Chapter 9
lukas
This was a bad idea.
I knew it was early, and standing here at her door at this hour was probably a risk that wasn’t worth taking. But I hadn’t slept all night. Every single mistake I’d made last night played on a loop in my brain, sending me further and further into embarrassment and despair.
Going down to the lobby to beg the on duty receptionist for Aimee’s room number was also probably crossing a major line I shouldn’t have crossed, but in my defense, my brain clearly wasn’t working right.
After giving her the story of the catastrophe that was last night, she still denied me.
I’d let my head fall against the countertop, mentally kicking myself for being such an idiot.
Of course she wouldn’t give me a random girl’s room number.
It was a safety precaution—not to mention that this place valued its patrons' privacy. A lot of athletes came here to train, all ranging in popularity, and if word got out—it could end up a nightmare for many involved. Honestly, it’s probably one of the reasons Aimee’s family chose this place.
I was about to stand up and thank her for her time, when a voice spoke up.
“Can you make sure these lift passes are left for rooms 517 and 524?”
“Of course Mr. Bryant, Mrs. Bryant. Anything else you need?”
“Not right now, thank you.”
I waited for Aimee’s parent’s footsteps to fade away before standing up. Rachel—the girl behind the desk arched her brow.
“Do I need to call security?”
“Nope, but if you wanted to give me a hint as to which room their daughter is in, I’d be eternally grateful.”
I gave her what I hoped was my most charming smile. If it was possible, she arched her brow higher, utterly unamused.
“I swear to God Mr. Fraiser, if this comes back to bite me in the ass…”
I mimed zipping my lips and backed away slowly, but once I was out of sight, headed straight for the elevator at nearly a run.
And now? Now I was standing at her door, at an ungodly hour in the morning, having already knocked multiple times. There was no turning back now.
The door opened, and thoughts edged out of my head.
It’s early in the morning, but sleepy Aimee Bryant was sexy as hell.
And maybe I’d go to hell for thinking that when she clearly looked pissed and like she wanted to knee me in the balls.
The way her oversized shirt hung loose to the tops of her thighs, and how it left very little to the imagination…
the way she looked had me thinking all sorts of very inappropriate things.
I swallowed, hard.
I needed to snap out of it and stop thinking about how I’d run my hands up her bare thighs as she straddled me.
How my fingers would tease the edges of her underwear, how her breaths would quicken, her chest rising and falling sharply…
how she would taste. How it would feel to have her fingers pushing through my hair while I kissed and sucked every inch of her.
“What do you want?”
Those four words snapped me out of my daydream, and I only hoped and prayed she didn’t look down and see the effect her damn shirt and bare legs had on me. My thoughts had run away from me, and I was here to apologize.
“You do realize that it’s seven in the morning, right?” She asked.
I opened my mouth to respond, but she cut me off.
“It’s seven in the morning, and I’m not a morning person.
Also, I definitely don’t remember giving you my room information.
So if this is anything but a coincidental accident, like you’re drunk and got off on the wrong floor—then you need to get fucked.
Because at seven in the morning, on vacation, the last thing I want to be is awake. ”
Yep. I should have been patient and done this later. There was also clearly even more wrong with me than I thought, because being on this end of Aimee’s attitude, fuck me.
“Well?” she asked, her arms crossing and her brow arched as she waited for me to respond.
“All my common sense goes out the window where you’re concerned,” I said lamely.
It wasn’t an excuse, but almost fact. My brain seemed to short circuit whenever I was around her, and I just wanted it to…not.
“And that’s my problem?”
“No, it’s definitely mine.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” she scoffed.
Inwardly I cringed. Because why was I falling more and more in love with this girl?
“Aimee—” I started, and she started to close the door in my face.
I caught it with the flat of my palm, and I knew that was the wrong move.
Why did I keep fucking up when it came to her?
“Lukas, I swear to God,” she breathed, “If you don’t leave me the hell alone—”
I stared at her. The dark circles that had shadowed her eyes earlier were deeper, and her eyes were puffy and red rimmed.
“Aimee.”
She stopped talking and there must’ve been something in my expression, because her gaze fell to my lips. I watched as her tongue flicked out across her bottom lip, and my mind ran away with that one motion—wanting the fantasy.
Suddenly, I was moving and pressing into her space.
My hands were on either side of her face, my lips capturing hers.
We stumbled backwards together, bumping the doorjamb to the bathroom.
Then she was pulling me into her, our feet hitting the titled floor—still kissing and clinging onto each other.
And I was drowning in her. I angled her head, so I could deepen the kiss and she let me.
Her hands were fisted in the front of my sweatshirt, caught between our bodies.
She broke the kiss to take a breath. and then I was tasting her, my tongue meeting hers, and I wanted to drown in her forever.
I never wanted to stop doing exactly this.
Her hands moved, smoothing around my sides and onto my back.
I shivered at her touch, and my reaction emboldened her.
She broke the kiss and looked at me through half lidded eyes, desire sparking in them.
Her lips were slightly swollen from our kisses.
She reached out and with two fingers pressed into my chest, moving me backwards until my back hit the wall.
And I thought I was turned on before.
I swallowed hard and followed her mouth as she leaned in close, and ghosted her lips over mine.
She leaned into my body, her hands coming up to run through my hair and my eyes flickered shut and the feeling of her nails raking lightly along my scalp.
They drifted down, over my chest, lower as she started to kneel in front of me.
I couldn’t breathe.
“What do you want, Lukas?” She asked, and I blinked rapidly, snapping out of my mind and right back into the present.
Aimee was standing in front of me.
My hand splayed on the door, my foot had inched forward fully stopping her from shutting me out. I quickly backed up, plastering myself on the opposite wall.
She didn’t look angry anymore, just wary, maybe even slightly concerned.
I slid down the wall and buried my head in my hands.
What the fuck was wrong with me when it came to her?
How was I this messed up over a girl I barely knew, who didn’t really know I existed before yesterday?
I heard her open her door back up, but I didn’t look at her. I couldn’t. I stood up, wiping my hands down my sweatpants.
“I…I just wanted to apologize for what I said yesterday and how it all came out. It wasn’t my intention to come across like that.
I don’t know why I panicked, but I did, and I’m sorry if my words freaked you out.
I swear I won’t bother you again,” I said, staring down the hall, at the floor, at the softly glowing light four doors down.
Basically anywhere that wasn’t the girl I couldn’t control myself around.
“And I’m sorry for coming here at seven in the morning,” I added.
I caved and quickly glanced at her, fully expecting—well I wasn’t sure what to expect. But what I wasn’t ready for was the soft smiling playing at the corners of her mouth, or how she was obviously fighting to not be amused by me.
I nodded and started to walk away. Not wanting to get my hopes up that maybe I hadn’t blown what could be my only chance to finally win the heart of the girl who had occupied my thoughts for far longer than she realized.
Needless to say, Zara was pissed at me.
Well, pissed might actually be an understatement.
She managed to weasel out of me where I’d been this morning, since she’d woken up and saw I wasn’t in my room.
I already knew that Zara was a dead ringer for our mother—like a mini-me clone, but with the way she chewed my ass out and gave me an earful…
it was clear she shared her attitude and temperament as well.
The problem was that she hadn’t told me anything that I’d already been telling myself.
“Honestly, why do you have to be so…you sometimes?” She asked. “I’ll be lucky if she even wants to hook me up with Brennan now.”
“I hope that wasn’t the first thing out of your mouth when you met her,” I said, hoping my sister understood the implication of acting like Aimee was just a stepping stone.
“I’m not an idiot. She offered to reach out to him on my behalf after she helped me for a bit. I could tell that she was scared of being recognized.”
I let out a breath, and flopped back on my bed and listened to Zara pace back and forth, tuning out her tirade. I was tired. I felt like shit. Guilt was eating at my every fiber. If I could go back in time and do last night all over again…
No, if I could go back in time, I’d go back to the accident and stop it from ever happening. I ran my hands over my face and god I wish that were possible. A pillow smacked me in the face, and I bolted upright.
“What the hell, Zara?”
I yanked the pillow out of my sister's grasp, clutching it and glaring at her.
“You don’t get to be annoyed at this situation Lukas!” Zara snapped.
“Zar, there is literally nothing you could say, or have already said, that I haven’t already thought of myself.”
She huffed, crossing her arms over her chest and I had to find the patience to deal with her teenage attitude.
“You need to fix this,” she said.
I flopped back down on the bed, not wanting to have the same argument again for whatever time this would be. Round 50, and I was black and blue.
“I can’t believe your argument last night was ‘I’m not a stalker’ and then you showed up at her room at the ass crack of dawn after weaseling the information out of poor Rachel!”
I groaned, because yep. I did that. I pulled the pillow over my face. Maybe it would come alive and put me out of my abject misery.
“Who even does that?” Zara asked. “What the hell possessed you to make you think that was a good idea?”
“Language, Zar,” I muttered behind the pillow.
It had to be rhetorical, because there was no good way I could answer it. In my haste to lessen my guilt and insomnia, I decided to become the actual thing I’d just insisted I wasn’t.
In all seriousness, this pillow really should take me out.
Everything I ever imagined when it came to Aimee—none of it had gone like this. It had been sweet and romantic—just like in all of Zara’s romantic comedies. Not be fumbling the bag so damn hard that literally nothing I did after would make up for it.