Page 11 of Rage Finish

“Hardly. You’ve probably just been dating shitty people. Try to get some sleep. If you need, I have melatonin and some THC gummies in the bathroom. Help yourself, but read the labels first.”

“Thank you.”

I slide off the bed and back into mine, unable to drift off until I hear her breathing slow to a soft snore. Maybe if I play my cards right, when we get back to LA, I’ll have a chance to be more than her roommate for the night.

7

SLOANE

The alarm blares, and I groan, pulling the pillow over my head. I swat at the offending clock, hoping to hit the snooze button, but on my third try, my palm collides with the back of someone’s hand. I pull mine back and shriek.

Tugging the pillow away, my vision is blurry, but I’m able to make out enough of the man’s features for the pieces to fall back into place—I’m in Wyatt’s room.

“Shit! I’m so sorry,” I blurt.

He puts on his glasses, and I do the same. I’m comforted to find he’s smiling and not scowling. “It’s fine. Did you sleep okay?”

“You mean after I woke you up?”

“Yeah,” he chuckles. “After you woke me up.”

“I think so.” Sitting up, I pull the covers over my chest. “I should head downstairs to see if my contact is there to give me access to my room.”

“Oh, about that, I was worried you might be stuck wearing my clothes today, so I guessed your size and had Melanie—Ethan’s wife—pick out something for you last night at one of the boutiques across the street.” He gestures to a small bag sitting on the chair in the corner. “She dropped it off an hour ago. Hope that isn’t weird.”

“Weird? That’s probably the least weird thing that’s happened in the last twenty-four hours.” I slip out of bed to investigate what a woman I’ve never met could’ve picked out for me. There’s a black, knee-length dress, a soft green sweater, and a pair of stretchy jeans. This Melanie woman definitely knows what she’s doing. “This is too much. Please let me know how much I owe you… or her.”

“Ethan and Mel insisted they wouldn’t let me pay them back. I doubt they’ll accept your money either. They’re practically billionaires, so I wouldn’t worry about it. But you’re right, it’s been a strange trip, so hopefully what’s in there will make it a little easier if you don’t have access to your room.”

“I don’t know what to say… Thank you.” I cover my breasts with one arm as I turn to face him. “There’s the issue of, um, well, all I have is my bathing suit top, so I’ll need to locate a bra and underwear at some point.”

“What size do you wear? I’m sure I could have something reserved downstairs before you⁠—”

“You’re not buying me a bra,” I laugh as I sit at the edge of his bed.

He cocks an eyebrow, a teasing smirk tugging at his lips. “How else do you think you’ll be able to buy one if you don’t have access to your room?”

I chew on my lip as I consider my options. Wyatt’s right; I’m royally fucked if I’m unable to get into my room before the workshop this morning. “Okay, but you have to let me pay you back.”

“I’m pretty sure your accountant would question why you’re sending an electronic payment with a bra emoji as the memo. Consider it a gift.”

“Wyatt,” I groan, tossing one of the pillows at him. I’m not sure if we’re quite at the playful pillow-throwing stage of our friendship, but I hope we are. “You’re not gifting me a bra or underwear! It’s bad enough you let me stay here. If anyone finds out you’re buying me clothes, you know it’ll blow up on social media.”

“I can see the viral video now.” He sits up straighter and clears his throat, changing his voice to a horrible imitation of a Valley girl. “Oh my gosh, you guys, I’m at this hotel where a bunch of authors are doing a writing retreat, or whatever. You’ll never believe what I just saw! The one and only Sloane Marino was shopping with some tall blond guy for—gasp—panties. Rumor has it they stayed the night together too. The scandal!”

“As funny as you think this is, that’s exactly what would happen,” I deadpan.

He slides his legs over the side of the bed and gets up, making his way to the bathroom. “It isn’t as if I’d be going with you to watch you try them on.” Pausing, he adds over his shoulder, “Unless you want me to.”

My cheeks heat, likely turning tomato-red. I have no idea how to respond to that, since after the dream I had last night, I definitely wouldn’t mind him removing a pair of lacy panties off me with his teeth.

Wyatt closes the bathroom door behind him, and I fall back onto the bed with a sigh. What are we doing? Is he flirting with me, or is he just a friendly, funny person? All I know about him is that he’s a romance author and used to be an event planner… and that he’s easily the most gorgeous man I’ve ever met. He’s probably just being nice. The kind of guy who helps the elderly cross the street, takes in his neighbors’ trash when they forget, and volunteers at his local food pantry weekly. Him offering to let me stay here last night was nothing more than a fellow author helping someone in need.

Except why would he joke about wanting to watch me try on lingerie?

The toilet flushes, and there’s a faint sound of water running. It goes on for a few minutes, and it’s then that I realize I haven’t brushed my teeth, have no makeup on, and I’m ninety percent sure my hair looks like a squirrel nested in it last night. I quickly adjust my lopsided bun, retying it on top of my head, then swipe under my eyes for any rogue eye makeup that I may have missed in the shower last night.

As the door opens, I adjust how I’m sitting to a forty-five-degree angle in hopes it’ll make my belly look smaller. I shouldn’t care what he thinks of me, but… I do. And I hate that about myself. He doesn’t seem to notice, making a beeline for his suitcase. He pulls out a pair of slacks and a hunter-green button-down shirt, pauses for a moment, then removes a black hoodie.