Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 78915 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78915 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
“You live in a gated community,” I inform her,“with a twelve-foot wrought-iron gate. If someone did show up, it would definitely set off alarm bells.” I laugh at her.
“Touché,” she says. “She’s staying at our hotel.”
“By any chance …” I say, but Lizzie already knows the question I’m going to ask.
“You think she would give me her fucking room number? What is wrong with you?” she asks. “Nico.” Her voice goes low. “Listen, I don’t think you showing up at her door is a good idea. What if she’s with someone?” The minute the words come out of her mouth, a whole bunch of emotions run through me. I feel like someone kicked me in the balls. My stomach suddenly feels like I’m going to be sick. My palms are clammy, but the worse one is the fucking anger I feel. It’s almost as if I see black. I can’t listen to the words Lizzie is saying because I hear nothing. The sound in my ears is ringing as we pull up to the hotel.
“I have to go,” I say and walk into the private door. “I’m looking for someone who is staying here,” I tell the doorman who just listens to me. “Becca.” I don’t even have to say her last name for me to know that he knows exactly who I’m talking about when his face goes to a sly smirk. The look I give him stops him from making the smirk go to a smile.
“She’s staying on the eleventh floor,” he says, and I want to laugh since I’m staying on that floor also. “Eleven twenty-two.”
“Thank you,” I say, getting onto the elevator and pressing the button to the eleventh floor. I walk down the plush carpet to her room and knock on the door. I hear her yell that she’s coming.
She opens the door, and I know I’m not the one she’s expecting to see standing here. “Nico,” she says, her voice almost low. She’s dressed in the same outfit she was wearing when I saw her, but with the jacket off, I can get my fill of her. Her beige pencil skirt hugs her hips. The same hips that my hands squeezed twenty-four hours ago. Her long-sleeved sweater is pulled up to her elbows.
“I guess you were expecting someone else?” I ask. Walking into the hotel room, I look around to see if anything indicates she is with someone.
“I was expecting my room service,” she says, closing the door and walking over to me. “How did you—”
I cut her off when I grab her face and kiss her lips. Her mouth opens for me to slide my tongue in, and I can taste her sweetness. I thought kissing her last night was a dream. It almost felt too fucking perfect, but with my hands on her face again, this time feels even better than it did last night. Her hands go inside my jacket to my waist, and I can feel her nails digging into me when she pulls me closer to her. I turn my head to the other side as our tongues duel—neither of us giving in.
The knock on the door startles us, making us jump apart. Our chests are rising and falling as if we just sprinted over the finish line of a marathon. She puts her shoulders back and walks to the door, opening it for the room service. The man smiles at her as he pushes in the cart. “Would you like it in the living room?” he asks, and she nods.
“Thank you,” Becca says, looking at him and then at me. “I’ll pour the tea myself.” He smiles at her and walks out.
“Tea?” I ask, smiling.
“It’s ginger tea,” she says, walking over to the tray. “And it was cold outside.”
“Did you order food?” I ask, knowing full well she didn’t.
“It was too early to eat. I had a late lunch,” she says, pouring herself some tea.
“Have dinner with me,” I say, and she looks up. “Unlike yesterday, when you hightailed it out of the arena without seeing me.”
She sits back on the couch. “I didn’t hightail it anywhere. I was just done for the day.”
“So you didn’t run off because I kissed you?” I ask, and I have to put my hands in my pockets.
“Let’s just get one thing straight. We kissed each other,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest.
“I’m the one who kissed you,” I say, and when she’s about to argue, I put my hand up. “Doesn’t fucking matter who kissed who. Bottom line, we kissed, and you ran away.”
“I didn’t run away.” She smirks at me, and I see that her lipstick is still on. “I walked.” I just watch the twinkle in her eye. “Fast.”
I throw my head back and laugh. “Be ready at seven,” I say, turning around and walking out of the room. My hand grabs the door handle.