Chapter 24
CHAPTER 24
NOW
Mr. and Mrs. Pressley, we’ve been waiting for you.”
The sentence was so wrong, I didn’t know why it felt so right.
Henry didn’t correct the suited receptionist checking us in, so neither did I. “Your room’s on the sixteenth floor, and your bags will be waiting for you.” He handed us the key cards with a smile. “The minibar is complimentary, and there’ll always be someone at reception should you need anything. Enjoy your stay!”
When we made our way through the marbled lobby and waited for the elevator, something struck me as odd.
“Did he just say room ?” I asked, dumbfounded. “As in, one room? A single room?”
Alarm struck Henry’s features when his head shot in my direction. He shook it quickly. “A twin then, surely.”
Not a twin. His confidence had been immensely misplaced.
From the foot of it, we stared down that king-sized bed like it might split in half if we’d kept it up for long enough.
“Well.” I blinked once, twice. “At least it’s beautiful.”
I think Henry might’ve winced, but I couldn’t be sure because my eyes were still glued to the double bed, and I couldn’t help the thought of both of us in it. Henry cleared his throat.
“You take it,” he offered hastily, already moving to grab his suitcase by the door.
“And let you sleep on the floor?” I shook my head, following him across the room. “No way!”
He’s the only reason I was here in the first place—the only reason I was in a room like this one. With high ceilings and long windows that reached the floor, and with a view of New York City people dreamed of waking up to. A bathroom so big my entire room would fit in it, and a bed that could hold four of me.
Right. The bed.
“Imagine the aches you’d wake up with on the floor. Your body’s worth millions—” I cringed. “That could’ve been worded better,” I admitted. “But it’s true.”
His lips, previously in a tight line, tipped up. His face, previously hard as stone, deep in thought, relaxed.
“Why thank you, Paula,” he said smoothly. “I didn’t know it was still worth that much to you.” He looked himself down once, gave a stern nod. “I appreciate it.”
“I didn’t say to me !” I protested.
“It was insinuated, no?”
“No.”
Henry pouted, amusement peeking through the cracks, knowing he was at least halfway to the truth. He circled back to the actual conversation. “Not the floor, though,” he corrected, slipping back into our argument. “I’ll book another room. You get comfortable here, and I’ll come grab my bag once I’ve talked to reception.”
I would’ve liked to argue that: 1) I should be the one booking another room—preferably in a different hotel, because this wouldn’t just break the bank, it would blow it into tiny pieces, never to be found again. And 2) he shouldn’t have to drop an extra five hundred dollars a night because of the inconvenience I was. Even if he could afford it.
Henry was out the door before I’d managed to voice any of my concerns.
With a loud groan, I let myself fall into the sheets, legs dangling off the foot of the bed. Great . The mattress felt heavenly, adjusting to the fit and weight of my body like it was made specifically for me.
As soon as I’d made contact, I knew my own mattress would never compare, and I’d probably never sleep well on it again.
Despite the fact I never wanted to get up, I did.
I forced myself to take my shoes off, brushed my teeth and finally wiggled out of my pants to jump under the sheets in my hoodie. Just when I was getting comfortable, the door beeped, and Henry was back.
“That doesn’t look good,” I commented as soon as he trotted into the room, annoyance bunching up his brow. “What is it?”
He sighed, shoulder against the wall when he crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Nothing,” he said, then reconsidered. “Everything. I don’t know. They’re fully booked because of some conference, so I’ll be trying my luck at one of the other hotels around here.”
When he looked back at me, a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “You should sleep though, Paula. It’s getting late.”
I only blinked at him. “Are you serious?”
Henry shrugged, then went on like he really thought I’d go along with it. “We’ve got an early start tomorrow. I’ll be waiting for you in the lobby at seven.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “ Sharp .”
I couldn’t help my laugh—a single outburst. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m not.” His face contorted in irritation for the first time since we’d been forced back into each other’s orbits, and it reminded me of the last time it had.
When he’d said we shouldn’t do this , let me leave, and never looked back.
“We have to be at the stadium by eight. I need time to change, stretch. Then my lawyers will have to go over the contracts after—” The mention of those shot even more of that prominent annoyance into his features.
“No.” My head shook enough to stop his rambling. “That’s not what I meant.” Gently, hesitantly, I peeled the blanket off the other side of the bed, beckoning him in. “Just… stay here.”
I couldn’t possibly be the reason for Henry Pressley to go off into the night, trying to find a hotel in an area that was fully booked because of whatever conference. He probably wouldn’t find one anyway.
His eyes flicked up to mine, a million things in his gaze. None that I could interpret.
“Before I change my mind, Henry.” Another minute, and I might, because the longer I looked at him—his brown hair only half as neatly parted in the middle from a long day, the top buttons of the shirt he’d changed into after practice, open—the worse the idea seemed.
He only took a single step further into the room, giving an almost nonexistent nod before he said, “You do know I’ll have to get ready for bed first, right?” The tension fell off him, I could see it. “Brush my teeth. Wash my face.”
Looking at him, rolling my eyes only to not be staring, I imagined an entire night of agony. His scent lingering in the sheets, the weight of his body on the mattress—him, right there, and nothing I could do about it.
“If you must,” I said at last, hoping he’d at least be changing into a shirt.
Which reminded me of another problem.
“Oh,” slipped past my lips just before he closed the bathroom door behind him. His head poked back out of the frame, a puzzled look urging me to elaborate on the worrying sound. “There might be another problem,” I confessed.
My eyes trailed to the hoodie I was still wearing, and now that we’d be sharing a room— a bed , I couldn’t shrug the fact off. “I may have forgotten to pack a shirt to sleep in.” My gaze flicked to Henry’s silver suitcase, then to my overnight bag.
I had not been paying attention to what I’d been throwing into it yesterday, and apparently, that had left me without PJs.
Henry snickered. “Why am I not surprised?” With only a glance in the direction of his luggage, he nodded toward it. “Should be an HBU jersey in there. I packed one just in case.”
“In case I forgot a shirt?” I wondered, almost laughed at the thought.
“In case I won’t get the Blue Eagles’.”
He shut the door between us.
I thought about that statement when I pulled the red jersey out of his perfectly packed suitcase.
Was there still a possibility the Blue Eagles wouldn’t take Henry on? The MSL draft had been months ago—I remembered it to the date, because the day the results had come out, I’d been heavily avoiding the Internet and my need to Google which team (if any), had taken Henry on. Maeve might’ve suspended my electronics that day.
He was scheduled to sign the last of his contracts tomorrow, after practice. So if he didn’t, or they didn’t let him, where would that leave Henry? Without a team? Without a pro career?
Sure, there were other ways than the MSL draft to get into soccer on a professional level, but he hadn’t planned for any of them. Had he?
I wasn’t quite sure how long I’d been standing in the middle of the room, Henry’s jersey bunched up between my hands. But it was long enough for him to be back, and to scare the shit out of me when he asked, very calmly, “What are you thinking about?”
“Mierda!” I cursed, more to myself when I jumped and clutched my chest, still holding the jersey. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.” My hands back by my sides, I turned to shoot him a glare that evaporated swiftly.
His eyes ran down my frame the same second I remembered I still wasn’t wearing pants.
Obviously I wasn’t. I’d already been in bed, waiting to turn off the lights after a day that had felt twenty-five hours long.
So, no pants. In the middle of the room.
My hoodie wasn’t oversized enough to cover the important bits, cutting off just over my hips and leaving everything below my thighs for all the world to see. Mainly, Henry. He was the only one in the room.
Mortified, my eyes widened, and I fled behind the only door in the room. Slammed it shut a little too loudly, then hid in the bathroom.
Technically, yes, Henry Pressley had seen me with much less on. But that’s when he hadn’t just been Henry, friend . Or Henry, subject of my profile .
It’s when he’d still been Henry, boyfriend whom I’d loved dearly .
I spent as much time as I could justify in the bathroom, and only came out when he’d probably started to wonder if I’d flushed myself down the toilet.
I wish I could’ve.
Still with no pants, but a jersey that covered up much more, I rushed to my side of the bed without looking at him. My gaze only briefly swept across his seated form on the door-side of the bed, and I didn’t even notice his exposed chest, covers draped only across his legs.
I also didn’t notice the way he couldn’t take his eyes off me once they slid away from his phone. That was definitely a figment of my imagination. From the lack of sleep, lingering coffee and twenty-five-hour day.
He watched in amusement as I slipped under the covers we shared, and stayed so close to the edge of the bed, I couldn’t play it off as anything but intentional.
“We can build a pillow wall,” he offered unhelpfully, entirely too amused by the situation. “If you want.”
Did this not affect him at all? I felt stupid, all of a sudden.
“What?” I waved him off—as if I hadn’t been two seconds away from suggesting it myself. I scooted further onto the bed, holding steady eye contact with the red light coming from the turned-off TV on the opposite wall. “I used to share a twin with two of my cousins. I’m sure we can manage a king. Right?”
“Right,” he agreed, and the gruff sound of his voice finally drew my eyes.
He’d turned away to cut the lights, his muscled shoulders, his defined back facing me. I had all of a second to marvel at both before darkness enveloped us.
I sank into the mattress, too. Turned the opposite way—to the window with a view of the lit-up city that never slept. I thought I’d probably join it tonight.
It felt awkwardly quiet. I could hear his breath behind me, which meant he could hear me breathing, too. I felt every single one of his movements, every shrug and every repositioning of his arm. Which meant I stayed eerily still, and he’d probably noticed that, too.
I tugged on the blanket just a little, adjusted my position and screamed at my body we will fall asleep like this now, and we won’t wake up until the alarm forces us to .
Henry had other ideas.
“I forgot you’re a blanket hogger,” he whispered into the dark. I could hear the amusement in his voice, the grin on his face. I didn’t need to turn around to know it was there.
I unintentionally mirrored the sentiment when I said, “My only fault. I can admit to that.”
He snorted a laugh, breaking the quiet that had only been disturbed by our breathing and whispered voices before. The sound made me turn. I wanted to glare at him even if he might not see. Only to make a point.
But he was closer than I’d anticipated, and I forgot to glare.
“What?” I managed to hiss, voice still hushed as if there were a thousand other people in the room with us and I didn’t want to wake them.
Henry was laying on his back, and I watched his head turn to me slowly, almost cruelly so, before his brow rose.
“Your only fault, is it?”
“I don’t know what you’re trying to insinuate, Pressley.” I wished I could stop smiling to sell this better.
“Oh, nothing.” He trailed off, disingenuous eye-roll accompanying the words. “You’re an angel, Paula Castillo. I’m sorry.”
I huffed. “That’s what I thought.”
We’d been looking at each other through the dark long enough for my vision to adjust. Making out the different shades in his eyes—dark, with flecks of a brighter color, almost sparkling. I could see well enough to notice the way they flickered over my face restlessly.
Henry’s smile didn’t fall, per se. It kind of felt like the longer we got stuck on each other, the more his features, his body, relaxed. The more comfortable he was getting.
And I only noticed his smile had gone when the corner of his lip twitched up again. Just slightly, in that kind of sad, regretful way.
“Paula,” he said in a low voice, and I wasn’t sure if he meant to. If it kind of just slipped out. In the same way his hand lifted, lingered by my face before he tugged the single curl that had escaped my bun back behind my ear. I don’t think he had any kind of control over the gesture. Like my eyes couldn’t help occasionally flicking to his lips, either.
His fingers brushed my cheek so lightly, I thought I might’ve imagined the touch. But the smooth skin of his hand felt too familiar, the way his breath fanned against the spot felt too… real. I think I was holding my breath right up until he spoke.
“Just—”
Which was when I’d accidentally exhaled so loudly, he cut himself off. With a smile. “Do you still sleep like a star fish? Or have you learned to keep to your side of the bed?”
I barked a laugh I didn’t mean to, then replaced the amused look on my face with a disingenuous scowl. “I wouldn’t need to leave my side of the bed, Henry ,” I said matter-of-factly. “If you would just share the blanket better.”
“ Share it better? ” He sounded offended by the accusation. Would’ve looked the part, too, if he hadn’t been working so damn hard on keeping his smile at bay. “You already have two-thirds of it now! And we haven’t even closed our eyes. I can’t share any more of it without giving it up completely.”
“Excuses,” I sighed airily, shaking my head and feeling the urge to press my face into the pillow, if only to keep the wide grin off my face. I didn’t.
I woke up to Henry’s face. On top of his arm. With an approximate four inches between our noses.
He was looking at me, the alarm that’d ripped me out of my sleep already off. Normally, that would mean I’d turn around and close my eyes again, but his presence so close threw me— my body —off guard.
I was wide awake.
“Oh,” I muffled into his skin, feeling his muscles shift underneath me, his hand somehow in my hair the way it used to be. When he’d been about to give me a head massage that eventually moved lower, to my shoulders—and then lower again. His arm curled around my face with the motion. “Morning.”
I don’t think he was really aware of the fact his fingers danced across my scalp, touch light and unintentional. He was only looking at me, green eyes focused.
My focus was scattered.
“I thought this would be harder,” he admitted, and maybe he was aware of his action, because his head gestured in the direction of his fingers in my hair.
“What would?”
“Waking you up.” He allowed a laugh now. “Only took some head scratches and name whispering. Not much has changed, has it?”
My eyes narrowed in on his, and, although it hurt, I put some distance between us to really look at him. “Ha-ha,” I mocked. His hand dropped out of my hair, and he shifted on the mattress to face me completely. “Like the alarm wasn’t enough to—”
“The alarm rang five minutes ago, Paula.”
Oh.
So instead of shaking me awake, saying my name and hoping I’d be up by the time he got out of the bathroom, he’d done what he used to when I refused to wake up. Instead of just setting another alarm and leaving it right by my ear, he gently woke me with his fingers in my hair, massaging my scalp, whispering my name.
I rolled onto my back, rubbed the sleep out of my eyes with a mandatory yawn. “Sorry.”
Henry huffed, sitting up to stretch in all possible directions. He gave me a look across his shoulder, and only when he stood, he said, “I didn’t mind.”