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shut up.
me
Oh my god, you are dating him??? HOW?
Wendy
Since I’m feeling salty, I spend a good ten minutes telling my only real friend what happened. Sadly, she is not on my side.
I told you not to mess with Fontana at his wedding.
Wendy
But I want him.
me
Well you got Gabriel Sinclair and no offense, that’s a trade-up.
Wendy
Sure, if I had insomnia and needed a cure.
me
By the time I finish my hair and makeup, it’s nine. I slip into the sundress sans panties—forgot to bring them in with me—and walk out to find Gabriel sitting at the little desk, a cup of coffee in his hand, reading glasses perched on his nose as he reads something on his phone. A tall iced white chocolate mocha waits untouched on the table.
“Aw, Gabe. You know my coffee order.”
He glances up, frowning at the nickname. I vow to only call him Gabe from now on. “Lea brought the coffee,” he says. “She was kind enough to ask if I wanted one.”
Ugh, I want to fire her again. The urge will pass in a minute or two—it always does. Lea knows where the bodies are buried. Unsurprisingly, I don’t have many friends, and I’m not sure I can count Lea since I pay her, but whatever. She messed up but was appropriately outraged at the idea of me having to date this boring prick, so I’ve forgiven her.
I dump the last of my clothes into my suitcase, then hold up two thongs, a white lace and a black silk. “Gabe, baby, which one?”
He glances up again and gives me anare you kidding melook. “You’ll want something more comfortable.” He lifts his coffee to his lips. They’re sensual in a way Nic’s aren’t. Fuller on both the top and bottom. Soft, but a little cruel. For one irrational, confusing moment, I want them wrapped around me the way they’re wrapped around his cup.
I’m jealous of a cup. What the hell is wrong with me?
I drop both thongs in the suitcase, slamming it shut. “No underwear. Got it.”
His spit-take at my words would make a top-shelf GIF.
“The black pair,” he says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “or you sit on a towel.”
“What a gentleman.” I pull the black thong out of the suitcase and step into it, holding his eyes the entire time I pull it up. “Every time you look at me, you’re going to think about this tiny scrap of fabric.”
“Every time I look at you,” he responds flatly, tucking his glasses and phone into his shirt pocket, “I’m going to question my judgment. Are you ready?”
I point at my stack of luggage as he pops a mint into his mouth without offering me one. “Right there, baby.”
He glares at thebabybut takes the two larger suitcases. I grab my coffee and follow him out with my smaller bags.
He wasn’t lying about the paparazzi. There’s a small knot of them hanging out across the street under the watchful eye of hotel security. Two cars are waiting for guests—Gabe’s must be the black Lexus. The other car is a metallic fog-gray muscle car from another era. Not something boring assholes drive.
Lea and Gabe’s assistant are standing a few feet apart, ignoring each other. When Gabe’s assistant—a tall Asian man—leaps to help Gabe with my luggage, Lea rushes to my side to help me with the smaller bags. My money’s on Lea. She might look like she spends her days lost in libraries, but she goes balls to the wall at times.
I get it. I’m feeling the same with Gabe right now. I want to win, so I slip my arm through his and pull him to a stop. His dark brows reach for the sky when I wrap my arms around his neck, pressing myself against him.
