Chapter 14 #3
“My legacy is in your hands,” I say solemnly, then break into a grin. “Now go, before your manager thinks you’ve stood him up.”
Once he’s gone, I flop back on the ridiculous heart-shaped bed, staring up at the ceiling. This weekend is going to be… interesting. Sharing a bed with Jack Midnight. Pretending to be a couple in front of his entire racing world.
No problem at all. What could possibly go wrong?
After Jack leaves, I take advantage of having the suite to myself.
A long, hot shower washes away the travel grime and Miami humidity, and I dig through my suitcase for my favorite bikini—a deep cobalt blue that looks fantastic against my light brown skin if I do say so myself.
I love the way I feel in it—confident, sexy, and unapologetic.
I bought it after the divorce in a fit of rebellion against Brandon’s constant criticism of how I dressed.
“Too revealing,” he’d say. “You’re trying too hard. ” Fuck that.
I slip it on, turning to check myself out in the bathroom mirror.
Not bad, Reyes. Not bad at all. The top shows just enough cleavage, and the bottoms showcase the results of all those squats at Dominic’s gym.
I throw on a light cover-up dress for the walk to the elevator, grab my phone and room key, and head up to the rooftop pool.
The rooftop is what can only be described as paradise.
The infinity pool stretches toward the horizon, its edge seeming to melt into the ocean beyond.
Now that the sun has set, the entire space is transformed into a luxurious nighttime oasis.
Soft lighting glows from beneath the water, casting everything in a dreamy blue hue.
Around the pool, cabanas draped in white fabric, and sleek lounge chairs are arranged for optimal sunset viewing.
Miami’s skyline twinkles around us, a vertical constellation of lights against the darkening sky.
A few other guests lounge around, but it’s not too crowded.
I find a perfect spot near the edge of the pool, drop my things on a plush lounge chair, shed my cover-up, and slip into the water.
It’s the perfect temperature—refreshing in the still-hot night air.
I float on my back for a while, staring up at the stars, letting the water carry away the day’s stress.
After enough floating to turn my fingertips pruney, I climb out and settle into my lounge chair. A server in a crisp white uniform appears beside me with a warm smile.
“Good evening, miss. Can I get you something to drink?” he asks.
“Something tropical with rum, please,” I say, returning his smile. “Bartender’s choice. I trust your expertise.”
“I love an adventurous spirit,” he says with a wink. “I’ll be right back.”
He returns minutes later with a gorgeous sunset-colored cocktail in a crystal glass, garnished with fresh fruit and a perfect twist of orange peel. It looks like liquid art.
“A house specialty rum cocktail with local passion fruit, mango, and a hint of ginger,” he explains. “We call it the Miami Sunset.”
“It’s beautiful, thank you,” I say, accepting the drink. I take a sip and nearly moan. The rum hits first, warm and potent, followed by the perfect sweet-tart balance of the fruit. When I get back home I’m going to pester Maren to add this to the menu at The Black Lantern.
I position my drink with the twinkling Miami skyline in the background and snap a photo for Maren. She made me promise to send “excessive updates” about every detail of the trip. “Visual evidence or it didn’t happen,” were her exact words before I left. This view should definitely qualify.
My phone buzzes within a minute with her response:
Maren: Holy shit, are you in heaven?? That view!
Me: It’s incredible. Like stupid incredible. I may never come home.
Maren: So how are things going after THE KISS? Still pretending it meant nothing?
I roll my eyes. She’s been relentless since I called her approximately five seconds after it happened to tell her everything. She sees right through my denials about any real feelings, which is annoying because I’ve been working really hard on lying to myself about how I feel about Jack.
Me: It was nothing, just a moment of insanity But there’s been a slight complication. His manager upgraded us to the “Romance Suite.” Complete with heart-shaped bed.
Maren: NO WAY. This is TOO perfect! The universe is literally throwing you two together.
Me: The universe is trying to make things supremely awkward, that’s what.
Maren: Denial isn’t just a river in Egypt, babe. So you’re sharing the heart bed, right? Please tell me you’re not making him sleep on the floor after all your lectures to me about making a move back when I was lovesick over Calvin.
Me: That was different and you know it. And we haven’t figured it out yet. I’m at the pool actively avoiding the whole situation. With my fun cocktail.
Maren: Chicken. You literally pushed me into Calvin’s arms and now you’re running away from your own heart-shaped destiny?
Me: I hate you sometimes.
Maren: No you don’t. Now go get your man and text me all the dirty details.
Me: He’s not MY anything. And there will be no dirty details. I’ll send you purely professional updates about the racing events, thank you very much.
Maren: Sure you will. Enjoy your night in the sex suite
I put my phone down with a laugh and take another long sip of my drink.
I settle back into my lounge chair, letting the Miami night envelop me.
The rum is warming my veins, the ocean breeze is perfect, and for a moment I let myself just enjoy being here, without overthinking the sleeping arrangements waiting for me back in the room.
As my stomach starts to rumble, I signal the server and order dinner—the grilled mahi-mahi with mango salsa that another guest was having.
When it arrives, it’s a work of art, the fish perfectly seared and the salsa vibrant with colors that pop even in the evening light.
It’s one of the most delicious things I’ve ever tasted.
I’m savoring the last few bites, watching the city lights reflect on the water, when a familiar voice breaks into my thoughts.
“Found you.”
I look up to find Jack standing beside my lounge chair, and my breath catches in my throat.
He’s changed into dark slacks and a crisp white button-down with the sleeves rolled to the elbows, exposing tanned forearms. His expensive watch catches the pool lights, and his hair is slightly damp, like he’s just showered.
He looks like he stepped straight out of a men’s fashion magazine, the kind that makes you stop flipping pages and stare.
“I went back to the room after meeting with Thomas,” he says, sitting on the lounge chair next to mine. “When you weren’t there, I figured you’d be up here.”
His eyes drop to my bikini for just a second before snapping back to my face, but that brief glance is enough to send a flush of heat through me that has nothing to do with the Miami temperature.
I suddenly become hyper-aware of exactly how much skin I’m showing and how the fabric clings to all my curves.
Part of me, a part I should definitely ignore, feels a little thrill at his quick look.
I resist the urge to arch my back slightly, just to see if his eyes would dart down again.
Crap. Maybe that drink was stronger than I thought.
“I thought you’d be longer,” I say, reaching for my glass anyway and taking another sip to hide whatever my face might be doing. “How was the meeting?”
“Thomas had to run,” he says, signaling a server. “Some issue with one of his other clients.”
The server approaches, and Jack orders a beer. I notice the way the female server’s eyes linger on him, taking in the rolled sleeves and the way his shirt fits across his shoulders. I can’t blame her, honestly. The man looks good enough to eat.
“How was the pool?” he asks, looking around the rooftop oasis.
“Amazing,” I say, gesturing to the view. “This whole place is unreal. I feel like I accidentally stumbled into someone else’s life.”
He smiles. “Wait till you see the track tomorrow. It’s a whole other level of surreal.” His eyes light up with excitement. “Well, for me at least it’s the best part of Miami. Nothing beats the smell of racing fuel and the sound of engines.”
We chat about the schedule for tomorrow as we finish our drinks—track tour in the morning, driver meet-and-greet at noon, then back to the hotel to change for the gala. Jack explains each event with obvious passion for the racing elements and tolerance for the sponsor obligations.
Eventually, I stifle a yawn, the long day and travel catching up with me. The cocktail isn’t helping my sudden wave of tiredness.
“We should probably head back,” Jack says, noticing. “Tomorrow starts early. And you look about five minutes from falling asleep in that chair.”
I nod and gather my things, very aware that heading back means facing the heart-shaped bed situation. We ride the elevator down a few floors, neither speaking, and there’s a tension that wasn’t there before, an awareness of what’s waiting for us.
Back in the suite, the heart-shaped bed looms large, impossible to ignore.
I grab my pajamas and retreat to the bathroom to change and go through my skincare routine, taking longer than strictly necessary.
When I finally emerge in sleep shorts and a t-shirt from Dolly Parton’s Plain & Simple tour, Jack has changed into sweatpants and a tanktop and is arranging a makeshift bed on the floor with extra pillows and blankets.
“You really don’t have to sleep on the floor,” I say, feeling guilty as I watch him try to create a comfortable sleeping spot on the plush-but-definitely-not-meant-for-sleeping carpet.
“It’s fine,” he insists, fluffing a pillow. “I’ve slept in worse places.”
I climb into the heart-shaped bed, which is extremely comfortable despite its shape, and try to settle in. But after ten minutes, I can’t take it anymore.
“This is stupid,” I say, sitting up. “This bed is huge. Just get up here. We’re adults. We can share a bed without it being weird.”
Jack hesitates, clearly weighing his options.
“Seriously,” I add. “I promise not to steal all the covers. Or push you out of the heart. I’ll even build a pillow wall to protect your virtue if it makes you feel better.”
He laughs at that, finally relenting. “Well, when you put it that way. But only because this floor is harder than it looks. And I’m holding you to that cover-stealing promise.”
The bed dips as he climbs in on the other side, keeping respectful space between us.
Totally normal. Just two adults sharing a giant heart-shaped bed. We’re joking about it, which means we’re handling this maturely. Nothing awkward about two fake-dating people maintaining appropriate space in a bed literally designed for the opposite.
Jack shifts slightly, turning to face me. The moonlight streaming through the balcony doors washes over him, highlighting the sharp angle of his jaw, the curve of his lips, the intensity in his eyes. My mouth goes dry.
“Goodnight, Lark,” he says, his voice lower than before.
“Goodnight,” I manage to reply, quickly turning to face the wall before he can see what must be written all over my face. My heart is pounding so loudly I’m sure he can hear it.
Every cell in my body is aware of him—the rhythm of his breathing, the lingering scent of his cologne, the heat radiating from him.
If I moved just a few inches back, I’d be against him.
The thought sends a shiver down my spine.
I could finish what I started last night in my hallway.
The kiss flashes through my mind unbidden—the way he pulled me closer, the heat of his mouth on mine.
How incredible it felt before I came to my senses and ran.
I squeeze my eyes shut and try desperately to think about anything else. The schedule for tomorrow. New song lyrics. The sponsors I’ll meet. Anything.
But all I can think about is Jack. Jack Midnight is in bed with me, just inches away. Jack, with his quick smile and quicker wit. Jack, who looks at me sometimes like he can see right through me. Jack, who I absolutely should not be thinking about in the way I definitely am right now.
This is going to be a very long night.