Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
Nate
The second I saw that ass—because of course that’s the first thing I saw—my feet corrected course from the elevator banks toward the reception area of the lobby without my permission.
Who could blame me?
Especially when my eyes trailed up and I got a good look at the broad shoulders covered by a wrinkled dress shirt and a disheveled mop of light brown hair.
And gahd, when I heard the accent? Even if what he was saying was possibly the most obnoxiously Karen-like phrase to ever exist, his accent made it sound like he was asking me if I liked how his dick filled my ass.
Now, I’m not normally this hard up to get laid, but I struck out tonight and was coming back to the hotel early after my friends all found hookups at the club. So with all this horniness to contain, no wonder I immediately offered the embodiment of the word British a bed for the night.
When he turned and I saw his tired hazel eyes with dark circles under them, though, I felt bad for my suggestive comment. Not enough to take the offer back, but enough to tell him there were no strings attached. But then he went ahead and took his damn time checking me out, and when that delicious blush covered his pink skin? Fucking hell, being a good guy was going to give me blue balls.
He’s so uptight, I couldn’t help but smirk teasingly at him when he refused my help. I bet he’s not used to being told what to do, or to getting caught checking another man out. He screams closet case, not that I mind—I’m not one for long-term relationships. Or any kind of relationship. Love ’em and leave ’em is my cliché of choice.
Just not tonight, apparently.
I can’t believe it, but he actually needs convincing. And my incredulousness is not because of my looks—the guy clearly likes what he sees—but because of the situation he’s in. I mean, after how bad my mission to get laid went tonight, I’m not feeling like a million bucks, so forgive me if his rejection stings more than it probably should.
And now, leaning against the mirrored wall of the elevator, Rupert leaning against the opposite one and the bellman between us, I can’t help the harsh laugh that escapes me after he calls me a himbo.
I don’t think I’ve said anything particularly stupid in the last five minutes, so maybe he doesn’t know what the definition is?
I mean, I’d like to think I look like a himbo—hot as fuck—but though I can be really thick sometimes, I think I’ve behaved rather splendidly . And yes, I did use a British accent in my head when I thought that.
So with that in mind, I think behaving like a real himbo right now might be in order. That’ll show him.
“ The Honourable Rupert Francis Harrington Cardew .” I repeat his title, seeing how fast I can say it and tripping over the words on the second round.
“Oh, piss off,” Rupert mutters with an impressive scowl on his face. I bet it’d be even more impressive if he didn’t currently look like he’d fall over from exhaustion if I tapped his forehead.
“Seriously? Couldn’t you think of anything more stereotypically British to say to me? And also, maybe try being nicer. You’re sleeping next to me after all, and I bet you’ll fall asleep before me. Don’t want me looking through your fancy bag while you’re unconscious, do you?” I don’t mean it, of course, but I don’t like him calling me a himbo. Normally I wouldn’t care less, but for some reason, I want him to... what? Be impressed by me?
I mentally scoff at myself. I impressed him plenty with my looks. That’s all it takes back home, and it looks like it’s the same in Australia. Or at least the same with British men in Australia.
The bellman clears his throat as the elevator slows, and quickly steps out with the lord’s bags as soon as the gap in the doors can fit him. I snicker at his quickening steps toward my room.
I guess we made him uncomfortable.
Once Rupert tips him, he throws a grateful glance our way and discreetly leaves.
The silence that fills the room after the soft click of the door closing is unnerving, but for some reason, I don’t want to be the first to break it. The lord looks like he gets handed things on the regular, and I won’t be giving him an out that easily.
“Thank you,” he finally chokes out through clenched teeth after a full two minutes of us staring at each other.
“You’re welcome.” I don’t even attempt to tamp down my Cheshire cat grin. “So there’s obviously only one bed.” I wave my hand in the direction of the king-size mattress. “I’ll use the bathroom real quick and then you can have at it.”
He only nods, still so stoic. Damn, I wish this was actually a hookup just so I could watch him lose the serious frown.
I bet he looks real pretty all flushed and begging to come, I think to myself as I get ready for bed.
When I come out, he’s slouching on the edge of the bed, and he looks so damn tired and defeated he doesn’t even look up. He could be sleeping with his eyes open for all I know. I can’t force myself to make fun of him for his posture. “All yours,” I settle on.
His head jerks up and his eyes fixate on my abs—yeah, I have abs, and they look perfect thanks to my exercise regimen. I could have put on some sweats to sleep in, but if I’m being honest, and I always am, I wanted him to get a good look, and to see the interest shine in his pretty eyes again. I also always sleep naked, so keeping my briefs on is only for his benefit.
“Thank you,” he mutters, then closes the door with a decisive click.
I get comfortable on the opposite side of the bed to the one he was sitting on, and when he comes out, I let out a wolf whistle. Rupert is wearing sleep pants, but he’s decided to sleep shirtless. I can’t blame him, but damn, who knew the dude would have abs almost as amazing as mine.
I’m pretty sure I’m leering at him like a perv, but can’t seem to stop myself. I trail my eyes all over his gorgeous torso and I have to bite my lip. “Jesus, you sure you don’t want to suck my dick for your bed?”
“That’s it.” He turns, and the sight of his wide and strong back distracts me from the fact that he’s leaving.
I want to roll my eyes at him, but I guess he’s not used to being ogled by other men. At least not that he’s aware.
“Sorry, sorry,” I call out before he can reach his luggage. “I’ll behave, I swear. But damn, Ru.” He turns around and I can see the impressive scowl is back.
“Only my friends call me Ru.”
“I think we’re friends.”
“No, we are most definitely not friends.”
I sigh and lean up so I can look him in the eye. “You’re fucking hot, man. I just had to comment on it. And now I’m over it.” At his incredulous stare, I chuckle. “Okay, maybe not completely over it. Just, come on, you’re dead on your feet. You need sleep.”
He remains motionless for a few seconds, then his shoulders sag and he walks back.
He’s stiff as a board lying next to me, so I sigh and turn to stand. “I know what’ll make you relax.” I pick up the four extra pillows I threw on the floor before and place them in the middle of the bed.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m building a pillow wall, obviously. ” There’s no more humor in my voice. I don’t actually want him to be uncomfortable.
When the wall is firmly in place and I’m on my back again, I turn off the lights, praying my hard-on will go away soon and I can get some sleep too.
“Thank you,” Rupert whispers. It’s the third time he’s said the words to me, and the first time they’ve rung true. I sigh in relief, glad he feels better.
And who knows, maybe tomorrow morning he’ll reconsider and we can both get some goddamn relief.
I like that plan.
* * *
I wake up to a blinding light. Guess I didn’t close the blinds last night, ugh. I remember going to the club and... oh yeah, Rupert.
The stoic and very tired lord .
I turn, ready to bring out all my seduction skills to try and start this day better than the last. Mutual hand jobs in the shower is a good option, but I think I’m in the mood for BJs more.
I scrub at my eyes and... he’s not there. His bags are gone too. I flop back on the mattress. Damn, what a missed opportunity.
With no way to reach him, I think it’s safe to say I’ll never see him again.