Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Callie
I need a drink. Stat.
That weirdly charged moment back in the room with Royal earlier felt almost…intimate, and now I’m freaking the fuck out. And now, I’m using the F-word. I try to avoid using it, even internally, because I’m terrified I’ll let it slip verbally in front of the wrong people––namely, my students.
Ugh. This is all Royal’s fault for being so kind. And considerate. And charming.
God, I hate him so much. Don’t I?
Suddenly, that verb feels very wrong . Sure, Royal is annoying as hell and derives great pleasure from annoying me , specifically. We have polar-opposite teaching styles, and he refuses to compromise.
Well, that’s not exactly true, is it? He’s kept his class to a dull roar most days, and has even kept them silent when I’ve asked for a specific quiet time because of a test or other important assignment.
Shit. Is it me who refuses to compromise?
My eyes widen as I spot the man in question like I somehow conjured him there across the room. He’s standing with a group of people, but they’re just blurry shapes surrounding him because our eyes have locked, and I can’t look away. I can’t move. I can’t breathe.
Royal is staring at me with an odd expression. Some mix of pleasure and disbelief. I remain frozen as he breaks the eye contact, his gaze moving down my body and back up again in a way that makes my heart pound and my stomach twist into knots.
No. This is stupid. I’m being ridiculous, imagining such things. I don’t even like him. I certainly don’t want to––
I’m not even going to finish that sentence in my mind. And I refuse to even contemplate how good he looks right now in a pair of dark jeans and a maroon button-down cuffed at the elbows.
I shake my head and carve a path through the crowd toward the bar. These thoughts are dangerous, and I need to dull them with alcohol. Like, right now.
One good deed, and I’m already seeing Royal in a different light. Next thing you know, I’ll be admitting to myself how attractive I’ve always ––secretly––found him with those thick, muscular arms and that bright, mischievous smile that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners in the most endearing way.
“Fuck,” I say aloud this time.
I need to stop . Now.
“Vodka soda with a twist. Make it a double,” I say when I make it to the bar and get the bartender’s attention. “Please.”
“You got it,” he says with a wink before he grabs a tall, skinny glass and a bottle of vodka from the shelf behind him.
We were gifted with an open bar tonight, so the drinks are free, but I pull a five from the wad of cash I shoved in my handbag before I left the room and place it on the bar as he finishes making my drink with a twist of lime.
“Thank you,” I say as he places the glass in front of me, and he picks up the five dollar bill and nods.
“Thank you .”
I return his nod, pick up my glass, and squeeze through the crowd waiting to order their own drinks. I take a long draw through the skinny straw, and almost immediately, the vodka warms my belly. Another long drink, and I actually start to relax a bit.
Okay. Time to network.
Somehow, I manage to stay out of Royal’s orbit over the next hour, and I end up sipping on my third double vodka soda at the edge of the crowd, a handsome high school history teacher chatting me up and looking at me with obvious interest in his bright blue eyes.
I nod and sip my drink as he tells me about himself, but I don’t really hear the words as my traitorous brain compares his physical appearance to Royal’s and finds it lacking. His shoulders aren’t as wide, his arms too skinny. His bottom lip is a bit too thin.
Damn it. Stop it, Callie. He’s a good looking man, and he’s obviously interested.
My head suddenly feels fuzzy at the same time I realize I’ve been standing here for who knows how long with locked knees while slurping down this very strong drink. Losing my balance, I stagger to the left. His hand darts out to cup my waist, steadying me before I really embarrass myself and fall flat on my ass in front of him and all these other people.
“Are you okay?” he asks, then dips his head to bring his mouth close to my ear. “Do you want to get out of here? Maybe go somewhere a little more…private?”
Before I can answer, a solid, familiar body materializes next to me, making me stumble again. Royal’s arm snakes around my waist like it’s not the first time, and he turns us both until I’m out of the grip of the history teacher––I’ve already forgotten his name––and Royal is wedged between us. I’m too stunned to complain, and I only watch with wide eyes as the two men have some sort of unspoken conversation before the stranger grunts, spins, and stalks away.
“What the hell was that? Why’d you chase him away?” I ask, the words coming out a bit slow and slightly slurred.
Jesus, I’m more buzzed than I thought.
Keeping his arm firmly around my waist, Royal starts to move, guiding me out of the ballroom and toward the elevators. I don’t even think of pulling away as his muscles burn against my back, and his fingers dig into the soft flesh at my hip.
“Jeremiah Helmsman is a married man,” he says in low tones as he pushes the button to call the elevator with his free hand. “He’s notorious for trolling these conventions for hookups so he can cheat on his wife.”
“What?” I exclaim, probably a little too loudly. “Where did he go? I need to give him a piece of my mind.”
I try to pull free of Royal’s grip, but his arm tightens around me, holding me in place. I grunt and command him to release me, but he only shakes his head and holds on tighter. The second the elevator doors swish open, he pulls me inside and presses the button for our floor. With a low growl, I jerk hard to the right, freeing myself only to slam into the mirrored wall of the elevator.
“Ouch,” I grumble, rubbing my arm while shooting daggers at Royal with my eyes.
“Sorry,” he says, barely stifling a chuckle. “Are you okay?”
“Is my pain funny?” I ask, still glaring.
“No. Of course, not,” he says, his smile wide and bright. “You’re just so cute when you’re mad.”
My narrowed eyes instantly widen, and my lips part as I inhale roughly. Royal’s smile vanishes, and he swallows thickly before his gaze snaps away from me, focusing on the elevator doors. I watch his profile for a moment, then snap my mouth shut and face forward, as well.
He obviously didn’t mean to say what he said, and now he’s regretting it. I mean, I know there’s no way he meant it. He probably just said it to annoy me, and when I didn’t react the way he expected, he freaked out because he doesn’t want me to think he thinks I’m cute at any time.
I might be drunk, but I’m not stupid. I know Royal doesn’t find me attractive.
I open my mouth to tell him as much to ease the tension, but the elevator slows to a stop and the doors slide open before I can speak. Royal steps out quickly, then pauses, stiffens, and turns around to offer me his arm. I try to ignore it and pass him by, but my left ankle decides to go weak and roll over, and I stumble toward him as I try to catch my balance.
He catches me, wraps an arm around my shoulders, and turns us both toward the direction of our room. I consider pulling away again, then decide letting Royal guide me is probably the safest option right now. Besides, if I were to fall, and Royal were to laugh, I’d probably never forgive him, and that would make for a difficult weekend.
You know, since we’re sharing a room and all.
So yeah, I let him hold onto me for the sake of peace. That’s all. No other reason.
The second we’re inside the room, I sit on the edge of my bed and yank the devil’s shoes off my feet with a relieved sigh. Then I grab my pajamas and march into the bathroom without a word to Royal. If he needs to get in here, he’ll just have to wait.
After locking the door, I strip out of the pink dress and turn on the shower before removing the rest of my clothes. Hoping the hot water will sober me up a bit, I stand under the spray for a long time before shampooing and conditioning my hair. After rinsing it clean and washing the grime of the day away, I feel much better.
That is, until I dry off and pick up the t-shirt I brought with me to sleep in. I stare at it with pinched lips and a scrunched nose, but there’s nothing I can do about it. It’s all I brought. Pulling it over my head and slipping my arms through the short sleeves, I pull it down and grimace at my reflection.
It’s my most comfortable t-shirt, which means it’s also worn and threadbare, a relic from college with my university’s mascot printed on the front. The ram is almost completely faded out after washing it so many times, and the thin material does nothing to hide the curve of my breasts or, more distinctly, my erect nipples.
“Why are you hard?” I murmur under my breath as I press my palms over them in an attempt to…I don’t know what.
Groaning, I pull on the tiny shorts I brought to wear with the shirt. Pulling off the towel I’d wrapped around my wet hair, I use a wide-toothed comb to remove the tangles as my eyes stay locked on the reflection of my nipples trying to poke through my shirt.
They’re not going anywhere.
Dropping the comb on the counter, I brush my teeth before smoothing on some night cream. Unlocking the door, I yank it open and exit in a rush of steam, my arms crossed over my chest to hide, well, everything.
I try not to look at Royal and fail, and my steps slow to a crawl as my gaze roams over him. He’s propped himself up against his headboard as he stares at his phone. He’s changed his clothes and is now wearing athletic shorts and a sleeveless shirt that bares those thick muscular arms in the most dangerous of ways.
My mouth fills with saliva as I stare, but when he lifts his gaze from his phone to peer at me, I jerk my eyes away and stomp over to my bed without a word to him. Climbing in, I turn on my side and give him my back before yanking the covers up to my chin.
Thankfully, Royal doesn’t say a word to me. I hear him get up and go into the bathroom before the door clicks shut quietly. I lie there, rigid and unmoving until he reemerges, and I hear the springs on his bed squeak as he climbs back in. The lamp beside his bed clicks off, and the room is plunged into darkness.
Only then do I relax, sinking deeper into the mattress. The edges of my mind quickly grow dark, and I send up a silent thanks to the sandman for letting sleep come for me quickly.
I need this day to be over. I need the fresh start tomorrow will bring.
And I need to stop thinking about the man in the bed next to mine with his gorgeous arms and mischievous grin.
For God’s sake, I don’t even like him.