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Emma winced before staring out the window blankly.
“Getting on that stage . . . Why not hang a neon sign that says, ‘I’m Emma Sterling, rock star and lead singer of The Sirens’?”
She lowered her head and sighed.
“Has that happened before?” His tone softened just a little.
“A couple times.”
“You could have been hurt. Maybe you should hire some protection.”
“You sound like Callie,” she scoffed.
“Why are you not taking this seriously?” he growled in frustration.
Emma sat back, her head tipped to the ceiling, her arms crossed over her chest. “Look, I needed to do this tonight, okay? You’re not in charge of me. You are not my boyfriend. You don’t get to avoid me for years only to fuck me one night, make it clear I am nothing to you, and then speak to me like you care a damn thing about me.” She opened the door in a huff and slammed it closed before running towards the hotel entrance.
“Fuck!” Link punched the seat. The fuck he didn’t care about her. His hands itched to grab her and throw her over his knee. Then he’d edge her until she yielded. Until she understood the problem wasn’t that he didn’t care, but that he cared too much.
He took another minute to compose himself. After grabbing their bags from the trunk, he locked the car.
He stepped inside the automatic double doors and Emma’s panicked voice put him on edge.
“What do you mean you only have one room?”
The flustered concierge pointed to the flyer on the counter. “I’m sorry, miss, but there is a music festival in town along with some university events. We’re booked except for the one room we just had a cancelation for.”
“Then we’ll go somewhere else.” Emma turned, but Link held out his hand to her arm to stop her.
“It’s unlikely there’ll be any vacancies anywhere else, except maybe the hourly motel outside of town; and trust me, your car would be a better option,” the young guy, Ralph, according to his name tag, said.
“We’ll take it,” Link said, setting down the bags and pulling out his wallet.
“It’s one room,” Emma repeated as if he hadn’t heard.
Ralph took the card and typed on his computer as Link sighed, exhausted from this tug-of-war between the two of them. “Look, I’m tired, you’re tired, and they have a room. Let’s just call a truce tonight, okay? We can go back to battle tomorrow.”
Emma’s eyes searched his, sympathy painting her expression before she nodded her silent approval.
“Sign here, sir.” Ralph pointed to the digital pen and pad. Link signed and accepted the two keys for their room.
“Room three ten. The pool closes at eleven and opens at eight. The bar to your right is open until midnight. Breakfast is from six to ten. And checkout is eleven.” Ralph smiled.
“Thanks.”
Emma grabbed the handle of her suitcase and rolled it to the elevator. They rode to the third floor in silence. He slid his card against the lock in the door. The light turned green, and he stepped in. Cool air blasted from the air conditioner. The room was simple but clean. Better than anywhere else they’d stayed so far. His eyes zoned in on the one queen bed in the center of the room against the wall. One—as in singular. He searched the rest of the room for a couch or something besides the floor, but he had no such luck. Just one small chair that would surely be torture for his neck.
He closed his eyes and sighed. Fuck my life.
Emma placed her suitcase on said chair before pulling out a few items of clothing and a small bag. She closed herself in the bathroom and then the shower turned on.
He sat on the bed, pulling off his shoes. Relaxing on the mattress, he stared at the ceiling. But thoughts of the water rushing over every sleek exposed dip and curve of Emma with just a thin wall to separate them was giving him an erection of steel. He flicked the TV on for a distraction.
As the minutes ticked by, he had to press his hand down on his cock. He groaned in part pain and part sexual frustration.
The water shut off, and he tried to calm his racing heart. Another five minutes later, Emma came out with a burst of hot, moist air that smelled like strawberries. Her hair was pulled into a messy bun, and she wore a baggy men’s T-shirt over a pair of tiny shorts. She bent over to place the dirty clothes into a bag in her suitcase. The bottom half of her ass stuck out of her shorts. He bit his lip until he tasted blood.
“Isn’t that my shirt?” he ground out.
