Soon after, I hear her stir in the adjoining bedroom, soft footfalls of bare feet padding across the carpeting . . . then the distinct sound of her passing gas. Loudly.
I chuckle to myself, my mouth pulling up into a grin. The other room is totally silent until I clear my throat.
“Is there even a remote chance you didn’t hear that?” she asks, peeking at me from around the corner.
Her hair is an absolute mess and there are little smudges of black makeup under her eyes. She’s naked, clutching the white sheet around her chest. And her cheeks are stained bright red—presumably from embarrassment. But she still somehow looks good.
I chuckle again. “Don’t worry about it. It was cute.”
Her eyebrows dart up in surprise. “Cute,” she repeats, sounding confused. And then she dashes off for the bathroom, and probably the shower since her meetings start in another hour from now.
I hear the spray of water and the shower curtain being pulled along the rod. Lost in thought, I’m staring at my phone reading an e-mail from Hudson when it suddenly hits me and I bolt up out of my chair.
Cute? The fuck?
My heart begins hammering in my chest, and my palms break out in a damp sweat. Hudson’s words come rushing back to me. I realize that if I thought that was cute, my feelings for her are a lot deeper than I ever bargained for.
Picking up my phone again, I dial Hudson in a blind panic, trying not to freak the fuck out. He will explain this to me. He has to. I can’t let hysteria set in. I take a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves.
“Yo,” he answers. “How’s Oklahoma?”
“It’s Nebraska,” I bark. I have no time for pleasantries. I’m dealing with a Code Red emergency here.
“Oh, right. What’s up, man?”
“She just fucking farted.”
A long silent pause. “So I take it you left her?” he says with a chuckle.
“No. Worse. I thought it was cute. I laughed it off and told her not to worry about it. She was mortified, of course.”
I glance to the bathroom door, which is still shut. The sound of water running tells me she’s still showering.
“Okay, we’ll talk this out. You can get through this,” Hudson reassures me with only a hint of a mocking tone to his voice.
“Damn it. This wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“What’s the problem? Did you guys have sex?”
“Yes. Several times last night,” I admit.
“And now you have real feelings for her?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
“And the problem is what, exactly?”
The problem is so colossal that it can’t even be put into words. What’s happening between us isn’t just friendship, I’m falling in love with her. The one thing I vowed I’d never do again. It almost destroyed me last time, and every fucking time I see Roxy, it’s pushed into my face all over again. A constant reminder of what could have been. That can’t happen with Emery. I wouldn’t survive it.
“I’ve gotta go,” I tell him.
“Hayden, don’t do this—” Hudson begs, but I end the call before I can hear the rest of it.
Pacing the hotel room, I gather my stray clothes and toss them into my duffel bag. Then I pull on a T-shirt and my shoes, and I’m out the door before the shower even turns off.
My plan is to head straight for the airport and hightail it back to LA, where I can pretend like none of this ever happened. Outside the lobby of the hotel, I hail the first cab I see, tossing my duffel bag inside and then climbing in after it.
“The airport, please.”
My hands are shaking as I pull out my cell phone and type out a text to Emery.
Hayden: Sorry. I can’t do this.
Then I turn off my phone.
Chapter Eighteen
Emery
Last night was one of the best nights of my life. Being intimate with Hayden was . . . everything. It was the most incredible sex I’ve ever had. But the afterglow illuminated a few unpleasant things, and the stark light of morning has only confirmed them.
As I stand under the spray of warm water, lathering shampoo in my hair, I realize I can’t ignore the fact that I have major feelings for him. It’s kind of terrifying; sex changing our relationship is exactly what I was afraid of yesterday.
Now that the moment is here, though, I don’t feel nearly as stressed as I did when I was worrying about this before. It’s a fact, just as much as the sky is blue and the Sherman Act was passed in 1890 . . . I’m falling in love with Hayden Oliver. A simple truth instead of an anxious, murky possibility.