Part 90 (1/2)
”Okay. I'm decent.” I turn to a smug smile from the man not in the slightest perturbed by the situation. His black jeans rest low on his hips, the v pointing straight to where I attempted not to look a minute ago. ”Should've knocked, Smiley.”
”I did.”
”I was in the shower.” He tips his head. ”Are you pink? Did my nakedness upset you?”
”No, I'm pink because I'm p.i.s.sed off that I have to deal with your s.h.i.+t.”
Nate's eyebrows shoot up. ”Whoa. I wouldn't call a late check out a major drama.”
”Can you please pack up, or at least let housekeeping in the room while you get your a.r.s.e into gear.”
The sound of a vacuum cleaner close to the door adds a less than subtle hint to the situation. Nate yanks open the bar fridge and pulls out a bottle of water.
”I feel like s.h.i.+t. You got any painkillers?” He holds a hand out.
”No.”
”People normally bring me them.”
I choke on his arrogance. ”I'm not people, and I'm not bringing you anything.”
”Claudia did. Anything I wanted, I could've had so much fun with ”
”Nate. Get your act together and leave.”
We stand off, the usual tension grabbing us both by the throat and flinging us together. Nothing's changed in the time we were apart. This man evokes stronger emotions in me than anybody ever has even Logan. One day I'll unpack in my mind exactly why this happens between us, but it doesn't take rocket science to figure out Paris is one reason.
”I love a forceful woman,” he says in a low voice. ”People don't dare give me c.r.a.p but you... You enjoy it.”
His eyes glint and I run my tongue along my teeth. ”Can I tell reception you'll be checked out in five minutes?”
The stand off continues with him silently goading me into a round of Nate versus Riley. I'm not in the mood. Maintaining professionalism around Nate is hard at the best of times, and I already crossed that line once today when I saw him b.u.t.t naked. If I engage, I'll lose my s.h.i.+t at him because my stress levels peaked an hour ago. Walk away. Now.
Nate approaches and studies my face more closely. ”Are you okay?”
”Are you asking about my well-being?”
”No, wondering why you're not playing.”
”Playing what?”
”Or did the awesomeness of my naked body overwhelm you?”
Correct.
Not playing.
I take a deep breath. ”Just check out of the room, Nate. Please.”
Nate sighs and grabs a discarded ts.h.i.+rt from the floor, allowing me one more surrept.i.tious look at his abs before the material drops into place. Does he have new tattoos?
”Were you going to leave without saying goodbye?” he asks as his head appears through the top of his s.h.i.+rt. ”Again.”
”I said goodbye to the band last night.”
”To me.” He steps closer.
Nate's scent dives into my memories of his mouth on mine, skin on skin with him. I hold my ground and look back into his eyes. He's inscrutable, closed off, the way he perfects.
”Goodbye, Nate.”
”So, we meet again in another two years?” He murmurs the words as he flicks a look at my mouth, then back to me. My pulse hikes. No, he does not get to do this again. I break away before he decides to touch me.
”Goodbye, Nate,” I repeat and hope he doesn't notice my trembling hands as I walk away.
”I'll miss you!” he calls after me.
Me too. Like a hole in the head. I slam the hotel room door.
I return to my spot in the cafe and hide in the corner with my latte and phone. Several calls later, and I'm no closer to locating a car. A few rental places don't hire for one-way trips, and others have no cars or they're not due for return until mid-afternoon.
I place my elbows on the table and hold my head in my hands. What do I do? The train could be my only option and one I'll avoid at all costs. Knowing my luck, the train lines will be blocked and I'll end up halfway home and worse off.
A plate clatters onto the table in front of me and I look up. A slice of chocolate cake. Nate stands with a takeaway coffee in his hands and looks down.
”What's this?” I ask.
”For you. You like chocolate cake.”
I stare at the huge chunk of gooey, brown chocolate. ”Why would you buy me this?”
”Heard you're having a s.h.i.+t day.”
Nate polite and thoughtful? Either I'm dreaming or he's had a knock on the head since I left him in his room.
”I am. And no thanks to the cake.”
”Should've told me earlier what happened to you.” He regards me with what could be concern, but I doubt that.
”We don't really share problems anymore, do we? We already said our goodbyes.” I pick up my phone and stare at the screen, as if somehow this would make it ring. I'm vulnerable, and the longer Nate sits here, the more likely he'll realise.
”Yeah, but I heard about your problem.”
”You mean stolen cars, snow, and belligerent rock stars who refuse to check out of their rooms?” I ask, eyes remain fixed on my phone. Call. Come on.