Chapter 15
Even though I grew up in the States and I have my driver’s license, I’ve spent so much time in Paris studying that I can’t really imagine driving here again. It’s a big part of the reason why I’m reluctant to deal with finding a rental. Why bother when so many others can drive me around, or I can have things delivered? I’m especially grateful for Sawyer’s offer to chauffeur me around this city. I doubt I’d keep up with the traffic, and I bet it’s worse than it usually is.
“Probably something going on at the convention center,” Sawyer points out, aiming his finger at the flashing sign that we pass in the heart of the downtown area. Quite a few people have been standing at the entrances to public parking lots, asking for upwards of twenty bucks to park for an event.
“A concert, maybe,” I guess after spotting more crowds of pedestrians wearing similarly styled merchandise and t-shirts with the image of the same band.
“Good thing we booked our rooms in advance,” he adds.
I’m not sure I’d call that advance. We only just decided—or Dalton decided for me—that we’d be coming to Denver together for both of our business needs. A week isn’t much of an advance notice, not if this concert was planned for months ahead of time.
I nod, though, not wanting to be pessimistic. Once we arrive at the hotel and head to the check-in counter, it’s clear that we’re out of luck.
“I don’t understand,” I protest again when we get the bad news. “How could you double book? We both made our reservations with plenty of time to spare.” I hold up my phone toward the stressed woman. Sawyer’s device is already on the counter with the screen showing his confirmation email.
“We’ve had a snafu with reservations from guests who’ve gone with a package offered by the concert host, and as such, communications were delayed. We did not have access to their systems, and once the information was processed on our end, it resulted, unfortunately, in double booking select rooms.”
I scoff. “Yeah. Unfortunately.” For us. Not the people who took our rooms! The clerk seems sympathetic, but it all sounds like mumbo-jumbo as far as excuses go.
“We do, however, have one suite available.”
I roll my eyes. One. As in singular. Never mind my attraction and curiosity, Sawyer and I should not be sharing a room.
“Oh, yeah?” he asks.
I shoot him a look, which he ignores.
“Hey, our options are limited,” he reminds me. “And I’m not crazy about driving through this downtown traffic again, not with the trailer.” It’s his turn to roll his eyes at the idea of it.
“It’s a deluxe suite—”
“With two beds?” I interrupt.
“Well, no. Yes.” The clerk nods. “It has a living area outside of the single bedroom, but the couch pulls out into a bed.”
I guess that would imply two places to sleep. Sharing a combined room with him would likely mean sharing a bathroom. Both times Sawyer had seen me in a robe resulted in an awful lot of fluttering in my stomach, sensations I’d be better off avoiding with how much he tempted me the more I spent time with him. He simply draws me to him somehow, but so long as we have our own respective places to sleep…
“We’ll take it,” I reply hastily, intimidated by the prospect of having no room and of the pressure to avoid making Sawyer drive back tonight. He’s done enough for today. While it’s not my fault the hotel has screwed up and double-booked our rooms, I feel like I should be the one to reserve this new suite. Which means I need to say goodbye to more money. Dalton mistook my situation, assuming I have access to oodles of money, but my wallet is slim. My allowance deposits aren’t much, and I fret that booking this bigger space will put a more significant dent in my spending. Still, there’s nothing to do about it but—
“I’ll get it.” Sawyer steps closer to the counter, edging me aside.
“What?” I frown at him, elbowing him just as he did to me.
“I will get it.” He repeats it with a firm tone but isn’t mean about it. His offer to get the room is nice to begin with, but I have never cared for a man thinking he can push me around. It’s bad enough my mother pushes me plenty.
“Sawyer, you—”
He thrusts his muscled arm forward, blocking me from handing my credit card to the clerk. His card is taken, and she swipes it quickly, perhaps wanting to end this bickering between us before it truly takes off.
Slanting me a sexy and serious look, he sighs. “Just because I work with these hands doesn’t mean I can’t afford a fancy room here.” He holds them out to me, emphasizing that I should check out those roughened long fingers and calloused palms. Sawyer bears the evidence of hard, manual work. I’m used to delicate, moisturized hands, but in stark contrast, I can only think about his hands on me.
I’m stunned silent, staring and wondering just what else he could do with those hands. Namely on me. Parts of him in me. A furious warmth spreads across my cheeks, and I’m so stuck in the fantasy of Sawyer touching me that I can’t care about how badly I’m blushing right now.
Stop. Not now!I shouldn’t entertain these wicked thoughts about him ever, but shutting off those filthier ideas is easier said than done.
While the reservation is sorted out, and Sawyer gets the key cards, I stand there to the side. Flustered and irritated with myself, I wait for him to turn away from the counter. In silence, awkward on my part because I can’t erase the idea of his hands on my naked flesh, we head toward the elevators and go up to find our room.
I can’t tell if Sawyer recognizes that I need the quiet or what, but I appreciate that he doesn’t tease or poke fun at me until after we’re in the room. After we enter and he sets my suitcase with his one small bag near the door, he still doesn’t speak.
We walk through the suite, and in unison, we glance through the doorway that leads to the one bedroom, then at the singular couch.
“You can take the bed.”
I nod at him, smiling quickly. “Thanks.” With another glance at the couch, I consider arguing, though. He’s so tall that I have no clue how he could fit on the sofa. It seems like a safer idea to simply not talk about where we will be sleeping. I’m not confident I’ll refrain from blurting out that I want to sleep with him, too weak to resist the visions in my mind after that blunt mention of his hands.
I remembered how hot his touch was at the cabin, and it’s a memory that only eggs me on to want more.
I hug myself, folding my arms over my stomach. Flapping one hand to my elbow, I tip up on my toes, then sink my heels back to the carpet. I’m fidgeting, and I hate it. I was raised to always be poised and proper, not shifting and antsy. Standing around in this suite with Sawyer, I suffer intense uneasiness.
What are we supposed to do now?
Should I say something about him taking the bed instead, even though that will only end in arguing?
Are we just going to stand around and avoid making eye contact?
Why is he avoiding making eye contact?
Is he thinking the same thing as me?
What if he’s envisioning us together on that one bed and—
“Kind of early, huh?” He mimics me, rocking back on his heels with his hands stuck in his pockets. His brows shoot up in question, and that cocky smirk is waiting on his lips.
“For what?” Sleeping together? I mentally groan at the thought, glad I have a censor not to speak it.
“Uh, anything.” He clears his throat, and I want to grin at the possibility that he feels just as intimidated by me as I do of him.
“Want to get something to eat?” I ask. When in doubt, food is always a good option. A snack. A drink. A meal. It’s too early for dinner, but for the lack of anything better to do, why not escape the stifling awkwardness of being alone with him in here and go out to eat?
“Sure!” He latches on to the suggestion so quickly that I’m more convinced he is equally off-kilter in here.
We head out to the nearest bar, located just across the street. The concert must be going on about now, though, because it’s surprisingly not busy or packed. Everyone must be at the venue, and I’m glad we don’t have to fight our way through a crowd.
Without throngs of people to get past, we get a table very easily, and once we settle into our seats, I take a good look around.
It’s so…different. I don’t feel like a true Parisian. I’m from New York. Still, I feel like a foreigner here because it’s all just so new. The country music playing from the speakers is upbeat and not too twangy. It’s not like anything I’ve listened to by choice, and I can’t help but nod along to it. The TVs in the corners offer distractions to watch. Even the LED displays on the gambling machines at the ends of the bar top entertain me. The bar is dark with wood and neon signs, and as I marvel at it all, I realize I’ve never actually gone to a hole-in-the-wall kind of place like this.
“You’re looking a little bewildered over there,” Sawyer comments without lifting his gaze from the laminated single-sheet menu he peruses.
“Not bewildered, just…” I shrug. “Entertained.” I’m used to fancy, boring restaurants where you don’t go to simply eat but to be seen. The high-end clubs I’ve frequented are nothing like this loud, rowdy, and fun place.
I smile and fold my hands together on the wooden table. “You order for me, okay?”
He raises his brows. “You want me to name your poison?”
I nod. I doubt any cocktails they can make here would have any top-shelf liquor. My glance around the bar shows tall glasses of draft beer or bottles of it. I want to not only imagine fitting in here, but I also want to truly let loose and have fun.
Because why not?
I don’t have classes to study for.
I have the samples and fabric to get me started as far as I can go with Lauren’s dress.
And my mother and her acquaintances are nowhere to be seen to judge me.
I move to the music, enjoying the beat as he orders us two beers, chuckling at my enthusiasm.
“It’s like you’ve never gone out before.”
I haven’t, with you. This isn’t a date, but that doesn’t matter.
If coming out to have an early dinner and drinks with Sawyer is the best way I can escape the awkward tension of being alone with him in that suite, then we may as well make the most of it while we can.
We clink our bottles together, and I grin before taking a long sip.