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The heat in his eyes had been as thrilling as it was terrifying. There was no turning back on tonight. Honestly, there’d been no turning back for me the moment he’d let me know he was interested in seeing me naked—babymaking or not.
I dashed out into the night and headed for the front door. I couldn’t get in the side entrance since I didn’t have a card key. Evidently, I hadn’t thought this out very well.
I kept my head down and skirted around the edges of the lobby. My hair hung in wet, ropy ringlets down my back. Not an inch of me was dry.
And I do mean not an inch.
At any second, it felt like everyone in the room would be able to tell I was sans underwear. The cute yellow dress had been a nice idea when I’d left the house, but now it was the consistency of damp tissue paper.
Good thing I’d made sure all the important parts were nice and tidy.
God, what a thought. Could people see my little landing strip through the skirt of my dress?
Would Seth when I went upstairs?
I dragged the edges of my jacket together to cover up my nipples, which were definitely on display. I’d worn a sheer bra so it wouldn’t show through the summery dress. Mistakes firing every-damn-where tonight.
I glanced up to get my bearings and the woman behind the counter made eye contact with me. I couldn’t remember her name, but she’d been in the diner. Everyone in the damn town had been in the diner at one time or three.
Fuck.
Quickly, I looked away and sprinted for the elevator, holding my skirt down with the other hand as I darted through the doors.
I slapped the button for the second floor, desperately happy there was no one else in the elevator. I should have taken the stairs, but the possibility that my ass could be on display if my skirt flared up had nixed that idea before I could even slot it in my brain.
The doors opened onto the ornate floor. The hotel was high-end with an ornate brocade runner over a finely stitched ruby carpet. The walls were a textured cream with paintings and sconces giving it a rich, old world feel.
Rich was the name of the game. New England money with a side of stately age.
Outside my comfort zone by miles. Hell, again this one could be measured by galaxies. All of this was Seth’s life, not mine.
Even his booty call couldn’t be normal.
Thankfully, the hallway was empty and quiet. I sure as hell hoped it was soundproofed to go with the fancy-ass decor. I glanced at my watch.
Evidently, I would have some begging to do.
Why did I find that so hot?
The feminist residing in my chest should have been appalled. Or maybe she’d request equal rights all around.
A little tit-for-tat on the begging. He could start.
Maybe.
Oh, who was I kidding? I would be the one standing there like a deer in headlights, praying he wouldn’t figure out just how much I sucked at this.
A fumbling accidental orgasm when I was nineteen was as close to experience as I had. And when I said accidental, it was the God’s honest truth.
Enough friction could eventually give anyone an orgasm, even if it was a depressing and awkward trip to the finish line. It wasn’t Craig Kimmel’s fault—well, not entirely. We’d just had no chemistry.
I couldn’t say the same about Seth. I’d felt the pull the very first day I’d laid eyes on him. Me making a mad dash for class and him amused at my graceless entry.
I wasn’t sure when I’d been slotted as the best friend. Maybe it had been that first day we’d met when I’d been wearing a shapeless sweatshirt over my pajama top and he’d instinctively saved me from a tardy slip on the second day of the school year.
Or maybe it had been when I’d laughed at him for checking out the chick in front of him as if her boobs were mana from heaven.
All I knew was I’d never had a chance before now.
