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My smile is wide as I set my phone down to pull on my shoes. My anonymous friend Emmett has a bit of a romantic streak, and I don’t hate it. I know it should feel weird, talking to him like this, but it doesn’t. It feels…good, actually.
And now I want to go outside and soak in the sun just so I can text him and tell him I did it.
Standing, I grab my phone and check the time. Crap. I need to get downstairs, or I’ll miss breakfast. Silencing the device, I drop it into my bag with my room key and head out. As I walk down the corridor toward the elevator, my thoughts turn toward last night. Again .
As hard as it is to admit, even to myself, Royal saved me. That douchebag teacher was handsome and charming, and in my inebriated state, I was definitely leaning toward agreeing to his suggestion we go somewhere a little more private. I would’ve slept with him, and if I’d found out he was married after the deed was done?
I would’ve hated myself.
I sigh as the elevator doors open. Stepping inside, I stab the button for the lobby, then sigh again. I’m going to have to thank Royal for helping me out of that situation. He didn’t have to do anything. He could’ve minded his own business and let me make a colossal mistake that would’ve eaten at me for weeks, if not months. It certainly would’ve tainted the good memories I always take home with me after this convention. It might’ve even made me rethink attending again, on the off-chance I’d run into the asshole who made me the “other woman” without my knowledge.
When the elevator stops and the doors slide open, I suck in a startled breath when I see Royal standing there, obviously waiting for me. He shoots me a tentative smile as I step off the elevator, then turns and falls into step beside me as I head toward the ballroom where breakfast is being served.
“Feeling better?” he asks, his voice low and casual.
“Much,” I admit, then clear my throat. “Thank you for the aspirin. And for stepping in last night, too. You saved me from making a huge mistake.”
I glance over at him, just catching his surprised expression before he smooths it out beneath an unreadable mask. One corner of his mouth turns up, crinkling the skin around his left eye in that endearing way I definitely don’t hate.
“Anytime,” he says, and all I can do is nod.
Speaking is impossible because I’m still reeling over the effect his little smirk had on me just now. It’s not like I’ve never seen it before. He smirks at me pretty much every day at school, and it’s especially prevalent when I complain about the noise level of his classroom. I should be immune. Or at the very least, I should automatically associate the expression with negativity.
But right now, seeing it in a whole new context? Where it wasn’t formed just to irritate me?
I can barely breathe. And I feel my nipples tightening beneath my clothes.
What in the actual f––
“The buffet is this way,” Royal says.
I realize we’ve entered the ballroom, and I’m standing motionless just inside the doorway.
“Oh. Yeah,” I mumble, pivoting left and striding toward the line.
I feel Royal’s presence behind me, but I don’t turn to chat with him the way the other educators in line are doing. My mind is still reeling as I mentally order my stupid nipples to stand down. Move along. Nothing to see here.
Grabbing a plate, I fill it with scrambled eggs, bacon, and some hash browns. At the end of the line, I grab a small bowl of fruit just to make the meal feel a bit healthier. Scanning the large room, I find a table that’s half-empty and make a beeline for it, not once glancing back at my temporary roommate.
I slide into a chair and set my tray on the table, then flinch back, startled as Royal plops down into the chair next to me. I stare at him, slack-jawed, for several beats, but he only smiles and picks up the squirt bottle of ketchup from the center of the table and douses his eggs and hash browns with it.
“Want some?” he asks, and my eyes snap up from his plate to the bottle he’s holding toward me.
I clear my throat and nod, ignoring the electricity I feel when my fingers accidentally brush over his as I take the bottle. Nope. Definitely imagined that.
You hear that nipples? We imagined it. Calm the hell down.
I’m just surprised because I thought Royal would sit elsewhere. Hasn’t he had enough of me by now? I feel him watching as I squirt ketchup over my eggs and hash browns the same way he did, and even though I’m not looking, I know he’s grinning. I can feel it, like the sun breaking through a cloudy day to warm my skin.
“You want to be just like me, don’t you?” he jokes, and for once, I take it as the teasing it is and don’t overreact.
“There are worse people to emulate,” I murmur back, and I see his head jerk back a fraction in my peripheral vision.
I’ve shocked him. And that makes me smile.
The feeling bursts like a bubble when something clatters on the table next to Royal. We both look left as a gorgeous blonde with way too much cleavage showing for a work breakfast slides into the chair on Royal’s other side. My whole body tenses as she gives him a Cheshire Cat smile, and I quickly turn away, fixing my gaze on my plate while all of my other senses are focused solely on the newcomer and her interaction with the man next to me.
“Royal Manning, as I live and breathe,” she says, a slight southern twang softening the syllables.
“Georgia,” he says by way of a greeting, and I nearly choke as the bite of eggs I was chewing tries to go down the wrong pipe.
Is that her name? Or is it a cutesy nickname he gave her because that’s where she’s from?
I move my eyes in their direction, careful not to turn my head, and I see Georgia lean in a bit closer, curving her shoulders forward to accentuate her breasts in a way that makes me wonder if she’s trying to trigger a nip-slip. She’s says something I don’t catch, and Royal’s answering chuckle vibrates through me…and not in a good way.
They obviously have some kind of history. I snap my gaze back to my plate, forcing myself to eat as I try to drive thoughts of the two of them being intimate out of my head.
Not my circus. Not my monkeys.
What Royal decides to do in his personal time has nothing to do with me. I don’t care. At all. Seriously.
The food curdles in my stomach despite my internal protests, and it only gets worse when Georgia laughs at something Royal’s saying and playfully swats at his arm. Her hand lingers there for a moment too long, her thin, manicured fingers almost caressing his skin.
I look away, determined to focus on the conversations further down the table, but my ears keep tuning into Georgia’s sultry tone and Royal’s responses. His deep voice sounds disgustingly flirtatious, and my jaw locks up as I grind my molars together.
And now, I’ve lost my appetite.
Pushing to my feet in a rush, I mutter, “I’ll see you later, Royal.”
His hand shoots out and latches around my wrist, stopping me before I even take a step. I stare at his fingers pressed against my skin for a long moment before Royal jerks his hand away like I’ve burned him. He balls the hand into a fist and shoves it beneath the table as he clears his throat.
“Where, ah, where are you headed?”
I stare at him, one eyebrow hiked up, and he sighs.
“Right. None of my business. Sorry. I’ll see you.”
I glance over at Georgia, who’s staring daggers at me so intensely, I literally fall back a step. As Royal turns back to face her, Georgia’s expression smooths out instantly, and she goes right back to her outrageous flirting.
Wow. I need to get out of here.
I grab an apple from the buffet on my way out since I didn’t even eat half my breakfast. Wandering outside, I think about Emmett as the sun hits my face, and I take a moment to soak it in. Then I walk to the pool area and find a chair under an umbrella so I can sit and eat my apple while I think.
I’ve got a great view of the ocean from here, and I stare out at the waves as I ponder what just happened in there. My visceral reaction to seeing someone blatantly hit on Royal was…unexpected. Confusing. And I need to get this––whatever it is––under control.
Rifling through my bag, I find my phone and pull up my text thread with Raven. My thumbs fly over the screen as I type. I just hope she’s awake and willing to offer me some kind of useful advice.
Me: HELP! SOS! I think I’m going crazy.
Raven: Let me guess…Royal dicked you down last night, you came so hard you saw stars, and now you don’t know how you’re going to face him?
Me: What? No! WTF is wrong with you? As if.
Raven: Don’t go quoting Cher Horowitz to me, missy. You can lie to yourself, but you can’t lie to me. Then again, maybe I was wrong. Maybe nothing happened, and you’re texting me because you wanted it to and now you’re freaking out?
Her perception is really freaking scary sometimes. She’s not exactly right, but she’s not exactly wrong, either.
Me: The hotel gave away my room, and nothing close by had any vacancies, so Royal offered to let me share his room. I accepted.
Raven: Ooh, the “only one bed” trope, live and in person. How was it? Is he big? Please tell me he has a big dick.
Me: The room has two beds, psycho. I haven’t seen his dick, nor do I plan to. Ever.
Raven: Booooring. So, what’s the big emergency?
I squeeze my eyes closed and inhale a long, deep, breath. Then I start to type.
Me: Royal is…nicer than I thought. He saved me from making a huge, drunken mistake last night, and even though I was a royal bitch (pun intended) to him about it at the time, he was super sweet this morning. Then he sat with me at breakfast, and this gorgeous, boobalicious bimbo came over to sit next to him. She was *this* close to humping his leg while they flirted with each other, and then I think I got food poisoning because I felt like I was going to puke.
Raven: Food poisoning, huh?
Me: Yes. Bad eggs, I think.
Raven: Uh-huh. Sure.
Me: Come on, Raven. Don’t make me say it. Just help me.
Raven: How am I supposed to help you stop being jealous?
Me: I don’t know. Remind me how much I hate him.
Raven: But you don’t hate him. You never did. That’s why you’ve tried so hard to make him hate you.
I read that last text again, and something in my gut pinches. Could she be right? Have I kept my relationship with Royal contentious because, on some subconscious level, I’ve always wanted him?
My eyes flit up to the time at the top of my phone screen, and I groan. The first panel is about to start, and I don’t want to be late.
Me: I have to go. I’ll text you later, k?
Raven: Just think about what I said.
Me: I will. Thanks, Bestie.
Raven: And if Royal tries to give you that dick, text me right after.
Me: GoodBYE, Raven.
Raven:
A laugh bursts through my lips without my permission, and I lock the phone’s screen before dropping it back into my bag. Raven can be utterly ridiculous, but she’s incredibly insightful.
That’s why you’ve tried so hard to make him hate you.
I’m not sure she’s even close to the mark with that one, but I’m not sure she’s not , either. I don’t have time to think about it right now. I’m late.
Grabbing my bag, I toss what’s left of my apple into a nearby trash can and head inside. I make the decision to stay away from Royal until I figure this out.
It’s a big convention. It shouldn’t be too hard, right?