Swipe again.
Red.
“You’ve got it backwards.” Ivy’s nose remains buried in her iPad.
“It’s a key card, not brain surgery.”
“Exactly. Which is why it’s concerning you’re struggling.”
I flip the card. Swipe.
Green.
“Congratulations, Hartwell. You followed basic instructions.”
I push inside and the room stops me cold. The suite is smoldering. Like being aggressively romantic for no reason. Dark espresso walls. Beveled crown molding made by Jesus himself. A chandelier that would escort me and my credit score out personally. The ocean hums through cracked windows. And smack dab in the middle of it all—
One fucking bed.
The white linens are pulled so tight you could bounce a quarter off them. And pillows. Decorative ones stacked like a display case. Meaning: completely useless.
This room was designed for exactly one thing, and it’s NSFW.
“Blaze didn’t realize,” Ivy says. “The two rooms are different. Somebody should tell him.”
“Sure,” I drawl. “You go ahead.”
She doesn’t move.
I don’t either.
Neither of us is stupid enough to want to bother the man who’s holding our careers in his hands this weekend.
“He’s probably already turned his room into a tiki bar,” I say.
“Yeah, I bet he’s got Orson doing jello shots out of a seashell.”
“It’s fine. We’re professionals, Stopwatch.”
She nods. “We are.”
But am I?
It’s one bed. With a woman I would absolutely take to bed in a heartbeat under different circumstances.
She breezes past me as if I’m furniture and sets her suitcase on the rack.
Snap. Zip. Open.
Ivy starts unpacking and lining up her things with the kind of efficiency that makes me feel like a problem.
“I’m taking the bed. This was supposed to be my room.” She smirks. “You get the floor. Adjust accordingly.”
Without a word, I sling my duffel onto the center of the bed.
Unzip it. Flip it. Avalanche.
Jeans. Two black tees. A charger cord that whips like a tail. Protein bars. Running shoes with odors that could knock out a horse. My travel spork. Cufflinks. A GoPro on a selfie stick that doubles as a nunchuck(obviously). A pocket knife that is for sure not TSA-approved. And a half-empty bag of gummy bears that are 100% not legal in three states.
