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“You were what?” I ask, because he’s fucking delusional if he thinks that the way he reacted to seeing me with my hand up Isabel’s dress wasn’t pure, unadulterated rage.
“I was…” He’s stumbling over his words, clearly worked up again.
“Hunter, let it go, man. It’s not worth it. I know you were jealous. We could all see that, so I don’t know why you’re pressing this issue when it could blow up in all of our faces.”
“I wasn’t jealous, Drake. I was turned on.”
Those dark brown eyes of his are staring at me intensely, and I feel like I’ve lost the ability to breathe. Is he joking right now? He was turned on by seeing me almost fingering his wife?
Why?
“Turned on?” I ask.
He averts his eyes, staring across the street with a furrow in his brow. “I’m not going to try and explain it. Fuck, I don’t even understand it myself. I just know that I liked it.” With a huff, he bolts up to standing and walks toward the garbage can, tossing his trash.
I glance sideways at Isabel, who’s biting her bottom lip.
I know I sound like an idiot arguing about this. It’s probably the one thing I’ve wanted more than anything, to be with the woman of my dreams, but I wonder if Hunter is really thinking this through. There’s so much at stake here. Our friendship. Their marriage. Not to mention, my fucking heart.
Rule #12: Who needs two beds? Sometimes one is plenty.
Hunter
“There should be two rooms.”
The man behind the counter types on his keyboard again, but reluctantly shakes his head when he doesn’t have any good news to give me.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Scott. There’s only one king room on this reservation.”
“Everything else is booked,” Isabel adds from next to me. “Not even the seedy hotels have rooms available.”
“There’s a jazz fest this weekend and they’ve booked up all our hotels,” the man explains. “It’s busier than Mardi Gras.”
“Is that why you gave away our second room?” I grumble, glaring at the concierge.
“Hunter…” Isabel says in warning.
We’re just outside New Orleans, and after a long, awkward ride in the car all day, the last thing I need is to fight with the hotel staff. Drake has been uncharacteristically quiet since last night. I didn’t want it to be this way. I’m not going tomakehim sleep with Isabel if he really doesn’t want to, whether we made a deal or not—I’m not a monster. But I just wish he’d get on board with the idea. Because I know he wants it. I saw the look in his eyes last night when he was kissing her against the wall. I saw the fire between them, chemistry like I’ve never seen before, and it was hot as fuck.
The forbidden nature of it all makes it that much better. I can only imagine what his hand was doing up her dress, and maybe he’s right. Maybe I should be more angry about another man being inside her, but I’m not. I’m fucking turned on as hell.
“Come on, honey. We can make it work.”
“One bed for all three of us? Drake takes up a king-size bed by himself,” I argue.
“The only other option is to skip the club tomorrow night and just move on to Nashville today.”
I groan. “We’ve been in the car all day. I really don’t want to drive more.”
“So, let’s just take the room.”
With a sigh and an eye-roll, I look at the concierge as I say, “Fine. Give us the room.”
He forces a tight smile and clicks on his computer. “Yes, sir.”
Drake is sitting alone in the car, and I glance out the tall glass doors of the lobby and watch him. He looks nervous. Maybe sleeping in the same room will help loosen him up. I know once he lets go of all of his worry, he’ll see how good this can be. He’s done much crazier things.
After getting our key to the room, Isabel and I head back out to the car.
