Chapter Eleven #2
He gives me a look. “Mama, I can practically hear the argument happening in your head.”
“Ay, cállate. There is no fucking argument.”
“Sure.”
I cut my eyes toward him. “You look real smug for a man who hasn’t even seen the room yet.”
His mouth curves. “Doesn’t matter what it looks like.”
“Why?”
“Only need one thing in there.”
I already know better than to ask.
Unfortunately, curiosity is a toxic trait.
“What?”
His eyes drag over me before coming back to my face.
“That bed.”
I let out a slow breath through my nose. “You really wake up every day and choose to be like this.”
“Pretty much.”
“Sounds exhausting.”
“You like it.”
I smile sweetly. “I like that the hotel has security.”
The elevator dings and he laughs as the doors open, then lets me walk out first.
“Lead the way, Mama.”
I tighten my grip on the suitcase handle and head down the hall.
See, this is fine.
I’m fine.
I am in total control.
Room 417 is at the far end of the hall, and when I swipe the key card and push the door open, sunlight spills across pale wood floors from the balcony at the opposite end.
The room is nicer than I expected, bright and clean with one massive king bed dressed in white linen, a narrow desk beneath a large mirror that’ll be perfect for my laptop and equipment, and a small sitting area tucked beside the sliding glass doors.
I set my purse on the desk and wander toward the bathroom while Revel drops his duffel beside the bed.
Then I stop.
“Ay, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
“What?”
I step aside and point.
There’s a walk-in shower, double vanity, and tucked beneath a wide frosted window is a huge jacuzzi tub with chrome jets lining the sides.
Revel comes up beside me, takes one look, and that stupid grin starts spreading across his face.
“No.”
He side-eyes me. “Jesus. I didn’t even say anything.”
“You don’t have to. I can practically hear the bullshit loading.”
He leans against the doorway, looking the tub over again. “I was just thinking this room keeps getting better.”
“For you, maybe.”
“For us, Mama.”
“There is no us getting into that thing.”
His gaze slides back to me, slow and cocky. “You sure?”
“Very.”
“Shame. Looks roomy.”
I glance at the tub, then back at him. “Everything looks roomy until your six foot three ass, get in it.”
He laughs, pushing away from the doorway. “Guess we’ll have to test that theory.”
“By yourself.”
“We’ll see.”
“Ay, Dios mío.” I follow him back into the main room. “You’ve been here thirty seconds and you’re already making the jacuzzi sexual.”
“Mama, anything involving you and me together is sexy.”
I turn away before he catches me smiling and head farther into the room, pretending I suddenly care very deeply about where everything is going.
I move toward the big window beside the bed and pull the curtain back.
Miami stretches out below us in late-morning brightness, all blue water flashing between buildings, palms moving in the heat, and traffic crawling along the streets beneath us.
Farther out, I can make out pieces of the festival setup going up—lighting rigs, banners, temporary structures slowly taking shape against the skyline.
Tomorrow.
My stomach does that stupid little flip again.
Excited.
Nervous.
Then excited that I’m nervous, which feels psychotic.
I rest my fingers against the glass and stare out a little longer, trying to picture myself up there without immediately imagining seventeen ways technology could betray me.
A second later, Revel comes up behind me.
Close enough that I can feel the heat of him at my back, but he doesn’t touch me.
Which somehow makes me notice him more.
“This view is pretty fucking sick,” he says, looking past me toward the city.
“Yeah.”
“Have you ever played a show in Miami before?”
“Once, just some tiny club. But nothing even close to this.”
He follows my gaze toward the festival grounds. “Ah, well this is a whole different league then, huh.”
I turn my head enough to give him a look. “Yep.”
His mouth curves. “You nervous?”
“Nope, not at all. I always stare dramatically out of hotel windows while dissociating.”
He laughs softly. “You have no reason to be nervous, but I get it.”
“Right.”
“Nah, seriously.” His tone shifts just enough that I look at him. “You’re gonna kill it. You always do.”
I arch a brow. “You haven’t even heard the whole set yet.”
“So?”
“So your confidence in me is based on what, vibes?”
“Vibes. Talent. And the fact that I’ve watched you work, Mama.
” His eyes stay on mine, that little grin still there even though his voice softens.
“You redo shit that already sounds good because you know you can make it better. You catch things nobody else would even notice, and you care way too fucking much to walk onto that stage unprepared.”
My fingers are still against the glass.
He shrugs like what he’s saying should be obvious. “So yeah. I’ve got all the confidence in you. You’re gonna go up there and absolutely fucking kill it.”
That does something stupid to my chest.
Because apparently flirting with me until I want to bite him isn’t enough. Now he has to be observant and supportive too.
Rude.
I look back toward the city before he can catch whatever the fuck just happened to my face. “You realize you almost sounded sweet just then.”
“Almost?” His mouth pulls to one side. “Damn, Mama. Thought I nailed it.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself.”
He shifts a little closer until his shoulder brushes mine. “So you like when I’m sweet too, huh?”
“I like when you stop talking long enough for me to enjoy the view.”
“Liar.”
I glance up at him, fighting a smile. “Maybe a little.”
His brows lift. “The sweet part or the shutting up part?”
I shrug like I haven’t already given him enough.
His grin comes back, warm and cocky. “Knew it.”
“Ay, don’t ruin it.”
He laughs, and somehow the nerves in my stomach don’t feel quite as sharp anymore.
Unpacking takes about fifteen minutes, mostly because I unpack like I’m staying for three weeks while Revel apparently travels like a fugitive.
By the time I’ve hung tomorrow’s outfit in the closet, lined my shoes underneath, arranged my makeup bag across the bathroom counter, and set my laptop on the desk, Revel has put his duffel on the bed and pulled out exactly one charger.
I stare at him.
“That’s it?”
He looks up from his phone. “What?”
“Your stuff. That’s all you brought?”
“It’s a weekend, Mama. What the hell else do I need?”
I glance at my open suitcase, then at his tiny duffel. “Clothes? Toothbrush? Deodorant? Basic evidence that you were raised indoors?”
His eyes narrow. “Do you think I’m feral?”
“I’ve seen you eat taco meat off the floor. You picked it up and ate it.”
“Duh, five-second rule.”
I stare at him. “It was the bathroom floor, Revel.”
He shrugs like that somehow helps. “And yet, I survived.”
“Ay, qué asco. You’re fucking disgusting.”
His mouth curves. “Maybe a little, but you still slept with me so I can’t be that bad.”
I narrow my eyes, thinking that should be enough to get him to shut up, but of course, it isn’t.
“And after that car ride here…”
“Ay, cállate.”
I roll my eyes, grab the nearest throw pillow, and launch it at his head.
He catches it against his chest, laughing while I scoop up my clean clothes and head for the bathroom.
“Very mature, Mama.”
“Go fuck yourself.”
His grin only gets worse.
“I’m showering.”
He tosses the pillow back onto the bed and reaches for his wallet. “I’ll go find us some food, unless you want me to join you?”
I roll my eyes, pausing just long enough to look back at him.
He smirks and I shut the door on his laugh. Then lock it because I know him and there is no winning with that man.
The shower feels incredible after being stuck in the car all day. I stand beneath the hot water longer than necessary, letting it pound against my shoulders while the bathroom slowly fills with steam.
For the first time since Tampa, everything is quiet.
Which is, apparently, dangerous, because the second Revel isn’t running his mouth beside me, my brain decides to replay the drive.
Ay, cono.
I close my eyes and tip my face into the water.
It wasn’t even just what happened, it was the way he let me have control.
Revel, who walks around with that stupid cocky grin like he already knows I’m going to cave eventually. He’s always hitting on me, always pushing just enough to get a reaction, smug as hell every time I look at him for half a second too long.
And the worst part?
He’s never really doubted this would happen.
He’s always been so sure that at some point, all my eye rolls, insults, and threats would stop working and I’d give in.
Which I did.
More than once now.
But in the car, when I took control of it, he let me.
No trying to turn it around, or smug little move to remind me he could take over whenever he wanted. He just let me have it, watched me do exactly what I wanted to him, and somehow looked like he fucking loved every second of it.
That part keeps getting me.
My hand trails absently over my stomach as I remember the look on his face, and then my mind jumps straight back to the night after the race.
In his bed.
The way his lips and hands felt across my skin.
All that cocky confidence finally cracking away, piece by piece when it was just the two of us.
Heat pools low in my stomach.
“Fuck,” I whisper.
Apparently, four hours trapped in a car with him wasn’t enough to cure whatever the hell this is.
My fingers drift lower until they’re circling my clit, and my head fills with the memory of his mouth on me, how fucking good it felt, how quickly he had me falling apart.
Something moves beside me.
I freeze.
At first, I think it’s just water sliding down the tile.
Then it moves again.
I turn my head.
There is a lizard on the shower wall.
A real fucking lizard.
Inside.
With me.
For half a second, my brain simply refuses to process it.
Then it twitches.
I scream so loudly my own ears ring.
“AY, FUCK! NO. NO, NO, NO.”
I slam backward into the opposite wall, nearly slipping in the process while the tiny demon clings to the tile like this is somehow his bathroom.