1. Kill Me Now
1
Hadley
“Damn it.”
I’ve straightened the comforter on this bed eight times, and every time I step back to look at it to make sure it’s perfect, I find a new wrinkle or an edge that’s hanging just a bit lower than the other side. I lean over and tug on the left bottom corner one more time, then step back again and sigh.
That’s it. I’m done. If my newest guest wants to complain about a slightly askew bedcover, then so be it.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath, holding it in my lungs until they start to burn before releasing it in a harsh exhale. Taking one last look around the room, I spin and flick off the light on my way out the door.
The finely-woven carpet beneath my bare feet is faded and worn with age, but I refuse to even think about replacing it. That carpet is part of this house’s history, installed when my great-grandfather built the Victorian masterpiece in the late eighteen-hundreds. This place and every detail in it are part of his legacy, handed down from generation to generation. It became mine nearly a decade ago when my grandmother left it to me in her will, and I’ve been lovingly caring for it ever since…when the Sublime West Bed & Breakfast was born.
I opened the B&B on my own after taking two years of business classes at the local junior college––no experience, no degree, and no investors––and I’ve managed to survive and keep the house from tumbling down around me with the income it garners. I’m not rolling in dough by any means, but I do all right.
I slip my feet into my slip-on tennis shoes when I hit the bottom of the stairs, take another deep breath, and move behind the check-in desk. I’m not normally so filled with nervous energy, but today is no normal day.
And my scheduled reservation is no normal guest.
Foster McKenna. Star tight end of the Branston Bandits. Tall, dark, and tatted. And one of my best friend’s fiancé’s best friends. Or one of my two best friends’ fiancés’ best friends.
Gah. It’s a bit convoluted, but my friends Tessa and Roxy are both engaged to players on the local professional football team. Their fiancés, Riggs and Miles, are best friends with Foster McKenna and Porter Crawford, the former of which is coming to stay here while he builds his dream home on the outskirts of town.
And he’s also the man who holds a starring role in every one of my bedroom fantasies.
I drop my chin to my chest and heave a sigh. My bedroom fantasies are decidedly vague.
An aversion to porn and a lack of experience make me highly unimaginative when it comes to matters of physical intimacy. My spank bank is, quite honestly, overdrawn and racking up overdraft fees.
I’ve never admitted this to anyone…at least, I hadn’t until last night. In a fit of drunken misery and heightened anxiety over Foster checking in today, I spilled my guts to my friends over drinks right before Miles walked in with Riggs, Porter, and Foster, and performed a choreographed dance which lead to Miles proposing to Roxy.
“What is going on with you?” Roxy asked me, not for the first time.
“Nothing,” I said, my vision blurring as I took another drink. “I’m just fine and dandy, like always.”
“Fine and dandy?” Skye, the fourth member of our friend group asked, her tone skeptical. “What are you, an eighty-year-old grandpa?”
“More like a thirty-year-old virgin,” I mumbled, then froze as a look of panic seared across my face.
Everyone went still. Tessa’s drink was halfway to her mouth, and she stared at me with wide eyes as she slowly lowered it back to the table. Roxy watched me with an identical expression, and we all flinched when Skye jerked up a hand to point at me.
“Wait. Are you serious?”
I wilted, dropping my head with shame. “As a heart attack.”
“Oh, Had,” Tessa said, reaching over to grip my shoulder. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”
My head snapped up, my gaze zeroing in on Tessa. “You think I wanted to admit that? To anyone? I’ve been living vicariously through all of your sexploits for more than a decade. You’re all so outgoing and beautiful, and men have always fallen all over themselves for you. I feel like such a loser.”
Of course, they all refused to let me feel bad about my inexperience, recalling their own miserable introductions to the wide world of sex. And the second I started to relax, sure the uncomfortable conversation was ending, someone asked why I was suddenly opening up about being a virgin, and Tessa guessed the truth.
I’ve been obsessing over it because Foster is basically moving in with me for the foreseeable future. He’ll be here for several weeks, at the bare minimum. And with no other reservations on the books for the next few weeks, we’ll be alone.
What if he shows an interest in me, one that’s more than friendly?
Oh, God. What if he doesn’t?
I’m not sure which would be worse.
My gaze catches on the stack of two white boxes on the floor in front of the desk. I walk around and stop beside it. It’s the paper delivery I’ve been waiting for, and I know it’s going to be heavy, but I can’t leave it here where a guest might trip over it.
Shit, I can see the headlines now. Foster McKenna stumbles over boxes at local B&B, receives season-ending injury.
That would be just great for business. Hell, with the way the locals are rallying around the new team, I’d probably be run out of business and out of town, completely.
“No use in putting this off,” I murmur under my breath.
Bending over, I make sure to bend my knees as I wedge my fingers beneath the edges of the bottom box. Tightening my arms around the load, I focus on keeping the weight on my knees as I start to lift.
“Let me help you with that.”
A banshee’s wail erupts from me as I release the boxes and bolt upright, my heart leaping up into my throat. Pain explodes in my head as a low-timbred grunt rings in my ears.
“Ow. Shit. Fuck.”
My hand flies up to press against the pain pulsing in my skull as I spin around to see Foster standing too close, his own fingers probing the redness around his rapidly swelling cheekbone. My face is fire as I stare at him, my mouth gaping open with shock and embarrassment.
“Hadley, are you okay?” he asks, his voice edged with concern.
Am I okay?
No. Definitely not.
And it has nothing to do with the pain that’s receded into a dull throb in the back of my head. No, it’s the utter and all-consuming humiliation that’s got my tongue tied in knots as his cheek grows darker and puffier with every breath I take.
He dips his head to stare at me through those dark lashes, his indigo eyes boring into mine with an intensity that makes my skin itch. The breaths are puffing out of me at a dangerously rapid pace. I’m in serious danger of hyperventilating, but I can’t seem to stop it.
“Hadley?” he tries again, and I shake my head, making fresh pain bloom in my skull where it connected with his face.
I flinch, then force myself to take a deep, cleansing breath.
“Shit. Steak. Peas!” bursts from my lips just before I spin around and make a run for it.
I rush into the kitchen, my eyes burning with unshed tears as I search the freezer for something cold to give Foster for his face. The self-recriminations set in as I dig through bags of frozen vegetables for something suitable to bring down the swelling in his cheek.
Way to go, Had. Great first impression.
I mean, it’s not really a first impression of me. I’ve known him for months.
But it is a first look at what his stay here will be like, and I just seriously fucked it up by nearly knocking him out with my hard head. Then, after going catatonic for several moments, I shouted food names at him and ran away.
My breath heaves out in a long sigh.
Kill. Me. Now.