Page 70 of Love You Like This

“Tough shit.”

“I had a whole plan for tonight, starting with a shower. I feel gross from the drive.”

He steps back. “By all means, don’t let me stop you.”

I narrow my eyes because there’s no way he’s going to make it that easy to get rid of him. Not when he snuck into my room behind me with ninja-like stealthiness. He moves way too quietly for such a large man.

“You’ll leave?”

He shakes his head and drops onto my bed. “I’ll wait.”

There are really only three options here. I could waste more precious energy arguing with him but ultimately lose because I know the set of his shoulders means he’s not backing down. We could just talk now, and I wait to shower when he leaves. That option is undesirable because I swear I feel a layer of grime growing on my skin from the travel. Which leaves me with showering while he sprawls across the bed.

“Fine,” I grit out.

His smug gaze follows every single move I make as I root around in my bag for a change of clothes and my toiletry bag.

“You’re a fucking asshole,” I say as I close the door.

His answering chuckle makes me even angrier. I pull the shower door open with more force than probably necessary and turn on the water hot enough to start steaming up the bathroom. My elbow bangs into the wall as I undress.

“You okay?” His concerned voice is on the other side of the door in seconds.

“I’m fine.” I manage to answer him with way less snappiness than I actually feel. “Just hit my arm getting out of my clothes.”

“Well if you need some help with that,” he trails off flirtatiously.

“Absolutely not.”

The fucker laughs again.

I release a deep breath as I hear his footsteps heading back to the bed. Looking at my reflection in the rapidly fogging mirror, I take a minute to calm myself. Whatever he wants to talk about is a long time coming. Maybe we can move forward as colleagues. Or friends even.

I step into the shower, luxuriating in the heat of the water as it turns my skin pink beneath the spray. I let it run through my hair as I pump a bit of shampoo onto my palm and work it into a lather. I work the suds through my strands as a plan for the conversation formulates in mind.

He’s going to want to talk about the downfall of us. It’s partially my fault that we’re here. I’m the one who’s held him at arm’s length for years while I’ve worked for the band. But being on tour with them, on the same bus, with Xander and Stone sober, has been different. It’s not babysitting them anymore, a deeper bond has been forged. I can’t rely on the groupies to keep feeding the angry wall I built around myself.

We’ve never spoken about what happened that weekend years ago while I was in Palm Springs with Mom. He doesn’t know my side, just as I don’t know his. But we’ve spent years punishing each other nonetheless.

The bathroom mirror is too fogged up to see to do my skin care routine, so after I button up my pajamas, a very unsexy two-piece silk set in midnight blue, I open the door. Steam puffs out into the hotel room.

“Did you open a portal to hell in here or something?” He fills the doorway, fanning the humid air from his face.

Despite myself, my lips twitch upward. “Yeah, I asked Satan to come pick up his spawn.”

He grips his chest. “You think I’m a prince of hell? I’m flattered.”

I barely suppress a laugh. Annoying fucker.

“Let me finish doing this, and I’ll be out.”

“Okay.” He leans against the door jam.

I turn to him with lifted brows. “You can go now.”

“I’m good.”

He proceeds to watch me with rapt attention as I go through all the steps. Part of me is tempted to pull out my red-light therapy mask, but that would only prolong this conversation and I’m getting hungry.