Page 83 of Traded

Giving up on the phone option, I rest back on my thighs and consider my options.

If the fries will not come to Rosie, then Rosie will go to the fries.

Yanking on a pair of yoga pants that’ll cope with the bloated waistline I intend to have in the very near future and opting forone of Carter’s hoodies that I snuck into my bag, I scrape my half-dried frizz into a ball and pray nobody spots me in my hunt.

Yanking my bedroom door open, I stand awkwardly in the doorway.

This is… ridiculous. I don’t needpermissionto go downstairs and find something to eat.

My stomach rumbles at me in agreement. Turning away from Liam’s door with clenched hands, I make a run for the elevator. Once I’m safely ensconced inside, watching each floor light up as I descend down to the lobby, some of the tension seeps from my shoulders.

This has nothing to do with Lauren, or our pack.

So why does it feel like I’m doing something wrong?

I rub my sweating hands against my pants and bury my hands under my armpits. The lobby feels like I’m making an escape attempt from a group of masked kidnappers. Keeping to the edges, my head stays down as I scuttle for the bar like Oliver on my way to beg for gruel.

“Hi!” I draw the attention of a smartly-dressed worker with a tap. He looks over my outfit with horrified politeness. “Could I have a menu, please?”

He slides it my way with a single finger, and I snatch it up. “And a large glass of merlot, thanks.”

“Late night snack?” A voice rumbles.

I expire on the spot.

No.

Thiscannotbe happening. The world is not that cruel. I lower my menu enough to take a quick look.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” I hiss.

The barman looks between us like he’s contemplating calling security. At the other end of the bar, Boone leans his elbows on the gleaming glass and smirks. “Midwest swing, remember?”

“Ours,” I snarl. “Not yours.”

He shrugs. His tailored white shirt hugs his chest, open at the neck and revealing a hint of curling dark script covering the muscle beneath. “We have the Cubs on Thursday. Flew in a day early. Navarro has family here.”

I shrivel back into Carter’s sweatshirt, suddenly more than aware that I look like an escaped convict. Ihatethat I hate it. “Stalker.”

“I was here first.” His grin grows, and I turn back to the menu, trying to blank him out. “Put her order on our tab.”

I think the fuck not. “No, thank you.”

Our barman looks like he wants to disappear as he places my wine down.

“Come on, Ragdoll.” Boone taunts me in a low voice. “Trying to be nice here. Besides, a bowl of fries won’t break the bank.”

I purse my lips, considering as I stare down at the menu. “Fine.”

He asked for it. “I'll take the bacon and halloumi loaded fries, the chicken loaded fries, the brisket loaded fries, the chili loaded fries, the cheesy loaded fries, the spicy loaded fries, and the truffle loaded fries. Oh—and a portion of onion rings, mozzarella sticks, and the poppers. Uh, better add some garlic mushrooms too.”

Smiling serenely, I close my menu and hand it to the gawping barman. “And a dip tray. Two, actually.Thankyou.”

Damn. Should’ve asked for the lava cake, too.

Instead of annoyance, I get a deep rumble of laughter that prickles at the heaviness in my chest. “You missed the garlic breadsticks. Add those, too. And give her the rest of the wine.”

Well, then. Looks like I’m heading for a party back in my room. I swipe the wine with relish and a begrudging nod in his direction. “Thanks.”