Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
SIERRA
I spit the last of the toothpaste in the sink, still mentally chastising myself for texting Beau last night.
I’d been up half the night thinking about how I’d only had two drinks, not enough to blame the texts or what I said during our call on the alcohol.
I’d just missed him and wished he were here with literally every fiber of my being—not only because I was the only one going back to my hotel room alone last night, but because I knew that when I woke up in the morning, I wouldn’t be starting my day with the friendly banter I’d grown used to.
There’d be no Beau in nothing but his gray sweats eating peanut butter toast in my kitchen before heading to the mountain with his snowboard.
Or actually, there would be, but I wouldn’t be there to see it.
You should have just invited him. Is that Petra’s voice or Sydney’s in my head?
It doesn’t matter, the voice is right nonetheless.
Or is it? If I had invited him, and something happened between us, how would I deal with that?
It’s like I told Petra—I don’t want to risk my friendship with Jackson or the potential heartbreak when he leaves.
After only two weeks of living together, it’s already going to be hard enough when he leaves.
If something were happening between us, that would only make it harder.
A knock sounds on my door and I set my toothbrush in the glass next to the bathroom sink and wipe my mouth on my towel. Thankfully, breakfast has arrived quickly—I’m starving. I grab the cash for the tip, then unlock and swing open the hotel room door.
Holy hell. “You’re not room service,” I sputter, wishing I’d changed out of my pajamas after my shower.
Beau stands there in well-fitted jeans and a light sweater, his dark hair is combed and styled and a couple days’ worth of facial hair neatly trimmed.
He’s unbelievably hot in sweats with messy hair and scruff, but I’d forgotten how gorgeous he is when he’s all cleaned up.
He smiles back at me. “I know you’re going to think I’m crazy for showing up like this. But that call last night made me think about how Vegas is always a good idea.”
You’re always a good idea, I almost say. No. No, no, nooo. Beau is not a good idea. He’s the antithesis of a good idea. He’s a good time. What I need is Mr. Right, but Beau can only be Mr. Right Now.
He’s definitely the wrong kind of right.
“You’re freaking out right now,” he says, his eyes evaluating me closely. “Should I not have come?”
I glance down at his suitcase. “No, I’m glad you did.
” I let out the smile that’s been stifled by my surprise.
“I’m glad you’re here.” I step back to let him in, reminding myself not to make it awkward.
But how can this not be awkward, I wonder, as I glance at the king bed in the middle of the room.
“Are you sure?” he asks as he tentatively steps inside.
I place my hand on his chest, then look at it because I’m afraid that if I look at his face I’ll kiss him. In my hotel room. And I think we both know where that’ll lead. “I’m positive. Surprised . . . but positive.”
“Good,” he says decisively, and he takes my hand in his and pulls me into the room. “Because not only am I here to make sure you have a good weekend and take full advantage of Vegas, but I also come bearing gifts.”
He stops at the foot of the bed, tells me to sit, then reaches down and unzips the outer pocket of his suitcase. “For your feet,” he says, handing me a pack of the gel liners that go under the balls of your feet.
“Oh, you are a godsend,” I tell him as I take the package and hug it to my chest, thinking about the black peep-toe suede booties I intend to wear this evening. “These will come in handy tonight.”
“Also,” he says as he reaches into a bag looped over the handle of his suitcase, “I brought the appropriate supplies for a night or two of partying. For hydration,” he says as he pulls out four big bottles of Gatorade and lines them up on the dresser.
“For hangovers”—he takes out a small bottle of Advil—“for enough energy to get through the night”—he sets a four-pack of energy drinks on the dresser—“and so you don’t have bloodshot eyes for the wedding tomorrow,” he says as he takes out a small bottle of eye drops.
“So prepared,” I murmur. “Like a Boy Scout, but for partying.” I glance at the supplies lining the dresser, still too embarrassed to meet his eyes. Did I make him feel like he had to come here and rescue me from being the fifth wheel?
He laughs, and I’m struck by how much his real smile—not the cocky smirk he’s always sporting on TV and social media, but the one I see sometimes in private—is like Jackson’s.
In different ways, I think they both have the outward intensity of their father, and the inner softness of their mother.
There was so much love and laughter and fun in their house growing up, something I noticed as an outsider who got to drop in to their family on weekends but that I’m sure was just so normal to them.
Now, as adults, they both keep their masks on—each a different form of indifference—but when they let down the facade, it’s spectacular.
I wonder if they have any idea how alike they are in this way?
“So,” Beau says as he pushes his suitcase between the dresser and the wall, “what are your plans for today, and how can I make them more fun?”
“Well, Sydney, Georgia, and I have appointments at the spa at two. I have nothing I need to do until then. Except eat breakfast whenever room service gets here.”
“What did you order us?” he winks.
“Oh no, you’re going to be like that?”
“Teasing,” he says. “I’ve eaten like three times already today. But hey, do you mind if I catch a quick shower and wash off all the travel grime?”
If this is his travel-weary look, we’re in trouble. “Of course not.”
Once he’s ensconced in the bathroom, I grab my phone and shoot Sydney a text.
Sierra
Holy crap. Beau is IN my hotel room right now.
Sydney
You just woke me up with this info and my brain is not processing it. What???
Sierra
I talked to him last night after I left the club. And I may have let it slip that I wish I’d invited him to come with me. And I may have found him knocking on my door about five minutes ago.
Sydney
OMG, OMG, OMG! He is right there, and you’re texting with me?
Sierra
No, he’s in the shower.
Sydney
Girl, go get naked with him.
Sierra
LOL. I don’t think he’s here for that.
I sink onto the chair in front of the window, thinking about how normal it felt for him to be here with me, after the initial shock of seeing him at my door wore off. It was friendly as usual, with even less sexual tension than normal.
Sydney
If you think he flew to Vegas to see you with no hope of sex, you’re lying to yourself. And I happen to know you have a king bed in your room, so . . .
Sierra
Things are totally normal between us right now.
Sydney
Yeah, if your ‘normal’ involves having a hot guy in your hotel room, who came to Vegas just to see you, we’re living VERY different lives.
I pause before responding. I mean, it is a little above and beyond. But he also loves Vegas, so there’s that.
Sierra
Okay, *maybe* that’s not normal.
Sydney
Just promise to tell me how good the sex is?
I groan as I read her message, because my and Beau’s friendship cannot cross that line.
“What’s wrong?” Beau asks from across the room.
His brow is furrowed as he stands there with a bath towel wrapped around his waist. Holy shit, I live with the man, how have I not seen this sight before?
His skin glistens, condensed steam like glitter across the defined muscles of his chest. His damp hair is curled forward onto his forehead and his dark eyes look .
. . concerned? Consumed with passion? I’m not sure I trust myself to tell the difference at this point.
“N-nothing,” I stutter, and watch as he grabs his suitcase, sets it on the end of the bed, unzips it, and grabs a small leather bag along with some new boxers and a clean T-shirt. “Just texting with Sydney.”
He glances over. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, she’s just . . . a tiny bit hungover.” That sounds believable.
“Maybe we should get her some Gatorade too?”
See, totally just a friendly thing that he showed up and brought you a Vegas survival kit. He even wants to get supplies for your sister. That makes me feel better.
“I’m sure she’d appreciate that,” I say.
His eyes lock onto mine and the space starts to feel smaller.
It feels like we’re being pulled together, even though I’m still seated and his feet are planted in place at the end of the bed.
Every cell in my body feels like it’s being dragged toward him.
Neither one of us blinks, and I swallow to get the lump out of my throat, but it doesn’t work.
Beau opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, but a sharp knock on the door has us both startled out of whatever that was.
“You okay getting that?” he asks as he turns back toward the bathroom.
I clear my throat. “Of course.”
Once my food is wheeled over to the chairs by the window and the delivery guy has left, I take a seat, digging into the eggs and bacon like a person who hasn’t eaten in days.
The coffee is kind of stale, but I need the caffeine badly, so I take a few gulps.
I’ve devoured half my breakfast when Beau walks out of the bathroom in the same dark jeans he was wearing earlier.
A thin white T-shirt clings to his chest, and his sweater is draped over his arm.
His hair has some sort of product in it that holds it in place, and .
. . damn, why does he have to look so good?