Chapter Two #2
“I think you’re selective. It was you digging your nails into my flesh.” I glance down at the still visible red marks. “I’m sure if you placed your fingers right here, they’d match this pattern.”
“Because you had me smushed against you so hard I could feel your little wanker getting harder by the second. Pervert.”
“I think we both know my wanker isn't little. And, sweetheart, you're the one who walked into my room.”
“As a misunderstanding!”
“Walked straight into my naked body.”
“By accident!”
“And memorized every last part of me.”
Another scoff comes from her, and I like the sound. “I’m sure you’ve memorized yourself more than anyone, but I felt an unwaxed patch on your not-so-perfectly waxed chest.”
I give a sideways grin. “You liked that, huh?”
She rolls her eyes. “I like it as much as you accusing me of sneaking in to seduce you.”
“It happens more than you know.”
“I don’t know why any woman would want to sleep with you.”
Wait a minute.
I pause this fun banter.
Does she not know who I am?
“Are you here for Cupid’s Cooking Weekend?”
The dumbfounded look she gives me answers my question before her sharp no.
I glance at the sisters. “Is she signed up for the Cupid’s Cooking Weekend?”
I need double confirmation.
“No,” Faye answers. “And yet, it seems the universe decided it was time for your paths to cross.”
Wilma grabs Shay’s shoulders and pulls her into the hallway. “No need to end it on a bad note. This is clearly my sister’s misguidance, and she’s terribly sorry.”
“My fault?”
“How embarrassing.” Wilma jabs her sister’s side. “Get her bags.”
Faye grumbles as she lifts a bag from the stack.
“We really do apologize, but I’m sure we can make it up to you.” Wilma also reaches for a bag. “Now, off to door three.”
“Door three,” Shay mutters under her breath as she yanks the bags from the ladies, stacking them in her arms.
“Door three,” the ladies repeat.
“Sure seems like fate how you two ran into each other.” Wilma grabs the handle of the last suitcase and rolls it out.
“Fate?” Shay almost shrieks.
“Sometimes things happen for a reason.” Faye unlocks door three. “This is your room, child.”
The door swings open to reveal a perfectly made bed, identical lamps, and zero half-naked men.
“I don’t think accidentally going into this man’s room was fate. You sent me to his room,” she says flatly.
“Yes, well.” Faye waves a hand. “Last-minute bookings can be a bit mixed up.”
“Fate.” Wilma’s eyes flicker to the pillow. “A story we’ll all laugh about together during the cinnamon roll baking class.”
My fingers dig deeper into the material.
“You should join us,” she says to Shay. “To make up for this mix-up. We’ll cover your attendance fee.”
“No, thank you.” Shay looks at me and doesn’t let her eyes slide anywhere but to mine.
Impressive.
“Don’t make a final decision yet.” I grab the door with my free hand. “Maybe once you’ve settled into your room there, you’ll change your mind.”
“I won’t.”
“I’ll save your spot.” My fingertips rap against the wood.
“Don’t bother.” She kicks a bag through the door. “One minute you’re accusing me of trying to jump your bones and doing your damnedest to get me out, and now you want me to come to some Cupid Cooking Class?”
“Fate.” I can’t help saying the word.
Her nose curls. “That’s a hard no.” She gets the final bag into the room, then pops her head out. “And just so you know, that’s not the only thing hard.”
Her eyes drop to the pillow.
Shit.
No fucking way.
But I don’t dare give her the satisfaction of dropping my gaze or looking embarrassed.
“Guess my body’s a little more honest than I am.”
“Gross.”
I almost laugh.
I definitely smile.
The door clicks shut behind her, and silence settles into the hallway.
“Well.” Faye claps her hands. “That was exciting. Wasn’t that exciting? I love a good meet-cute.”
What the hell is a meet-cute?
I force a smile of my own. “Glad I could help.”
“We’re very much looking forward to tonight’s kickoff mingle.” Faye picks up the undamaged teacup and saucer from the floor.
“You are?” I give them a small, wry grin, imagining their shocked faces when they realize exactly how “interactive” the classes get.
“Oh yes.” Faye’s eyes flick down and back up again. “Very much.”
That’s all the information I need. She’s seen my content.
“We will see tonight.” Wilma swings her hip at her sister. “Let’s go.”
“I’ll pop back to clean up the tea,” Faye calls back.
“I got it.”
They retreat down the hallway, still chatting.
I close my door, lean against it, and stare at the ceiling.
So much for privacy.
Between the mix-up of awkward assumptions and Shay’s scathing hatred of me, I feel like I’ve run a marathon in my own bedroom.
I toss the pillow on the bed and strut across the room. The carpet is soft under my bare feet. At the round carved corner table, I pour a glass of water.
She didn’t know who I was.
To be fair, no one really knows me. They know Cash Can Cook. They know the parts of me I let them see, but they don’t really know me.
But to her, I’m just a stranger next door.
I like that.
Too bad we got off on the wrong foot.
I glance at the door. She’s probably unpacking and muttering to herself all the reasons why she dislikes me.
Fair.
To a stranger, I acted like an arrogant prick.
I grab my suitcase and toss it on the bed. I drag it toward me, unzip it, and—
Freeze.
The contents are not the neat, folded clothes I left inside. Not my toiletries. A whole lot of something else. Something that definitely isn’t mine.
My brain whirs, trying to rationalize. Then it hits me.
This belongs to my stranger next door.
Oh snap.
I stare down at the colorful, smooth, plastic objects, very much not meant to be worn.
Now the question is, do I give this to the sweet ol’ ladies at the front desk?
Knock at my stranger's door and offer it back, pretending not to know what lies right here in front of me?
Or, do I wait for her to come crawling back?
The latter sounds like the best plan.