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11
MADDIE
Exhaustion presses against me,shoving me toward a totally horizontal position on the couch across from the TV. Delicious cheesy carbs fill my belly, and even though it’s no Wells Brothers Pizza from back home, the pepperoni and sausage pie hit the spot.
Now, though, I feel like I physically can’t keep my eyes open any longer. Some early morning news show is playing quietly on the TV, but my eyes are barely cracked open as I slouch in the corner, against the armrest.
The soft rays of the Las Vegas sun shine into the room, through the open wall to the balcony. A gentle warm breeze twirls a few pieces of my hair that aren’t tucked into my pulled-up hood. I’m still in my dress and newly acquired sweatshirt, and if it wasn’t so oversized, I might be a little more cautious about all the skin I’m flashing. These double slits up to my hips were a great idea in theory, but I’m sure the dress wasn’t designed for a formal event, fending off an attack, and traveling two thousand miles. It’s not an ideal outfit for this situation, but it could be worse. My whole left leg is exposed as I slouch down even further into the buttery soft leather.
All three of them are still in their suits, sans jackets with their shirt sleeves rolled up. In my sleep-deprived brain, I’m convinced they did it on purpose.
Aries rolled his sleeves up sometime on the flight here, Dante arrived at the airport with them up, and Matteo methodically rolled his up before we ate. I swear to god, I felt my eye twitch as I watched him slowly unbutton his shirt sleeve and take his time.
It’s like some sort of magnetism is happening, because I can’t stop my gaze from lingering on their forearms and imagining other scenarios where those hands are on my body instead.
My eyes burn, so I don’t fight it when they slip closed. The sound of the TV creates a buffer, like a sound machine, and I turn my face into the pillows. I’m just going to rest my eyes for a few minutes, and then I’ll get up and get back to planning for tonight.
* * *
I wake up with a start.One minute I’m in dreamland, and the next my eyes are open. It takes me a moment to get my bearings, the unfamiliar room startling me. The events of the last twenty-four hours rush in like a hurricane, all swirling together at an impossible speed. And just like that, any thoughts about going back to sleep flee.
Pushing my hair off my face, I survey the room. I have a vague memory of Dante carrying me and helping me slide into bed. A slow smile spreads across my face. This kind of affection—being someone’s priority is so foreign to me, it feels a little strange still. Like a new pair of jeans that you have to wear a few times before you get used to their fit and feel.
Curiosity settles over me, and excitement brews inside at this new experience. I don’t let myself dwell on the sad truth of my life before them. Instead, I’m going to stay in the moment.
I glance at the modern art style clock on the wall. It’s only been a few hours, but I don’t think I could go back to sleep for anything. We have a big day ahead of us, and I’m not going to waste any of it. Besides, I’ve always been an early bird. Though I have a feeling that I’m going to sleep for an entire day when we get back to the city.
Preferably in a king-sized bed with as many of my boyfriends as possible.
Boyfriendfeels like such a small word for what they are to me. I haven’t known them all for too long, but I don’t think a specific time frame is necessary to label feelings. Right?
Damn, I wish I could’ve talked to Lainey earlier. She always knows the perfect things to say to help with perspective.
She’d say something about us burning hot and fast, and how we’ve been put in a seemingly impossible situation. One that most people our age will never have to face. And that kind of experience bonds people in the most permanent of ways.
And that’s on top of our already layered feelings.
I blow out a breath, my cheeks puffing out before I laugh. I think I just gave myself advice via channeling my cousin. That’s a first for me, but I do feel a surprising pep in my step now.
The shower in the en-suite bathroom calls to me like a will o’ the wisp. I really should’ve taken a shower last night, washed the day off and slipped into fresh sheets. But I was too tired to do much more than eat before I knocked out.
I skim my hand over the sheets on the opposite side of the bed, anticipating a warm spot. The sheets are cool to my touch. So Dante didn’t stay while I slept, which is fine. I’m sure he had things to get into place before tonight. I hope they got a disco nap if nothing else. I don’t want one of them getting hurt because they’re overtired and missed something they normally wouldn’t.
That bathroom is bigger than my dorm room back at St. Mary’s. Right in front of a floor-to-ceiling window is a clawfoot bathtub. Colorful bath bombs in a decorative bowl sit on the bathtub tray. I can’t remember the last time I had the luxury of soaking in a gorgeous tub, especially one that was basking in the warm desert sun.
The soft gray and blue color scheme of the hotel room extends to the bathroom as well, at least this one. Heated gray and cream colored tiles, laid in a geometric pattern with industrial accents—handles, knobs, light fixtures.
A double-sink vanity with a huge mirror above them takes up most of the space on one wall. There’s even a little stool to sit on if you’re doing your hair or makeup.
But the standout is the shower. Two of the four walls are glass, one is dark gray tile, and the fourth wall is completely open air. Two rectangular waterfall style shower heads and one circular one with a detachable shower head. A small bench against the tile wall and an assortment of mini shower gels, shampoos, conditioners, and razors on a built-in shelf.
I don’t waste any time stripping out of my ruined dress and hoodie, setting the temperature control settings on the panel inside the shower. I finger-comb my hair in a quick attempt to work through the tangles before I wash it.
I take my time shampooing and conditioning my hair and shaving my legs, letting my mind wander with the familiar process.
Steam fills the bathroom, spilling from the open-concept side where a door or shower curtain would normally be. It’s warm but not suffocating, and it feels too good on my aching muscles to get out. I turned on all three shower heads, the two on the rainfall setting. It feels more like a spa than a hotel bathroom. I close my eyes and tilt my head back to rinse the last of the conditioner out of my hair.
And that’s when I feel him. Like one of those invisible fences people put in their yards, whenever one of my men get close enough, I get a little electric shock. It travels from my heart through my veins and out to the very tips of my fingers and toes, infusing me with satisfaction.
