Page 3 of Afterglow

“Your room, milady.” I watch her lip curl as she stalks past me, grunting under my breath when her long mane of hair hits me in the face with how forcefully she flings her head around. The urge to gather that hair in my fist and pull hits me so hard I’m nearly knocked back, and I squeeze my eyes shut to shove down the desire—an attempt made marginally easier when she runs her suitcase over my toes.

Stopping in the middle of the room, she lifts her shoulders on a sigh, like the short span of time she’s been here has already taken a toll. You’d think with how much energy she’s poured into this wedding, she’d be glad it’s finally happening. I clear my throat and walk in behind her. It’s not a large room, so between the queen-size bed and my bulky frame, there isn’t much extra space. But this seems like as good a time as any to clear the air.

Her whole body stiffens before she turns to face me. “Can I help you?” she asks, and the true meaning behind her words is clear. Go away.

“Is this going to be a problem the entire weekend?”

She scoffs. “Is what going to be a problem?”

“The fact that I have a dick,” I say with a smirk.

Not the most professional thing to say, but damn this woman sends me out of my mind. Her eyes track down my body and back up again. Her cheeks flush when she sees me following their movement.

“I could care less about your dick.” She crosses her arms over her chest, and the way it pushes her breasts up is indecent.

“So you do care. At least a little…” I prod, liking how flustered she’s getting.

“No, I-I meant I could not care less. Your dick is… inconsequential.”

Ouch.

“Really?” I take another step toward her. Bold, stupid move, Bryce. “Because it kind of seems like it’s a problem.”

She steps back again, more color rising in her cheeks, and I want to know if it’s because of my proximity or if she’s truly that angry.

“It’s not.” Her voice rises as she shifts back on her heels. “It’s just you in general I have a problem with.”

“And why is that, blondie?” My voice is a rough whisper, grating over the raw edges our hostility has caused.

She bristles at the nickname, advancing on me now until we’re almost chest-to-chest. She may have to look up at me, but with the sheer confidence of her stature—shoulders back, chin high—she looks anything but timid. She’s a formidable opponent. Something I’ve known the entire time we’ve corresponded. What I didn’t expect was to be feel drawn to her like I am.

“Stop calling me that,” she snaps, voice pitching high and loud.

“Why? Does it feel sexist to you?” I tilt my head.

“We have been over this! I am not sexist,” she seethes.

“You assumed I was a woman based on my profession,” I point out for the second time.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. What do you want from me? An apology for maiming your fragile male ego? Well, Bryce”—there she goes spitting my name again—“I’m sorry your very delicate feelings got hurt because I assumed you were a woman. Better? Can you stop being an asshole now?”

“An asshole? Really? Wow.” I chuckle, but it doesn’t hold much humor. “You really don’t like me. Care to enlighten me as to what exactly I’ve done?”

She purses her lips, and her hazel eyes shift away like she’s… embarrassed? Surely not. She can't possibly feel bad about the way this has all played out. What kind of adversary would she be if she gave up so easily?

I cock my head, appraising her. Have I somehow gotten her all wrong?

“Look—” I start, but she talks over me.

“Can we just attempt to be civil?” she clips. The wall I thought was faltering a second ago is firmly rebuilt and she’s behind it again. “That might be outside the realm of possibility for you, but this is my sister’s wedding and I’d love to get it over with with minimal drama.”

Her words hit like a freight train. Get it over with.

That’s not the sentiment I’d been expecting, considering she planned this whole thing. It’s clear I’m not seeing the full picture. I’m pretty adept at discerning family dynamics and people’s motives, but I can’t seem to see beyond this woman’s smart, infuriating mouth.

“Civil. Sure,” I say curtly, and without another word, I turn and stride from the room.

CHAPTER TWO