Page 9 of Rage Finish

While he eats, I busy myself with my salad, but I mostly just move the lettuce around the plate, my appetite gone. Maybe I’m the jaded one? I’ve always hated the idea of romance books because one character puts the other on a pedestal, and no one has ever done that for me. Perhaps my prejudice against the genre is because I’m jealous of fictional characters being worshiped by someone.

“Will you excuse me for a second?” Wyatt asks, pulling me from my thoughts. “I’m going to call Ethan to see if I can stay with him.”

Before I can protest, he gets up and steps outside of the dining area. He really shouldn’t give up his room, but without my phone, I can’t search my contacts. As soon as he’s back, I should ask to borrow his and log into my social media, and hopefully find someone I can crash with. Wyatt has done more than enough; he doesn’t need to give up his room or front $1,600 for a giant suite for me.

Unsure when my next meal will be, I eat both slices of pizza, leaving the crust, then start in on the salad. As I’m about to take a bite, Wyatt slides into the booth, and I set my fork down, only to notice there’s a new plate with two slices of barbecue chicken pizza on it. He takes one off and places it on my dish.

“In case you’re still hungry,” he explains with a shrug. “I have some good news and some bad news.”

“Do I dare ask what the bad news is?”

Taking a large bite of pizza, he waits until he’s done chewing to reply, “Ethan’s room only has a king bed. He asked for the hotel to upgrade my room to a suite, not because he wanted to give me a bigger room, but because the room he was assigned had two queens. We basically switched.”

“And who is Ethan?”

“Ethan Barlowe. My old boss.” He sets down the pizza and wipes his hands before taking a drink of his gin and tonic to wash it down. “I used to be an event planner; he owns the company. He’s also an avid reader, so when he found out about the writing retreat, he offered his services pro bono. Probably so he could meet a few of his favorite authors.”

I slump deeper into my seat. “So, what’s the good news?”

“I have two beds.”

My eyes widen as my cheeks heat. “Two beds?”

“What? Were you hoping to live out the one-bed trope tonight?” he chuckles, then exaggerates, “Oh, no, the inn has one room! Oh, dear, there’s only one small bed. Whatever shall we do?”

“Does the power go out so we have to snuggle for body heat, too?”

“Of course.” He resumes eating his lo mein and broccoli beef. “That pizza is good, but this beef is fucking incredible. Want some?”

“Don’t change the subject. I can’t room with you.”

“Why not?” He continues with his meal as if it’s completely normal for strangers to share a hotel room.

“Because we don’t even know each other,” I remind.

Pointing at me with his fork, his eyebrow quirks. “Have you ever had a one-night stand?”

“No,” I scoff, even if it’s a lie.

“Well, imagine, if you will, that this will be just like one. Except you’ll have your own bed, and neither of us will be naked.”

Which means, unfortunately, his stupidly handsome face won’t be buried between my thighs either…

Shame.

Fuck! Why the hell did my twisted mind go there?

Every logical part of me is screaming, “Don’t do it!” or “Ask him for his phone so you can maybe stay with a friend!” So why do I tell him, “I get the one closest to the heater”?

A wide smile splits his face. “Let’s just hope you don’t have a bad dream and need comfort in the middle of the night.”

Little does he know it isn’t a bad dream I’m worried about.

6

WYATT

This has to be either my most brilliant or most terrible idea ever. What was my alternative? Let Sloane sleep in a car? The temperature outside will likely drop below freezing.