Chapter 22
NATE
We made it to the conference hotel in one piece—surprisingly—given that some idiot decided to aggressively slam on his brakes in the middle of the highway for no good reason. But at this point, I couldn’t care less. I’m past the point of exhaustion, and the only thing on my mind is sleep.
I knew driving for almost twelve consecutive hours would drain my energy, but it was worth it. For one, Vivienne got here without air travel. For two, we didn’t need to spend the night at some random motel just because we stopped.
Unfortunately, we’ve now got a problem in that very department.
With a sigh, I swipe the key card to our hotel room, looking back at an impatient Vivienne waiting for me to turn the handle.
When seconds pass and the door still hasn’t opened, she frowns.
She’s probably wondering why we’re still standing here and not in the comfort of a bed. But it’s all by design. I’m stalling because what’s beyond those doors could be my last straw.
I’ve been trying my damn best to keep this thing between us platonic, but the more time goes on, the harder that becomes. The brooding, standoffish type isn’t who I am, especially when I’m around her—the guy laughing at the convenience store, flirting any chance he could get, is.
I made her a promise—one I fully intend to keep. And that comment about having her lips on mine? It wasn’t anywhere near the bounds of our napkin contract.
Now, the knowledge that we’ll be sharing a room with no one around to keep watch feels like a match waiting to be struck.
“I don’t know if you heard the lady at the front desk,” I start, only to be met with a blank stare.
“I did,” she affirms blankly.
The drive must have worn us both down.
“She said since we’re checking in too early, and they’re fully booked, the only room available has just one bed.”
“And your point is?” Vivienne motions with a hand, wanting me to get on with it. “Just open the door, Nate. We’ve slept in the same bed before, and we didn’t kill each other. I won’t try making a move on you if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“That isn’t what I’m afraid of,” I confess, meeting her bag-riddled eyes as her brows raise in surprise.
To put an end to her misery, I finally crank open the door and drag our suitcases inside.
The room is nice—sleek, modern, spotless. A queen-sized bed sits in the center, covered in freshly fluffed white sheets. Off to one side is a kitchenette and a round dining table big enough for two. And to its opposite is a cozy loveseat facing a TV.
The loveseat—that’s my only way out.
“You get settled on the bed. I’ll take the couch.”
“How tall are you?” she asks when her eyes land on the furniture in question.
“Six foot three.”
Vivienne points at the loveseat in disbelief. “That thing is minion-sized compared to you. I’ll take the couch. You can take the bed.”
I let out a sigh of exasperation.
How do we always find ourselves here? Arguing about things that don’t need our time of day. Her height argument is valid—but I just wish she’d let me take care of her without any questions asked.
“I am not letting you sleep on the couch, Vivienne.”
Her eyes dart up to mine at the mention of her full name, and I can’t help but think back to our time at the gas station when that nickname slipped out.
It was an accident, by all means, but it felt right—and that’s exactly why the nickname, along with the flirty remark, shouldn’t have happened.
It’s only when she got back in the car and sipped from my damn cup, her eyes locked on mine, that I knew how badly I messed up.
I’m not oblivious to the way this woman operates—she was trying to entice me, a silent showcase of how her lips would feel on mine. But it’s for that very reason that I had to pull back. We can’t have a repeat of what happened that night. For her. For me. And most importantly, for the contract.
“Yeah, that’s not happening.” She crosses her arms over her chest, shooting me a glare.
“Would you please listen to me for once?” I throw my hands up in frustration.
The movement seems to light a fire within her, and in three quick steps, she’s digging an accusatory finger in my chest. “No! You listen to me. Either we’re sharing that bed, or I’m taking the couch. Which would you rather? Nathan.”
My name isn’t short for anything, but I let her get away with it. It’s impossible to focus when her body is in close proximity to mine—her pouty lips taunting me to claim them, our chests grazing with each heavy breath we take.
We stand like this for a moment too long. No words. No arguing. Just two souls, caught in a haze, carrying a thousand confessions neither of us dares to say out loud. There are so many things I’d like to say to this girl—do to her—but that include crossing a boundary we didn’t bargain for.
With great effort, I break our eye contact and turn to the darkened sky—downtown Chicago’s skyscrapers rising beyond the glass doors leading to our balcony.
“I’m going to go take a shower,” I announce, unable to move when there’s a magnet nearby pulling me into her orbit.
Vivienne seems stuck in place as well. “Then what are you waiting for?” Her taunt breaks me from whatever spell she’s got me under.
My eyes meet hers one last time before I turn to walk to the bathroom.
On a long exhale, I lock the door behind me and brace myself against the vanity’s marble counter. The reflection in the mirror doesn’t feel like mine. There’s scruff all over my face, bags under my eyes, and hair overgrown to reveal its slight wave pattern.
This past week has been stressful, as I’ve been preparing for this conference, and I’ve had little time to do the things I usually do. Like shave. Box with Grayson. Talk to Vivienne. Though I’m the only one to blame for that last one.
Now, I have no excuses—it’s time to lose the Tarzan look.
I quickly shower off the twelve hours of agony, wrap a towel around my waist, and grab a razor. White foam gathers in my palm as I carefully work it into a lather and coat my face with it. Stroke by gritty stroke, my face becomes mostly clean-shaven.
I’m on my final pass, about to finish, when a bloodcurdling scream rips through the air.
“Oh my God!”
The blade dips into my skin, and I wince at the sharp sting. Red. It’s the only thing I see as blood drips down from my jaw.
“You sabotaged me!”
I step out of the bathroom to see Vivienne’s silhouette pacing back and forth in a dark corner of the room, phone pressed to her ear, and the contents of her suitcase spilled on the bed.
“You replaced my stuff!” she says in disbelief. “I don’t care if you thought this would be good for me, Sutton. I’m tired. I’m cranky. I want to sleep in peace, but I can’t do that anymore because of you!”
A moment passes as her roommate responds, but from the shake of Vivienne’s head, it’s clear she finds her answer unacceptable.
“Yes, I’m wearing the pjs you gave me, and no, I do not deem them comfortable to sleep in…Of course, I covered myself up. I was no longer planning on seducing the man, Sutton—”
With a loud thud, the suitcase falls off the bed.
Vivienne jumps back in fear, hand still clutching the sheet wrapped around her body.
Her shoulders relax slightly at the sight, before her eyes span the room and land on me.
They grow impossibly wide, and within seconds, her phone is tossed to the side, the sheet around her body drops, and she’s rushing over to me.
I suck in a breath.
Baby-blue satin and lace barely cover her breasts, meeting at a delicate point in the middle before flaring open to reveal the smooth expanse of her stomach.
She’s got the tiniest pair of matching shorts to go along with it, exposing her legs.
Long. Slender. Toned. There was nothing left to the imagination.
Two hands land on either side of my face, and I wince at the contact. It burns. Not from the cut of the razor, but from her touch. Her presence. Her everything.
“What happened to you?” Her voice is frantic, thumb pressing on the cut.
I look down to see those brown doe eyes whose sight alone might make me break. The way they look at me with so much tenderness and care. How easy it is to get lost in them. In her. I can’t do this anymore. The back and forth. The flirting and pulling back.
Reluctantly, I take a step back, not knowing how long I’ll last before doing something idiotic.
“Are you okay?” Vivienne’s grip on my face tightens. I shake my head back and forth. “What’s wrong? Did someone cut you?”
I smile ever so slightly at the assumption that someone would barge into our hotel room, cut my jaw, and leave in time for her not to notice. She’s so damn adorable, but my tongue is tied. I stay quiet—only trying to free myself from her grasp, and failing when she doesn’t let go.
“I’ll go clean myself up,” I reassure. “It was just the razor.”
Vivienne denies my attempt at an escape, taking small steps forward and guiding me along until my back hits the bathroom counter.
I stay still this time and don’t put up a fight. All because of that part of me that wants to feel her touch. It’s selfish, since I’m the one who keeps pushing her away in the first place, but I convince myself it’s harmless. She’s only taking care of someone who’s hurt. Nothing more. Nothing less.
Vivienne wets the tip of a white towel under cold water before raising it to my cut. One dab to the area and I wince in pain. But a part of me knows it has nothing to do with the cut and everything to do with the woman taking care of it.
“Does it hurt?” she asks, pulling back to meet my eyes. I shake my head again, causing her brows to furrow. “Then what is it? What’s wrong? Is it burning?”
“Your leg is pressed up against mine, your hand is on my chest, and the other is dabbing away at a cut I got because I was scared you hurt yourself. Everything about you burns me, Vivienne.”