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“Name?”
“Wade Grady.” Like he doesn’t know. He keeps staring, irritation evident in every breath. “Reservation through next Sunday.”
He turns to a PC that’s right out of the 80s and finger-pecks on the clackity keyboard. Snorts. “Asuite.”
Beside me, I swear I catch Harlow’s shoulders give a shake.
Glad she thinks this is funny.
“Yes, sir. Also, we don’t need anyone in to make up the room this week.”
There’s another stare that has me feeling guilty. For what, I don’t even know. But the last thing I need is Marcy or Nadine, if they’re still working housekeeping here, to let it slip that a certain couple isn’t sharing a bed.
He hands us our key cards and, with a short huff, returns to the office.
Once we’re in the elevator, Harlow turns to me, barely suppressed laughter playing at her lips. “Whatwas that?”
I smile. “Right? I’ve been telling my parents he hates me since I was a kid and they’re always like, ‘No way, Wade.’”
There’s a sort of unhealthy shimmy when the car reaches the third floor that has my hand moving to Harlow’s back. But then the doors open and we’re faced with a drab hallway that was probably intended to be sunny but isn’t.
We’re the last door on the left. And when I swipe our key card, I’m relieved to see that as dated as much of the hotel is, the room is clean and smells fresh and would probably feel plenty big if I was standing in it with anyone other than the woman beside me.
I set the bags down, eyes landing on a pull-out sofa I’m betting hasn’t been replaced since I was born.
Damn. Good thing it’s off season.
* * *
Harlow
The bedroom doesn’t havea door, but on the upside there is a fully equipped bathroom that does. So I call it a win even if things get a bit weird once we start trying to give each other some privacy in a space that simply isn’t about it.
I hear Wade opening his bag. Then the expulsion of a breath that’s distinctly masculine. The creak and groan of the couch that’s supposed to be his bed.
His muttered curse.
“I take you to the nicest places, huh?” he says from the other room, using a voice that’s probably quieter than when it was just the two of us in his truck.
“Bed’s not bad,” I say, giving it a tentative bounce and then lying back on it.
“Yeah? Watch out if I start putting moves on you.”
I roll my eyes. “Plotting to get off the pull-out already?”
Even from the next room, there’s something about his laugh. And then I’m kind of wondering what an actual move from Wade would look like and how many of the girls in Enderson already know.
I roll to my side, stretched out along the mattress. “So, Kelsey?”
“Yeah, Kelsey.” A beat passes but then he clears his throat. “We used to be pretty good friends.”
I wait. Trying to imagine the past between her and Wade. When he told me about her, he’d been pretty vague, just mentioning she lived at his house. But the way she behaves around him says there must have been something.
There’s another deep, protesting groan from the couch. And then Wade’s standing in the doorway. One solid shoulder propped against the frame. “She’s a good girl. Really.”
“She’s in love with you.”
There’s a flash of pain in his eyes as he rubs the back of his neck. “I want to tell you that’s not it, but hell, I don’t know. Maybe it’s love. If it is, that’s nothing I want to fall into.”
