. Well-worn running shoeswere on his feet. I made my way back up to his face and noted that he had his glasses on today.
It was a no-nonsense look that was panty-melting and infuriating.
