Chapter 6
PIPER
Nash’s arm curled around my waist felt way too good. I didn’t want to step away, I didn’t want to shrug off his touch. Not while we were in the office, not while he was helping me up the stairs, not while we were walking to our room.
But when the door closes behind us, and my eyes point at the narrow bed, the sensation of his broad, powerful body pressed against me is too much. It’s overwhelming, and the pleasurable feeling of the sharp lines and hard planes of his physique underneath his shirt starts to feel downright sinful.
I still have another man’s ring on my finger, after all.
I take a step away from him.
The distance helps cool down some of the heat coiling deep in my core. But it doesn’t do anything for the sweltering heat covering my skin.
“Have mercy, is it hot in here,” Nash says. “Let’s get the AC on.”
He fiddles with the AC unit underneath the window … and keeps fiddling … and keeps fiddling …
“I can’t fucking believe this,” he groans. “The damn thing doesn’t work at all.”
“Have you taken a look around at this place?” I ask, sitting on the bed. “I don’t have a lot of trouble believing it.”
Nash props his hands on his hips, sighing with frustration. The pose accentuates his wide shoulders, has his arm muscles straining against his sleeves, and provides a glimpse of his ass framed in his Wrangler jeans that I don’t have even close to enough self-control to avoid taking advantage of.
Just with my eyes, though, not with my hands, even though the thought of doing so has my palms tingling.
But then I look down at those hands and see Crew’s engagement ring glinting at me. My stomach turns. It puts me in a bad enough mood that I can’t even appreciate the immaculately firm butt in front of me.
“What do you think the chances are that if I tell the desk guy the AC doesn’t work, it’ll actually get fixed tonight?” Nash asks.
“Zero.”
Another sigh. “Yeah, sounds about right.”
“It’s fine,” I say. “We’ll make do.”
Nash turns around. His gaze lowers, and his jaw muscles arc, the lines of his expression sharpening. I realize that the way I’m sitting, the hem of my dress has hiked up, and my bare legs are on full display. My skin sizzles as Nash’s eyes rake over them.
I stand up from the bed and pull my dress down. Nash’s eyebrows jump like he’s just realized what he was doing, and he quickly glances away.
“I’m going to the bathroom,” I tell him. “You take any pillows or sheets you need from the bed to get comfortable on the floor.”
I take my time in the bathroom, trying to collect my thoughts and feelings. After doing my business, I splash myself with cold water. I think about taking a cold shower.
It would probably feel great, but stripping naked and stepping under a stream of enticingly cool water with Nash just outside the door, hearing the running water and thinking how good it must feel as sweat rolls down his body, tracing the outlines of his muscles …
My stomach leaps into my throat, and I think better of it.
Instead, I take a long look at myself in the mirror.
How the hell has tonight even happened?
Finding out Crew is cheating on me, Nash picking me up, him babysitting me while I tried to distract myself from reality with alcohol and inane conversations, and now we’re sharing a hotel room together.
The effect of all the drinks I’ve swallowed tonight is quickly wearing off, harsh sobriety replacing it.
Tomorrow morning, I won’t be able to run from what happened anymore.
This self-indulgent night of distraction will be over. Nash will be gone. He’ll be glad to be gone, no doubt, to leave me to work out something that’s none of his business by myself.
Honestly, I don’t know why he’s stuck with me tonight like he has.
That’s not the Nash I remember from college, who was never up for doing anything other than going to class, going to practice, and going to sleep early.
Who’d practically slam his door in my face the couple times I tried to invite him to one of my parties, before I learned better.
I guess I must have looked really pathetic tonight if I elicited sympathy from Nash Miller of all people.
As I run through my memory of tonight, none of it feels real. But when I look down at my engagement ring, the bitter, angry, hurt feeling that tears through my chest assures me that it all was.
Crew cheated on me. My fiancé cheated on me.
Right?
There really couldn’t be any explanation for what I saw other than the obvious one … right?
He definitely wouldn’t have driven away and left me walking on the side of the road if he could explain himself … right?
But …
I should at least give him a chance to explain … right?
Self-doubt starts to prod at the back of my mind. Was I way too rash tonight? Too impulsive? It wouldn’t be the first time.
Am I just grasping at straws with these thoughts, hoping that I was wrong and that Crew can explain what I saw, because I don’t want to call off the wedding, inconvenience everyone in our lives, figure out where I’m going to live now, and lose out on the inheritance I need to buy my dream business?
I hang my head over the sink and take a deep breath. Just asking myself those questions is hard enough. Tomorrow, I need to start answering them.
I step out of the bathroom—just in time to see Nash stepping out of his jeans.
He’s already taken off his shirt, and now he’s wearing nothing but a pair of tight boxer briefs that cling to his hips. My eyes eat up the sharp definition of his arms, the rounded mass of his shoulders, the slabs of his chest muscles at profile view.
Then he sinks to the floor. A pinch of disappointment hits me at the fact that he didn’t turn toward me so I could count how many abs he has, or see if he has those delicious ridges of muscle carved low on his core that point below the waistband of his underwear.
I lower myself onto the bed, careful not to peek to the far side and see a boxers-clad Nash lying on his back.
“Goodnight, Nash,” I say, the words sounding so, so strange.
“Night, Piper.” Hearing Nash say that sounds even stranger.
A long beat of silence passes in the hot, cramped room.
“Nash?” I ask.
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for everything tonight.”
“Don’t mention it. Didn’t have anything better to do.”
I chuckle. I can’t tell if he’s joking, being sarcastic, or actually telling the truth. I’m sure it can’t be the last option.
“Tonight really, really sucked. A lot. But you helped make it a little less sucky than it would have been otherwise.”
“That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
I chuckle again. And again I wonder if he’s joking, being sarcastic, or being serious.
“I’ll let you get to sleep, then. See you in the morning.” There’s a bizarre twist in my chest at the intimacy of those words.
Nash makes a grunt of acknowledgment, and then silence settles over the room.
A forlorn feeling sweeps through me as I lie in bed. I hold up my hand and look at my engagement ring in the dim light. I look at it for a long, long time. I don’t really feel anything, I don’t really think anything, I just look at it.
Maybe I should take my phone out of my purse. Text Crew, just to let him know I’m safe. I don’t know what he’s thinking right now, since I never got home and he hasn’t been able to contact me.
There’s a good chance he’s contacted Hallie to see if she’s heard from me.
If so, she’ll be worried. I should at least check to see if she’s tried to get in touch and let her know I’m doing alright.
She’ll be worried sick if she knew I was last seen by Crew, driving away from me on a deserted road miles outside the city.
I’m exhausted, but I can’t sleep if Hallie might be out there worrying herself to death.
I reach over and grab my purse, taking out my phone and powering it on for the first time since Nash found it on the ground.
Plenty of notifications from Crew. None from Hallie. That’s a relief. At least I haven’t stressed out someone who doesn’t deserve it tonight.
I guess if Crew had contacted my sister, he’d have to explain what happened, which he didn’t feel up to doing.
As I look at my notifications, Crew’s most recent text displays, from about an hour and a half ago.
I love you. I know when we sit down and talk about this tomorrow, you’ll understand that I didn’t cheat on you and never would.
I roll my lips together. Do I want to believe him? Why does the thought that he’s actually telling the truth make me feel … trapped?
It makes me feel disappointed, in some fucked-up way I can’t really understand.
It must be a result of emotional exhaustion.
I power off my phone and rest it beside me on the bed. It’s way too hot to get under the covers.
I close my eyes, let out another heavy sigh, and before I know it, I’m asleep.