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“You’re hard to resist,” I grumbled, forcing my tired body from the bed.
“Impossible, actually,” he smirked over his shoulder at me.
“Your cockiness will be your downfall,” I muttered, unzipping my duffel bag and looking for something clean to wear. I couldn’t wait to get to the lake house in Maine so we could wash our clothes. I knew the hotel probably had a laundry area guests could use, but I was weird and kept imagining some strange bacteria ending up on my clothes from them.
“Not cocky, just confident,” he reminded me.
“You keep on telling yourself that,” I retorted.
“Is this our first martial spat?” He looked over at me, pulling clothes from his duffel bag.
“Oh, please,” I shook my head. “This is hardly a fight.”
“Good to know,” he chuckled, changing into clean jeans and yet another wife-beater and plaid shirt. I swear he had an endless supply.
I grabbed a clean pair of shorts and shimmied into them. Then put on a plain white v-neck t-shirt. Simple was my way.
I had already brushed my teeth earlier, but I did it again since I’d eaten breakfast. My hair was a wavy mess, and since I didn’t want to take the time to make it look presentable, I pulled it to the side in a fishtail braid. I had put on foundation when I got out of the shower. I was still continuing in my efforts to hide the slow fading bruise from Trace. I added some mascara to my lashes and deemed myself ready enough.
I put on my favorite pair of old converses and said, “I’m ready.”
Trace was reclined on the bed with his hands crossed behind his head. He looked me up and down, his eyes lingering over my mostly bare legs. “Yes, you are,” he wet his lips.
“Trace,” I scolded. “Don’t look at me like that or we’re never going to leave this room.”
“Why did I want to leave? That was a dumb idea. I should’ve kept you chained to this bed all day,” he shook his head and heaved himself off the bed.
“I think I might break apart if you keep at it,” I warned him. “I’m sore.”
“Sorry,” he strode over to me, grasping my elbows. “I’ll try to keep myself under control.”
“Good luck with that,” I patted his chest condescendingly as I backed away.
“Oh, is that a challenge,” he wrapped an arm around my waist, hugging me against him, and swiped the room key off the dresser with his free hand.
“Nope, no challenge. I’ll end up being the one that gets burned then,” I tried to wiggle free from his hold but he was too strong.
He opened the door and we stepped into the hallway. Before I had walked two steps, he was hauling me over his shoulder.
“Trace!” I shrieked, beating his back. “Put me down.”
“If my wife is so sore,” he smacked my butt, “I’ll have to carry her.”
“You’re embarrassing me.”
“A little embarrassment never hurt anyone,” he laughed and I heard the elevator door ding.
“Are you going to put me down now?” I asked as the doors slid closed.
“Not a chance.”
“They’re so going to kick us out,” I pouted.
“Don’t be such a Debbie Downer,” he adjusted his grip on me.
“How am I being a downer? I’m simply stating the obvious. Now, please put me down. I’m getting light-headed.”
“Fine,” he lowered me to the ground, but didn’t release his hold on me. He kissed my forehead, a small smile on his face.
