3. Avery
THREE
Avery
W ho did he think he was?
Narrowing my eyes, I glared at the man who seemed to have nothing but audacity.
He wanted to forget about it? The incident that nearly derailed my career?
How convenient for him.
Blowing out a snort, I shook my head, tossing back the last of my drink before climbing down off my stool.
“Well, this has been fun,” I said, my tone nothing but sarcasm. “But I’m leaving.”
“What?” he asked, seemingly shocked by my departure. “Why? I thought we were gonna have a drink.”
“I don’t share drinks with men I hate.”
“You really hate me?” he asked, and again I was bemused by his reaction. He had to know I wouldn’t willingly share space with him. How could I want to after what he’d done?
“Good night, Holloway.”
“Avery, wait.”
“Oh,” I mocked. “So you do know my name.”
“Uh, yeah,” he replied, chagrined. “Sorry about that.”
“Whatever.” Tossing some cash on the bar, I grabbed my purse and moved to pass him. “Enjoy your beer.”
“Avery.”
I stopped, my feet halting almost against my will, but something about the way he said my name had me freezing on the spot.
Why? Why did he have to have such a deep voice? Why did his cologne have to be that freaking delicious? Why couldn’t he have been a repulsive troll instead of the kind of guy magazines begged for cover spreads?
Turning, I looked at him, taking in the way his eyebrows pulled together, something resembling concern on his face.
I didn’t understand it. Where had the cocky, smug asshole gone? And why did that little bit of vulnerability make some of the hardness in my heart disappear.
“What?” I asked, a bit breathless, but I couldn’t seem to help it.
“I—” he started, licking his lips as he stared at me, and I could feel it; the way the energy between us charged, sparking with something that wasn’t nearly as close to hate as it should have been. Standing there, staring at Nash as he stared back at me, I knew that things between us were shifting. This moment was about to change everything, and I couldn’t tell if I was excited or afraid of what that might mean.
He opened his mouth to speak, my heart clenching in anticipation at what those words might be, but before he could say anything, a shout cut him off.
“Nash Holloway?” came a boisterous and obviously inebriated voice from across the bar. “No fuckin’ way, dude! I can’t believe it’s you.”
Moment shattered, I stepped back, not wanting to be trampled by the large man who had obviously recognized Nash and was now thrusting his fist out toward him, clamoring for a bump.
“Uh, yeah,” Nash eyed me over the guy’s shoulder as he reluctantly touched his knuckles against the waiting fist. “It’s me.”
“Dude, you fuckin’ rock!”
Sighing, I pressed my lips together, trying to suppress the conflicting feelings I was suddenly full of.
I guessed I wouldn’t be hearing whatever it was Nash had been about to say.
That was fine. I could ignore the spark of disappointment that fizzled in my chest. I was probably imagining things anyway. In what world would things between Nash and me have changed for the better?
Shaking my head, I ducked around the rambunctious fan, studiously avoiding the eye contact that I could see Nash was trying to make, and headed for the lobby. It was late and I should have been in bed already, not sitting in hotel bars, making ridiculous assumptions about football players that I had no business making.
I stepped into the elevator, grateful that I hadn’t had to wait long for it to arrive, and pressed the button for my floor. Just as the doors began to close, I spotted Nash, striding through the lobby, his head on a swivel as he scanned the open space. When he spotted me, he changed direction, charging across the hotel lobby like he was heading for the end zone.
For a moment, I held my breath, wondering what was happening. Why was he chasing me down? I would have thought he would be glorying in the attention of his adoring fan, but there was no mistaking the look of determination on his face as he approached, as though getting to me was the only thing that mattered to him.
The very idea of that being true made my heart race.
“Avery!” he called, but the rest of his words were lost to me as the elevator doors closed, encasing me in nothing but the sound of generic instrumental music and my own harsh, rapid breathing.
“Stop it, Avery,” I admonished myself, pressing a hand to my chest where my heart was still thumping faster than it had any right to thump. “He wasn’t going to say anything you need to hear.”
When the doors opened, I headed down the hall to my room, ready to be done with the night and all things Nash Holloway.
Pressing my key card to the sensor, I frowned when the light flashed red.
“Come on,” I hissed, trying a second and a third time with no change in the result. “Don’t do this to me.” The last thing I wanted to do was return to the lobby and risk running into Nash again. I had just received my fifth red light when his voice sounded right behind me.
“Can I help?”
“Unlikely,” I snapped, not wanting to look at him. I wouldn’t be able to handle it if he was giving me a smug look. Stubbornly, I swiped the key card again, receiving yet another red light. “It worked before. It will again.”
“Okay, Avery.”
He sounded genuine, not a trace of sarcasm in his tone, and I hated myself just a little more, because I couldn’t help but turn to him now.
He stood there, close but not crowding me, hands in his pockets which I’m sure he thought made him look relaxed and nonthreatening, but really only served to stretch the fabric tighter across his body, highlighting that everything about him was big.
Damn it.
“How did you get here so fast?” I demanded, forcing my eyes to his and feeling the heat that danced across my cheeks at the idea of being caught checking out his package. “The elevator hasn’t even returned to the lobby yet.”
“I took the stairs.” His shrug was casual, his brown eyes intense. “But I really can help.”
“How? You have some kind of digital lock pick in your pocket?” I questioned, my eyes involuntarily returning to said pockets and subsequently the bulge between them.
“Nah.” Nash was southern charm and false modesty. He also rocked up on his toes a little, and I nearly choked at the way his dick moved inside his pants with the motion. “I was just gonna say you could call the front desk from my room.”
Blinking, I took a second to process that information, knowing my face was even more red than it had been before.
“Wait,” I called when I finally registered his words. “From your room?”