Page 14 of Holding Penalty

I clear my throat to get his attention.

“One second, ya’ll,” he drawls in a Texas accent even stronger than mine.

A couple beats later—I guess when he gets to the end of the paragraph he was reading—he flattens the newspaper on his desk and looks up.

“I take it ya’ll want a room?”

“Two rooms,” I say.

He shrugs. “The honeymoon phase stops for everyone, eventually.”

I roll my eyes, thinking better of expending energy to set him straight about my and Piper’s relationship.

My and Piper’s relationship. That string of words does something funny to my insides.

The man opens a drawer underneath his desk, ruffles around in it for a moment, then looks back up.

“Bad news. I just got one room left.”

My stomach drops. At the same time, my balls feel tighter.

“It’s fine,” Piper says. “I don’t want to walk around and look for another hotel.”

Her voice sounds tired, and that’s confirmed when she slumps against me to keep herself upright. The warmth of her body pressed against my side does absolutely nothing to loosen the tightness in my pants.

“Two beds?” I ask.

A wry gleam sparks in the desk guy’s eyes. He shakes his head. “Nope. One bed.”

My stomach drops even lower, and my balls get a lot tighter.

I worry my bottom lip between my teeth, hesitant. I can’t sleep in a one-bed hotel room with an engaged woman.

“That’s fine, we’ll take it,” Piper says. Her voice is dreamy and wispy. Add that to the list of things sending too much blood flow below my belt line.

I glance at Piper next to me. Her eyes are closed, fluttering like she’s already dreaming. She has so much of her weight resting against me that if I step forward, she’d fall.

So, I do something I absolutely shouldn’t. I loop my arm around her waist and guide her to the desk with me to pay and collect the key.

Piper feels way too fucking good in the crook of my arm. The strangest mix of excitement and calm rushes through my veins, endorphins flooding my brain as my heart skips. She’s so warm next to me. The fabric of her dress so soft. I bet she feels even softer underneath the dress.

Our room is on the second floor. I have to hold her even tighter against me to help her up the stairs. In the process, her brown hair feathers against the side of my face and neck. It’s even softer than I imagined earlier, and my cock is instantly so hard that I’m surprised it doesn’t burst through the zipper of my jeans.

“You know, I’ve read a lot of books like this,” Piper says as we reach the second-floor balcony.

“Huh?”

“With the one bed trope.”

My jaw ticks. I wish I could pretend that I don’t know what she’s talking about, but I don’t have my head deep enough in the sand to not know what a trope is.

“I read this amazing enemies-to-lovers book recently,” she continues. “They had to share a room with one bed, and both were so stubborn about who would sleep on the bed or the floor, that they both slept on the floor. They still ended up fucking on the floor and never even touching the bed.”

“Don’t get your hopes up.” Shit, I shouldn’t have said that. It was just a joke, but it still treads too close to a dangerous line.

Laughter sputters from Piper. “You should get drunk more often. Your dry sense of humor is halfway funny.”

Being called halfway funny isn’t exactly the most glowing compliment, but it brings me a disproportionate feeling of satisfaction.