Page 45 of Hard to Love

“At your service.” He chuckles with a mock bow before taking a few steps toward the door. He stops and studies me again. Words are on his lips, but he shuts them without uttering a sound.

“Just for the record,” I say as he heads toward the door, “you were good, but I still don’t like you.”

“Good to hear. Try to stay out of trouble, Stevie.”

There’s a finality to the click of the door when he shuts it, a sense that this was the closure we needed to be able to part ways.

It was how we began.

And now, it is how we ended.

If that’s the case, why do I feel so unsettled listening to his footsteps as he walks down the hallway?

FINN

Gabe: Did your flight get delayed out of Vegas with that fire at the airport?

Me: It was canceled.

Gabe: Still heading to SD though?”

Me: In the morning.

Gabe: So . . .

Me: So . . . what?

Gabe: Did you get her out of your system?

I laugh as I look at the text when nothing about this afternoon is funny. Leaving Stevie’s suite, a delayed then canceled flight to San Diego, and now the search for another hotel room. All I want to be is out of this damn city. So, yeah, not funny.

Is she out of my system?

Isn’t that the fucking question of the day?

I’ll admit it was hard to not go back up to her suite for another round before I left the hotel . . . to make sure I got her out of my system.

Hell, I even hesitated when I closed the door to her suite before I walked away, the image of her standing there in her jean shorts and a red shirt with her hardened nipples showing through the fabric burned into my mind.

Just like the look on her face is.

The look that was so contradictory to the words she spoke. Haughty, arrogant comments while her expressive eyes read confused vulnerability.

I hated the way they made me feel. I wanted to stay and make sure she was okay.

That’s why I need to get out of this city, cut ties with a woman—er, client—who was never supposed to be on my radar in the first place.

Fucking Carson. I sigh and close my eyes as I sit in the back of the Uber on the way to The Strip, trying to figure out how to respond.

Me: Yeah. We’re done.

Gabe: So fucking predictable, but dude, U R the man.

Me: Can’t let them get too attached, now can I?

I hit send on the text and then stare at it for way too long, hating how it makes me feel.

FINN