Page 121 of So This Is War
This is so fucking stupid.
Really fucking stupid.
I toss my key card on the dresser and kick my shoes off just as there’s a knock on my door.
Here we go.
I open the door and find a smiling Wylie on the other side. “Sorry about the loss,” she says as I step aside, letting her in.
“Yeah, it was a shitty night,” I reply as she stops in the hallway of the hotel room, her rollie bag right behind her.
“Um, what is that?” she asks, pointing at the cot.
“Your bed,” I say while shutting the door behind her. I take off my suit jacket and hang it in the closet.
“What do you mean, my bed?” When I turn toward her, I see the concern in her brow. “We’re sharing a hotel room? I’m sorry for assuming, but . . . I don’t get my own room?”
“No,” I answer. “I want you close in case I need anything.” Then I start unbuttoning my dress shirt and catch her eyes following my fingers from button to button. Her eyes grow intense as I pull out the tucked-in ends.
When I turn away from her, she says, “What kind of things are you talking about?”
“Just anything,” I say as I shed out of my shirt and then move farther into the room where I hear her draw closer.
“You . . . you have a bruise on your side.”
“Yeah, I tripped and fell in the training room, ran into the corner of a table.”
“Does it hurt?”
“Sore, but it’s fine,” I say as I turn toward her. Her eyes once again scan my chest and it takes everything in me not to pull herinto my body and then toss her on the bed to make use of those greedy, hungry eyes of hers.
Then she just stands there and watches me move around the room. Finally after a few seconds, I turn toward her and say, “Get comfortable, Wylie.”
She bites on the corner of her lip and says, “I didn’t pack with the idea that I’d be sharing a room with you.”
I take her bag from her and prop it up on the luggage rack I’m not using. Then I move by her and like Penny said . . . I drag my hand across her stomach as I go by and ask, “Oh yeah, what did you pack for?”
I feel her sharp intake of breath before I walk into the bathroom and line my toothbrush with toothpaste.
“Umm, I packed for being alone, meaning, I don’t have work-appropriate pajamas and after everything that happened.”
“It’s fine,” I say. “I won’t be looking.”
Lies, but whatever to placate her.
“Okay, well, if it’s easier, I can just get my own room.”
“Nope,” I answer with a mouthful of toothpaste. “This is easiest.”
I can see her contemplate that, probably thinking, yeah, easy for me, not for her.
When I spit out my toothpaste, I say, “Just going to go to the bathroom quick and then you can take over.” I shut the door and take care of business, the entire time wondering how the hell I’m going to get through whatever outfit she wears tonight.
Just fight fire with fire. That’s all.
After washing my hands, I move out of the bathroom, and she moves in with toiletries and clothes held close to her chest.
When she shuts the door, I slip out of my pants and socks and then move toward the bed, where I get under the covers. I send a quick text to the queens.
