Can’t Stay Away (Hotel Bellwether #4)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

PAIGE

Hotel Bellwether is famous for many things, but LoveTM is what it promises you, so when Skye—my cousin and platonic love of my life, also cofounder of our shop, Calm Candles—discovered that one of my New Year’s resolutions was to date again, she wasted no time in making me sign up for The Belle’s weekly speed-dating night.

Anytime I need a holiday, I come here. With the crisp ocean air, soft sand as far as the eye can see, Playa de Oro always carries the sense that anything is possible if you want it enough.

And, boy, am I hoping that works in my favor tonight.

“Scope out any hotties yet?” Skye asks.

I press my phone closer to my ear, just in case. I’m here ten minutes early and not entirely sure I shouldn’t escape before it starts, which is why I called her. Baby steps.

“Um …”

The ballroom is split in two—a lounge area, where I’m loitering at the edge, and a dining room. In reality, it’s a few sofas, a cash bar, and a rug on one side, then rows of two-seater tables, lined up neatly with numbers, on the other.

Scanning the crowd, I count about five, six guys I’d be interested in getting to know, based on little more than how they’re holding themselves. Nice, approachable guys.

Nothing like my ex.

“A few guys are cute, I guess.”

One thing’s for sure: everyone dressed up. I’m glad Skye talked me out of coming in jeans and a tank top, even though it’s what I’m most comfortable in. Except regular me doesn’t do so well on dates, so maybe Skye’s sundress will be the key to finding something new.

“Cute is a good start, but what you need is non-douchey.”

I take a slow sip of wine, but my nerves are so frazzled; it’s like throwing a thimble of water on a forest fire. “You know, that never came up as a preference when I was filling in my profile.”

“Well, it should be. How are you feeling now?”

I pick out a few nuts from the snack bowl in front of me, leaving the pistachios behind. Maybe food will help. I couldn’t stomach dinner before I left, and now I’m starving.

The room is really starting to fill out now. We must be starting soon.

“Good, I think.” And it’s the truth. “I wish you were here.”

Ever since I could remember, it’s been me and her, arm in arm for everything. But, no, tonight, Skye gets to be at home, eating jelly beans, while I face the terrifying prospect of pitching myself to total strangers in the name of love.

“You need to fly out of the nest, duckling.”

I smooth my dress over knees that are knobby and pale. I need a beach day soon.

“Ducks don’t have nests.”

“Don’t they?”

“Oh, I don’t know.”

An abundance of lamps around the room leaves everything feeling soft and warm.

It’s casual and seductive, cool without being arrogant.

Like people who never seem to run out of interesting stories, but always stop them midway to ask, “What’s going on with you?

” as though your recent dentist appointment could compare to that time they snuck into a bed-making competition and came in third place.

Yep. If you’re looking for love, there’s nowhere better than The Belle.

Or it would be, if my ex hadn’t just walked through the door.

Fuck.

The last time I saw Benji Collins, I was shoving my underwear into my purse during the world’s most awkward silence while he looked on from his rock-hard mattress.

He still had his dick out.

After I left, I cried in my car for five minutes.

Not because of his dick, although it had brought me to tears a couple of times. No, my gut knew something I wouldn’t learn for a few more days. We were over, and the man I’d fallen in love with would soon rip my heart out with his big, beautiful, bare hands.

I’d been certain that Benji was acting off, no matter how many times he said he was okay, but I talked myself out of pushing him.

All relationships hit road bumps. We would talk about it later, and that would be that.

Except I never saw him again. By the time the weekend was over, Benji had left town.

That was a year ago.

Tonight, thankfully, his dick is out of sight, hidden under a pair of black pants and a loose white linen shirt that’s open at the collar and way too sexy to be any type of fair.

It’s a huge change from his usual flannel and jeans.

With his cuffs turned up and tanned skin on display, my body can’t work out if it wants to swoon or self-destruct.

Double fuck. Why does he always have to look like the best part of every room?

“Paige? Helloooooo? You know if I wanted to spend the night talking to myself, I would have gone to see my parents.”

Skye’s voice breaks me out of my Benji-induced haze.

“Change of plans. I’m going home.” I have to go before he sees me.

What the hell is he even doing here? He’s meant to be cuddling with his ex, thousands of miles away. Not that I care. I don’t even think about him anymore.

I don’t.

I just need to leave for other totally unrelated reasons.

“What? Noooo.”

“Skye,” I hiss, “Benji’s here.”

“Oh, that slimy motherfucker. How dare he show his face?! I’m gonna come there and kill him.”

There’s enough of a crowd now that Benji can’t see me from the entrance, but there’s no way to slip out without him noticing. I’m frozen in place.

“At least do it where there are less witnesses.”

“You’re right. It’ll be much easier when he’s least expecting it.”

Kind of like how he left me, I think bitterly.

“Are you really going to leave?”

“I can’t stay. What if he comes over here?”

Fuck, what if we get paired together?

“But you promised me.”

I did, and I can’t break a promise.

“You need to stop hiding inside and go meet some people,” she continues. “You spend all your time at home or at the shop.”

“I love our shop.”

“So do I, but I also love having a life outside of it.”

“I have a life.” Except I don’t, and we both know it.

Filling out my dating bio was excruciating—Paige Monroe, brown hair, brown eyes, average everything. God, twenty-six years old, and I’m already boring.

I sigh. “Fine. I’ll stay, but keep your phone on you in case I need an emergency getaway.”

“You’re literally the most important thing happening for me tonight, babe, but you’d better actually give yourself a chance to meet someone.”

If I’m ever going to get over Benji, I need to.

“Deal.”

“Someone who isn’t a certain woodworking asshole who left you.”

My heart clenches. “I promise.”

Benji and I have had our chance. There will not be another.

“Perk up,” Skye says. “It’ll be fun.”

“I thought that about the last one.”

“Last time won’t happen again. Do you know why? Because you won’t let it. Tell me why.”

The sound of a bell rings through the room, and I spot Sheree—one of tonight’s hosts—waving at the crowd.

I duck my head down to whisper into my phone, “It’s starting. I need to—”

“Say it,” she presses.

Skye’s right; I need the reminder. Somewhere in this room is the man who sets tremors through me, and I’m already distracted. Tonight wasn’t meant to be about him. It was meant to be about new chances. A fresh start.

Getting over him once and for all.

I recite my mantra. “He’s a bastard and a loser, and he has terrible taste in music.”

“Anyone I know?”

Oh, I’ve missed that voice.

I turn to Benji, and it’s like stepping into a memory. The ocean air clings to his clothes, but it can’t cover up the rich, earthy smell of him that I’ve never been able to replicate, no matter how many times I’ve tried.

He shaved his hair. It used to fall behind his ears in a rugged tumble that made my fingers itch to run themselves through it. Now it’s shorn close, turning his frown and green eyes into something broodingly handsome.

The I forgot to shave and woke up this effortlessly hot scruff he’s sporting isn’t helping either. My mouth is actually watering.

Shit.

I can’t do this again. I can’t.

“Gotta go,” I tell Skye, but I’m not quick enough to cut off her shout of, “Lo-fi isn’t real music, asshole!” through the phone.

“Agree to disagree,” he says.

This is ridiculous. My heart shouldn’t be fluttering like this. I remember how he left it. How easily he walked away from the spark we had. If he’d even felt it in the first place.

“Hey,” he says.

Hey? That’s all he has to say to me?

Sheree’s bangles jingle as she rings the bell once more, and the room falls silent at last. Good. The sooner this starts, the sooner it ends, and I can fold myself into the corner of my sofa and pretend it’s hugging me.

I try my hardest to listen as she explains how this works.

The app will send us a table number with the photo and name of our match.

We’ll get five minutes before the bell rings and then change tables with each date.

If we like anyone we meet, we have to tell the app before the end of the night.

Tomorrow, we’ll be notified if there are any matches.

But I can’t stop thinking about Benji, who is close enough that every time he reaches over to grab a pistachio out of the bowl, our arms brush.

I’ve got goose bumps on my goose bumps.

I keep my stare straight ahead as Benji turns to me.

“Can we talk?”

“Now’s really not a good time.”

Sheree finishes to a smattering of applause in the room, and I suddenly remember that I’ve been nervous about tonight for other non-Benji reasons.

Shit. I can’t remember my notes. What if I talk too much? What if I start reciting the weird dream I had last night, where I needed to dance my way out of a haunted house?

“Sorry,” I blurt out because I’ve already lost control of my mouth.

Benji steadies me with a hand on my elbow. “You don’t need to apologize—”

A strangled sound escapes my throat, and he stops.

I know I don’t. It slipped out like a bad habit. I’m trying to get better at that, too, but Benji’s always been too good at getting under my defenses.

A wave of notifications grabs everyone’s attention. Benji pulls his phone from his pocket, and, oh God, if we got each other, then tonight really has gone to hell.

With my heart trembling in my throat, I swipe the app open and breathe a sigh of relief. Dave! Good old, boring Dave. Thank God.

“We need to talk.”

He’s relentless.

“Do we?” I bluster, and I hate how obvious my nerves are.

“You were pretty clear the last time I saw you.” Something defiant roars in my chest, and I look up to find his eyes fierce.

“Believe it or not,” I continue, “I actually came here to meet someone new. And honestly, even if I wanted to talk to you, out of all the guys in this room, you’d make fourth place at best.” It would be more effective if I didn’t get lost in the way he licked his lips.

He scoffs. “Fourth? No.” Said so confidently. As if I couldn’t possibly put anyone above him.

Well, we’ll see about that.

“You don’t think there are men in this room who could want me?”

“That’s not what I said,” he growls and shifts closer, heat pouring off his skin.

I remember how hot he runs, how good it felt to press up against his chest, his palms curling around my shoulders.

God, I can’t believe I forgot …

Being around him turns everything else into static. My brain clears out any thought that isn’t him.

“A bet then,” he says. “Whoever gets the most matches wins.”

It’s ridiculous to agree—I know it is. I should take a page out of his book and run away, but as I stare down at his hand—his big, beautiful, bare hand—all the pain that I’ve spent months and months plastering over pours out, free and easy, like it was just waiting for him to reappear.

“You’re on.” I shake his hand, angrily ignoring the shiver that runs through me. “Winner plans the loser’s date.”

He doesn’t smile, but the fire in his eyes roars loudly.