10. Sawyer
Sawyer
There’s an event at work today. Lucky me. I’m not sure if it’s a prom or sweet sixteen or some other party that has teenagers dressed in formal wear packing into the banquet room in droves, but whatever it is has brought pure chaos upon me since noon.
I know our body capacity says the inn can fit this many people, but on paper and in person are two entirely different things.
The lobby wasn’t designed to absorb fifty seventeen-year-olds in rented tuxedos and too much cologne.
And the girls…they’re gorgeous in their tulle and satin, but holy hell they’re loud.
Since the accident, I’ve been suffering with more migraines than usual and right now their high-pitched squeals and the flickering bulb leading to the elevators has my head feeling like it’s being squeezed between two giant hands.
I’ve been asked where the bathrooms are one hundred times. Been asked if we have a pool double that. A tired chaperone in a teal blazer asked me to keep an eye for alcohol bottles coming in. I nodded but I’m not going to rat out some kids. I was that age once, and I wish I had more fun than I did.
I’m staring at a list of check-ins on my screen when awareness sparks along my skin. I know he’s there before I lift my eyes.
Knox is standing near the coffee station, watching me. I swore I saw him by the entrance about an hour ago and now I know that was definitely him. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’s rattled me, so I train my face into a neutral expression and focus back on my work.
Don’t think about last night.
It keeps resurfacing no matter what I do. What he said. What I did. How good it felt.
My face gets warm and I space out on a single word on the monitor.
He comes to the desk a few minutes later, passing by a gaggle of teenage girls all trying to sneak a peek at one of their phones.
I shoot him my practiced customer service smile and ask in an overly sweet voice, “Can I help you?”
“There’s a coffee situation that needs your immediate attention.” He gestures back where he came from. “You’re out of sugar packets.”
“The coffee is for hotel guests.”
“You should probably come with me to check it out,” he says, ignoring my reply.
“I’m busy.”
“Thorne.”
“Aldrich.”
He leans against the counter, flashing me that infuriating smirk. I know he won’t leave me alone until I relent. Lucky for him, I can be patient too.
“You’re pretending my presence doesn’t get to you.”
“Not pretending.”
He reaches over and hits backspace. “You typed the same letter five times in a row.”
I look up then, because I can’t not. He’s too irritating and he knows it.
I swallow hard as our eyes meet. He looks like himself again, or I should say, the non-broody asshole version of himself.
That’s a problem…I can’t have him looking like that, giving me those eyes, acting like it’s a perfectly normal activity to be stalking me at my place of work.
“Was there something you actually needed?” I hold back my eye roll just in time, as the same chaperone shows up behind Knox looking like he needs a drink and a long nap.
Knox’s mouth does that almost smile thing that I love so much. “Nah, I’m good for now.” Then he taps the desk and turns, but before he heads to wherever it is he’s going, he nods to the chaperone. “Best employee here. You’re in good hands.”
I shake my head and hold in a laugh. He’s such a pain in my ass.
He comes back two more times as the afternoon drags on.
The first time, he tries to make conversation again, but thankfully a high-maintenance guest disrupts him.
The second time, he doesn’t say anything, just sets down an iced latte from my favorite coffee shop across the street and walks back outside.
I try to tell him I don’t want it, but he leaves before I can.
I drink the whole delicious thing.
It’s finally thirty minutes until I can go home and hope that I never have to listen to the high-pitched squeals of teenage girls again. I rub my temples and take a lap around the lobby, picking up trash and straightening the coffee station.
The moment I make it back behind the desk, my manager, Percy, pushes through the doors from the back offices, face red and brows scrunched.
It’s been a day for everyone apparently.
He stops in front of me, typing on his phone while he speaks. “Thorne. East parking lot, section B. There’s a guest complaint—someone got sick near the handicapped spaces. Housekeeping’s tied up on four and maintenance is running the shuttle. I need you to handle it.”
He sets the key card to the supply closet on the desk.
“Got sick?” I ask, staring at the card like it’ll erupt. “You want me to clean vomit?”
“The housekeeping cart’s already stocked. Should take you ten minutes.”
“But I’m working the desk.”
“I’ll cover.” He’s already logging into the computer next to me. “You’re the most competent person I have right now, Thorne. I need you to step up.”
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.
I grab the keycard and curse under my breath.
Ten minutes later, I’m wheeling a housekeeping cart loaded with a yellow mop bucket, as much disinfectant as I could find, a push brush, and an old mop.
I can’t believe Percy has me doing this. Rock meet bottom.
At least the east lot is quiet. Look at me, trying to find a silver lining.
The lighting sucks, and it smells like asphalt that spent the day baking in the sun mixed with the faint smell of cigarettes out here.
I stand there for a moment, inspecting the puddle in front of me and wonder how my series of life choices led me here.
I put on rubber gloves that come up to my elbows and grab the push broom. My plan is to contain it into one pile, then mop it up. I can’t say I’ve ever mopped up someone else’s vomit before, so hopefully my plan is sound.
I’m finishing one pass, suppressing gags, when I hear footsteps behind me.
I don’t turn around. “No.”
“You don’t even know what I was going to say.”
“Knox, just—”
“I was going to say the stars look really nice tonight.”
I look up. There are no stars because it’s overcast now. As much as I don’t want to, I turn toward him.
He’s standing a few feet away, hands in his pockets, looking completely unbothered by the fact that he followed me into a parking lot while I’m holding a broom. Something about that is so deeply, specifically him that I almost laugh.
“Go away,” I say.
“I’ll do it.” He gestures to the broom.
“Absolutely not.”
“Sawyer—”
“Knox, I swear to God, if you try to take this broom from me, I will use it on you next.”
That gets him to crack his almost smile again. He holds up both hands. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Okay.” He leans against his Jeep, settling in like he has nowhere else to be. “I’ll just stand here and watch.”
“That’s also not an option.”
“Sure it is.”
I turn back around. Fine. If he wants to watch me clean up a stranger’s vomit in a parking lot, that’s his problem. I’ve stopped being embarrassed in front of Knox. After everything we’ve been through, this is the least of my concerns.
We stay like that for a few minutes. Me working, him watching, the distant sound of bad DJ music leaking out from inside the hotel.
His feet shuffle and he clears his throat. There goes my peace.
“So last night…”
“Not right now,” I say. “I’m at work.”
“We need to talk.”
“No.”
“I’m going to keep trying until you turn around and look at me.”
“Then get comfortable.”
He’s quiet while I switch from the push broom to the mop. I reach for the cleaning solution and dump it into the water.
“You look good today,” he says. “I like professional Sawyer, behind the desk in your skirt and blazer.”
I hate that my cheeks flush. “That’s not misogynistic at all.”
“Strangers probably look at you and think you’re a satisfied employee.”
I refuse to look at him, even though the pull is strong. “Because I am.”
“Are you? Not convincing me, Thorne. I know better.”
I stop but still don’t face him. “What do you want, Knox?”
“I want you to look at me.”
“I’m busy.”
“Sawyer, come on.”
“I have a headache and a parking lot to clean and I would very much like you to fuck off.”
He steps closer and my pulse speeds up. “I don’t believe you.”
I can’t help but turn around now. He’s closer than I expected, and I have to take a step back to feel like I have room to breathe.
“You should,” I say.
“I don’t.” His eyes move over my face, reading me the way he always does, like I’m a page he already knows the words to. “Don’t you want to know what Moretti said last night?”
My stomach tightens. “No.”
“What about Ella? Aren’t you interested in what she’s asking of me?”
I know my face is red as I tighten my grip on the mop handle.
“Why would I be?”
“Aren’t you wondering if she found me texting you last night?” He comes closer, stepping over the half cleaned mess. “If she found out what I was doing while I was talking to you?”
My face burns. I hate him for knowing exactly where to press. “Did she?”
“How would you feel if she did?”
“Don’t answer a question with a question.”
“You want to know if my fiancée found the filthy things I said to you, Sawyer? If she found out I told you to spread your legs. To circle your clit and picture my fingers doing it.”
I’m breathing hard, but I won’t let him get to me. I refuse. “I don’t care if she did.”
He drags his thumb down my cheek, sliding it under my chin so I meet him eye to eye. “Lies.”
“I was dry as a desert last night anyway. You can dirty talk all you want but it doesn’t affect me.”
“What if I told you Ella caught me fucking my fist, thinking about your wet cunt.”
He annunciates each word, deepening his voice so it reaches my bones. “I hope she cursed you out.”
He laughs, and it’s so fucking infuriating that I want to scream. I step back again, adjusting the mop so it’s in front of my body like a shield.
“What’s so funny?”
“Just that she did the opposite. She climbed on my lap and rode my cock until—”
“I don’t give a fuck, Knox!” I barely recognize my voice. “Leave. Go home!”
“There she is.”
His smirk ignites my blood. I want to crack this mop over his fucking smug face. Images of Ella on top of him, circling her hips, her dark hair in his face, moaning his name…I see red.
I look at his Jeep.
“Sawyer—”
His hands on her hips, his face when he comes inside her. I hate him. I hate him so fucking much.
“Don’t—”
I’m already moving.
I swing and the handle connects with the driver’s door. The thunk cracks through the quiet lot like a gunshot, bouncing off every nearby car and out into the dark.
My chest heaves and some of that rage rolls off of me, but it’s not enough. I look at Knox, expecting him to rush at me, to stop me, but he’s standing perfectly still.
“Feel good?”
“Not as good as it would feel to smash your face.”
“Do it, then,” he says, smirking. “Hit me.”
“No.”
“Fucking hit me, Thorne.”
I won’t do it. I can’t.
“She moans so loud when she comes…and her pussy. It’s—”
My ears are ringing as I swing again. Twice. Three times. The wood shudders in my hands and my shoulders ache and I go until I can’t anymore, until the rage has left my chest, until I’m standing there breathing hard and looking at the carnage I caused.
His door is dented, the entire side scratched up. I know it could have been much worse and a small part of me wishes I went for the windshield. How fucked up is that?
Knox is still standing behind me with his hands in his pockets and an unreadable expression on his face. He’s watching me like I’m a live wire, but this is what he wanted.
Then he closes the distance slowly and my hands are shaking and it’s all hitting me. What I just did.
“Shh,” he says, gently taking the mop from my hand. “It’s okay.”
His voice has lost all its edge. This is the version of Knox I can’t fight, I have no defense when he’s looking at me like this and speaking softly.
He reaches up and moves a strand of hair off my face. His fingers are warm. I feel his touch everywhere, down my throat, behind my sternum, in my gut.
We’re chest to chest and I can feel the warmth coming off him. His eyes drop to my mouth and come back up and neither of us moves or speaks. I’m so fucking tired. Bone deep exhausted.
“I hate you,” I say. God, I sound as wrecked as I feel.
“I know.” His forehead drops toward mine and his thumb grazes my cheek. “You should hate me. It’s what I deserve.”
“Why?”
It’s all I can manage to say. I know he understands what I’m asking. He’s quiet for a moment as he drags a hand through his hair.
“Because I’d rather this version of you than nothing at all. Because I know exactly what I’m doing to you and I can’t stop.”
I close my eyes. That’s the most honest thing he’s said to me in months, maybe ever, and I don’t know what to do with it.
I don’t know what to do with any of this—the coffee he left on my desk, the way he followed me out here, how he’s looking at me right now like I’m the only fixed point in a room that’s spinning.
“You need to stop,” I say, feeling the hurt releasing with the words. “Let me go. Be with her.”
“No.” He’s reaching for me but pulls back. “You’re it for me. You’re all I want. All I’ve ever wanted.”
I look at the dent in his door, then back at his face and feel numb. “You have a shitty way of showing it.”
Then I drop the mop and walk away. I know I’ll get in trouble for leaving it there. Maybe get written up. But I don’t care. I need to get out of here. Away from Knox. Away from this place. The pull is stronger than it’s ever been before.
“Please,” he says, his voice echoing in the dark. “I’m sorry. That was—I don’t know why I do that to you.”
“Go home,” I say. “And don’t contact me again.”
As I push through the back entrance and head directly to my locker, I feel nothing. As I get my keys and walk to my car, I’m still numb. It’s not until I’m halfway back to my apartment and I pass by the train tracks do the tears come and they don’t stop for hours.