“Did you have fun tonight?” she asks, not moving from where we’re stopped in the hotel entrance, her voice soft.
“Yeah,” I admit instantly, because it's the truth. Her shoulders relax, and that smirk turns to a beaming grin.
“I really am lucky,” she murmurs. I look at her, confused, but she explains without my asking. “That was my wish. That you would say you had fun with me tonight.”
“What? Why?” Why would she waste a wish onme?
“Because we’re friends, Graham,” she says in a stage whisper before lifting her hands. “I know, I know. Scary stuff. Don’t be alarmed. But friends care if the other has fun or not.”
I laugh again, louder this time. After a moment, when I look back at her, her eyes are softer, the joking gone from them, though the smile still lingers.
“Yeah, my wish came true,” she murmurs, voice low.
In that moment, I think I begin to realize just how screwed I am.
Because I don’t think any distance would make me stop falling for June Taylor, not when I know that in some universe I can have her smiling softly at me like that.
TWENTY-FOUR
In less than five minutes, I’m wondering if by some fucked twist of fate my own wish is trying to come true. I suppose that’s the power of wishing and luck that June always talks about.
“I don’t understand. My reservation was clearly for two separate rooms,” I repeat for what feels like the tenth time. My pulse is pounding, and even though I know I look and sound like an asshole, I can’t stop. Not when my reservation is currently fucked, not when it means my only option might just be spending the night in a hotel room with June.
“I understand that, Mr. Hawthorne. Unfortunately, something has gone wrong on the back-end system, and only one room was reserved,” the receptionist says, genuine apology in the words. “And as I previously informed you, with the festival in town, we have no other rooms. We are fully booked.”
“This is ridiculous,” I grumble. “I would like to talk to your ma?—”
I don’t get the chance to finish my sentence, though, because June’s hand covers my mouth before I can speak. I turn to glare at her, but she’s smiling, sweet as pie, at the receptionist.
“I am so sorry, it’s been a very long night, so we’re both a bit tired. I totally understand this is not your fault and also very outof your control, and we appreciate all you’ve done to try and help us. The room keys will be just fine. We can figure it out from here,” June says. The receptionist stares between us, a mix of confusion and entertainment written across her face.
“No problem at all. Of course, we will be refunding the cost, since this was an error on our end.” Her fingers move back to her clacking keyboard, and I open my mouth to say something once more, but June tightens her hand on me.
Despite the bubbling irritation, I find myself smiling beneath her hand. June feels it, inevitably, looking over at me and giving me one of her own beaming grins. The woman finishes checking us in, sliding two keycards our way before she finally lowers her hand. I open my mouth to say something, but June gives me a glare and points at me.
“Behave.”
I have no option but to smile at her.
“Thank you so much,” June says, taking the keycards. The receptionist points us toward the elevators and tells us the room number and floor before we’re on our way. June reaches for the bags, her multicolored patchwork duffel sitting on top of my black rollerbag, but I glare at her, grab the handle, and go.
When we’re closed into the elevator, all entertainment washes away with the memory of what happened the last time we were in an elevator together. Pressing her against the wall, kissing her, grinding into her. The need that rushed through me, the exhilaration that I was going to have her.
That same need thrums in my veins, and I wonder just how I’m going to survive the night. I’m silent, stuck in my thoughts as the elevator rises, then dings on our floor, and we make our way to our room.
“Is this really that miserable of a situation?” June asks, finally breaking the silence once the door closes behind us, shutting us into a luxury room. I don’t have the opportunity tolook it over as I always do when I’m in a competitor’s hotel, stuck on the way the slamming door felt final, like the last nail in the coffin.
She’s standing there, stunning and sun-kissed, most of the sparkles gone from her face and hair by now, her bathing suit top still the most tempting thing I’ve ever seen, and I know there’s no way I can stay away.
What’s the point, anyway?
“I’m sorry?”
“Is this really that miserable of a situation? Having to spend the night with me?” She moves to her bag, grabs it, and digs through to find something. “We’ve done it once before, and you survived just fine.”
“That was different,” I tell her, crossing my arms on my chest. “That was before you worked for me.”
“Technically, it wasn’t, but that’s not the point, and you know it.” I open my mouth, and she turns to me, standing straight with a firm look and a finger raised. “And don’t even try some bullshit about against the rules and blah blah blah. Sutton told me it wasn't, and I double-checked to make sure. The only fraternization rule is that higher-ups must be informed.”
