5. Posey
Posey
While Brent answers the door and grabs his suit from the hotel employee there, I fan myself. There’s a five-alarm fire in my panties, and I’m pretty sure I’m not going to get enough privacy this weekend to douse the flames myself.
Will I be able to last until tomorrow night before I sleep with him? I’ve got no idea. While I don’t do relationships, I’ve also made it a policy not to sleep with men I don’t even like. Brent is making me reconsider my stance on that. He’s my fantasy man, even if he can’t live up to it.
For him to spend a year with his girlfriend, for her to make all these loved-up proclamations, and for him to be indifferent about their breakup is not the grand romance I pictured in my head.
Social media is often fake, but I have to admit, Val got me.
I bought what she was selling. Does he realize the things she used to post about them?
I scrolled through a bunch of it on the plane, trying to reconcile the information he served me with what I’ve been devouring on her socials. Fast food versus a five-course meal.
“You’re in the wedding party?” I ask while he hangs the suit bag in the closet.
“One of the groomsmen.”
“What are your commitments this weekend? There must be things you’re expected to do. Do you want me to go to them or keep myself scarce unless Val shows up?” I perch on the edge of the bed closest to the window and cross my legs.
He turns and shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans. His triceps pop, and I die a little inside. “You’re being very agreeable.”
“Am I supposed to be difficult?” Truthfully, I can’t get an impression of him to stick either. One minute I dislike him intensely, the next, I suspect I could like him, and in both scenarios, I want to rip his clothes off.
“I cannot get a beat on you,” he admits. “You’re like this mishmash of a bunch of people.”
“Everyone wears more than one face.” I circle my makeup-heavy one. “This is mine today. You’ll get a different one tomorrow, I promise.” I wink.
He picks the pen off the nightstand and twirls it across his fingers.
“Nothing planned for tonight. I have practice at the Saltus Pool tomorrow morning. Then I’m free the rest of the day until the wedding party has drinks on the terrace tomorrow night.
Saturday, the wedding starts at four, followed by dinner and the reception.
Sunday, I have a practice again mid-morning, and then we fly out Monday morning. ”
“Do you practice every day?”
“Usually doubles, plus weights. This is basically a vacation for me.” He chuckles. “Which I wouldn’t have been able to take if we weren’t two years out from the next Olympics.”
“You wouldn’t have come if the Olympics were closer?”
“I would have, yeah. We’ve been friends since we were kids. But my spare time would have been taken up with training. Wouldn’t have been drinking.” He shrugs. “More discipline. Less freedom. The rewards are worth it.”
The timbre of his voice when he talks about his training causes a warm sensation to sprout in my chest. There’s something about the declaration of hard work and sacrifice as ‘worth it’ that makes him less of a lost cause.
“What’s your thing?” He takes a seat on the other bed across from me. “What makes Posey Jensen tick?”
“I’m taking interior design, but my real claim to fame is probably face-to-face networking. Put me in a room, and I can leave with ten new contacts, easy.”
“You’re a people person.”
“An extreme extrovert, yeah. I love talking to people.”
“I’m kinda in the middle.” He leans back on his hands, and his T-shirt rides up. “I think I’m naturally more introverted, but this whole swimming thing has forced me to be more extroverted.”
“Media?” I’ve watched some of his interviews. He comes across well. Of course, it’s easy to be gracious when you’re winning every race.
“Media, camps or tutorials, fans on the street.” A hint of a smile tugs at one corner of his lips. “Women who pretend to be someone else to get close to me.”
His tone is teasing, so I take it as he intends. “Damn dramatic women.”
He chuckles, and a heavy silence stretches between us. “I didn’t mean to offend you—or anyone—with my phrasing. Val and I had just broken up, and I was angry. I asked Jaxon if I should use that line, and he said yes.”
“Jaxon Parish?” Explains a lot.
“You know him?” Brent raises his eyebrows. “He’s my roommate.”
“We had a class together freshman year. His decision-making skills are…questionable. But he’s a lot of fun.
” He was in my group for an actual escape room for our psychology class, and every idea he had to get us out was hilarious and terrible.
Back then I liked him because he reminded me of Prince Brice.
We haven’t run into each other much since that class.
“You’re saying I shouldn’t have listened to him?”
“There are two guy staples I hate.” I raise a finger.
“One: the implication that any ex-girlfriend must be or is ‘crazy’ for a variety of reasons that often say more about the guy than the girl. Two: the idea that any and all drama in a relationship—platonic or otherwise—comes from the female part of the equation.”
Brent shifts so he’s stretched out on the bed across from me. I mirror his pose, and I tug on the hem of my skirt to keep it covering my bits.
He smirks, but when our gazes connect, the room electrifies, the same way it did by the window. As though the oxygen is being suctioned out of the room. I’ve wanted guys before, but I’ve never experienced this level of instant love-hate chemistry.
“Speaking from experience?” he asks.
“Not sure there’s a man alive who’d refer to me as an ex-girlfriend. I enjoy my free agent status.”
“A series of one-night stands?” There’s no judgement in his tone.
“Not really?” I take a minute to decide how best to answer.
“Casual hookups with like-minded people. Relationships are confining and restrictive. When I’m done with college, I’m going back to Bellerive.
No point in getting attached to someone who can’t follow me there. The immigration laws are ridiculous.”
“That’s where you’re from?”
A slow smile spreads across my face. He didn’t search my name on the plane?
Monica discovered my mother and sister worked for the royal family within minutes of us talking.
Most people do since Bellerive and royalty are intrinsically linked.
I’m a short internet hop from the royal family with all my close ties to the Summersets.
“It is.” Before he can tell me something I already know, I continue, “Your mom is from there, right?”
“Yeah, she is.” He sighs. “I’ve never been. My grandparents were there working, and she happened to be born in Bellerive. She has citizenship, but no one else in the family does.”
“Not even you?” When he became a swimming superstar, Bellerive ran an article about how he could swim under our flag or the American one.
“You must already know the answer.” He swings his legs around to land on the floor. “Dinner?”
“You’re inviting me to dinner?” I press my palm to my chest in mock surprise.
“Are you coming?”
“Just give me a sec to change into shorts.” I wiggle myself around to get my legs on the floor. This skirt was a poor choice. “I wouldn’t want to lead you into temptation.” I crouch to grab shorts from my bag, and I head for the bathroom.
“I can keep my dick in my pants,” he grumbles.
I stick my head out the door. “Does Val know that?” An adorable blush creeps up his neck, and a slight twinge of regret surfaces. Maybe I shouldn’t tease him.
“May come as a shock to her.” He gives me a wry grin. “Get changed. I’m starving. I’ve normally had about ten snacks by now.”
Train a lot. Eat a lot. Makes sense. I change in the bathroom, and when I tug the door open, I find Brent is also in cooler clothes.
He has a sheet of paper in his hands. “The all-inclusive part might not have been completely accurate.” He glances at me.
“We’ve got a list of places we can eat for dinner that’s included in our package through Trev’s travel agent.
I just show this letter or something. Or we can eat somewhere else. ”
I hold out my hand, and he passes me the paper. I skim the details. “The Mad Hatter.” With my phone in my other hand, I get directions. “A fifteen-minute walk.”
“Did you bring other shoes?” He stares at my heels.
“Did I bring other shoes?” I scoff and peel open my duffel to reveal my expertly packed closet. “Actually, that reminds me I should get out my dress for the wedding.” I slide my teal outfit out of the bag and hang it in the closet.
“You only brought one option?” He frowns and peers into my bag.
His bafflement is cute. “I’m a decisive person.”
He gives me an appraising look, and there’s a new softness around his eyes. “I’m starting to see that.” Brent rubs his stomach and then pats his abs. “Let’s feed the beast.”