She looks at me with ‘touch me’ eyes before blanking them out. “T-those shots are catching up with me,” she laughs. “Sorry, I can usually hold my liquor a little better.”
I don’t bother to call bullshit, but in truth, they caught up with her a few minutes after she took the first shot. I can’t say she isn’t an entertaining drunk because she is. Back at the table, she bombed us with stories that had Tack and me laughing hysterically, which only endeared her to me further while, in turn, frustrated the fuck out of me. I couldn’t get a word in edgewise or pull her chair closer to mine. Things I could have easily gotten away with in Seattle—but didn’t attempt—seem off the table now.
She and Tack went back and forth for most of dinner, acting more like old friends than new acquaintances. I know some of her eager interest in him was an attempt to skirt around us. But I found myself becoming increasingly disgruntled as she allowed Tack to monopolize her time just to avoid me.
“I knew all the words,” she speaks up as we head down the corridor full of rooms. “The critics can’t stop raving, Easton. You’re going to be a household name,” she shoots me a fearful look. “Sorry, I don’t mean to spike your anxiety.”
“Well, that’s a hell of an exaggeration, so I’m good.”
“You need a reality check,” she makes another emphatic hand gesture, “because it’s not at all an exaggeration. I’ve read everything, every single review on the web. Even the toughest critics are testifying to your talent.”
“Thanks, but I wouldn’t know.”
“I knew you weren’t reading them!” She shakes her head, “You really have no idea what’s going on out there, but you need to trust what I’m saying and trust the screams in that audience tonight. You’re only going up from here,” she points skyward with her finger.
“You’re so drunk,” I muse.
“I’m a li’l tipsy,” she spouts, producing her keycard from a pint-sized purse. “I can’t invite you in…so,” she unlocks her door and opens it a few inches.
“I wouldn’t accept,” I say as she draws her brows adorably.
Crossing my arms, I lean against the jamb. “You look disappointed, Natalie. Tell me, why is that?”
“No, it’s not—”
I turn her toward her door and smack her ass. “Go on, enjoy your denial.”
She does an abrupt about-face and damn near clocks me with her forehead as she postures up to tell me off. Fuck if I don’t want this to turn into a push and pull, ending in me pushing into her as I pull on her wild, light strawberry curls.
“I’m not the bad guy,” she announces. “So, stop making me out to be one. I’m trying to protect us both.”
“Go to sleep, Natalie,” I push her door open to usher her in, her exotic floral scent wafting into my nose as the moral battle ensues.
We have a fight coming, an important one, but I’m not about to reason with liquor.
“I kissed you back,” she blurts, as if I need a reminder. “You know I did.”
“Is that what I know?”
“Fine…okay, all right, I guess…you must be so tired,” she stalls, her eyes begging me to act on what we both want. A victory I refuse to give her when she’s gone out of her way to avoid this very thing. More underlying anger flares as I imagine pinning her down and punishing her for it. Spreading her wide and fucking the truth into her mind only to have it pouring like a confession out of her mouth.
Right now, I don’t trust myself even though she seems cognizant enough for me to trap her denying lips with mine before gagging her quiet with my tongue. But she’s mistaken if she thinks I’ll allow her to use booze as an excuse to relapse on me. She’s playing dirty to avoid culpability. If anything happens this weekend, she’s going to have to fucking own it. She’s going to be stone-cold sober when we have this out for good.
“Yeah, I am tired. I’m driving tomorrow, so I’m going to turn in. Night, sleep well, Beauty,” I say, dipping to kiss her cheek and lingering, feeling her tense as I pull away. She grips the side of her door as I stifle my chuckle and move to head toward my room. “Hey, uh, Easton?”
“Yeah?”
“What’s the second…you know, the reason you…called the second time?”
“Nuh-uh. You closed that window when you flew away with Grey Goose.”
“I’m not the bad guy,” she repeats defensively.
“Okay.”
“I care about you, a lot.”
I dip my chin in response.
“Why won’t you talk to me? I’m being honest!”
“Well, don’t hurt yourself.”
She glares at me. “I missed you too, when I left.”
Despite her state, her neck reddens a little with her admission, and it’s all I can do to keep from snatching her to me.
“We can talk about it tomorrow.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m not doing this with you right now.” I take two strides away as she speaks up.
“You really missed me? Even with all you have going on?”
I pause and glance over my shoulder. “No, I’ve only called you twice a fucking week—every week—since you left because I haven’t thought about you at all.”
“What do you think about?”
“Don’t go there,” I warn, fishing my keycard out of my jeans.
“Tell me.”
“We’ll talk in the morning,” I snap, the fight to keep the space she needs me to keep diminishing by the second.
“Fine,” she slams her door behind her as I tap my keycard against my lock before trapping myself inside the room adjacent to hers.
Aggravation for our situation begins to eat at me as I smack my head against the door, fists clenching at my side. She’s fucking infuriating, but no matter how hard I try, I can’t stop wanting her.
“I thought about your hands,” I hear in muffled confession from the other side of the adjoining suite’s door. “Your beautiful hands.”
In three strides, I’m pressed against it like a stalker, eager for her alcohol-induced revelations because it’s the only way I’ll get any real truth from her right now. What pisses me off the most is she’s got a warped sense that there’s some chase going on between us, but her feelings are so fucking obvious that it makes the notion ludicrous.
“…the way you looked at the hotel the day you sang for me… it was like the damned clouds parted just for you, and because you’re you, they probably did.” A long, exhausted exhale follows before shuffling ensues. I can only assume she’s struggling to get those tight-ass jeans down her legs.
“I think about the day I left,” I hear this admission clearly, seriously questioning the quality of our hotel as I catch the faint sounds on the other side of the door—the clank of her bracelets hitting the dresser, the unzipping of a bag. “Best sex…ever,” she proclaims.
“Couldn’t agree more,” I mutter, rolling my forehead along the inches-thick wood that separates us.
“I think about your dick. God, just wait until some groupie discloses the size of that particular gift,” she bites out. “You’ll have to load up on tasers.”
I bite my fist to stifle my chuckle as another bang echoes with an “Oww, oww, oww, shit!”
Grinning at the sound of the small crash that follows, I resign myself to another sleepless night. I don’t do the hard-up, beat-around-the-bush bullshit, but somehow, she has me participating in her fictional chase. The truth is, this battle was over for both of us the day she let me in. While I’ve already accepted defeat, she seems to want to die on this hill.
“Seeing you is going to screw me up all over again,” she whisper-yells, confirming it, as if she knows I’m within earshot. I manage to draw some inhuman strength and stay still to keep myself from going to her, from being in the same space with her, even if I can’t be with her the way I want to.
“I didn’t tell a soul, not a soul, and it’s because I wanted to keep you…all to myself.”
“Feeling’s mutual,” I sigh.
“Well, I told Percy, but our secret is safe with him. I feel…protective of you. I sent you what I wrote because I want to protect you so much.”
“You did,” I whisper, feeling the bite of my fingernails in my palms while managing to keep my groan inward. “Please, Beauty, go to sleep.”