Chapter 7
SEVEN
THORNE
Chance’s warm weight beside me barely registers after getting into our fifth rideshare of the day.
We’ve been to every airport hotel in a ten-mile radius and all of them are full, either because of the passengers on our flight or some book conference that’s in town.
I’m tired and fucking irritated.
We checked for Airbnb’s, but the prices had tripled so they could capitalize on the event, and I wasn’t about to ask Chance to cough up that much money for one night.
If this last hotel doesn’t have any rooms, I’m going back to the airport and finding a quiet corner so I can doze.
We drag ourselves out of the rideshare and approach the hotel. The line at the check-in desk is long, but not as long as the other hotels we’d been to.
I’m surprised to find the professor in line directly in front of us.
I have a thing for redheads, and the professor has always pinged my radar. Had he given me any sign he was into dudes, I would have shot my shot, being a student not even mattering.
But I think he’s straight.
I scoff, making Chance glance over at me curiously.
“Hey, you two,” Professor Bridge says almost nervously. “No luck getting a room either?”
“None,” Chance says glumly. “I’m tired and hungry.”
“You just ate,” I mention as the line moves forward.
“That was like,” he pulls out his phone and checks the time, “two hours ago. I’m an athlete. I need sustenance.”
My eyes drag down his body almost reflexively. He has the typical swimmer’s build—lean athletic body with wide shoulders, a broad chest that tapers down to a slim waist and thick thighs. But he also has arms that are stretching his sleeves. His biceps would be intimidating if I weren’t me.
Professor Bridge mimics my gaze. “I think you’re fine,” he quips. “But when we get a room, I’ll pay for your dinner. Anything that’s not an overpriced burger.”
“You’ve already paid for lunch. Besides, I can pay for my own food,” Chance says. “But thank you.”
“Dinner is on me,” I say, my tone leaving no room for argument.
Chance stares at me, searching my face for a moment, then he pulls his lips in and nods.
We don’t talk much after that, moving with the line in hopes of getting a room.
When the professor gets to the counter, Chance murmurs, “Almost,” beside me.
God, I can’t wait to get in the shower. Trying to hunt down somewhere to stay is almost as taxing as dragging a body down a flight of stairs.
As soon as I put my bag down in whatever room I get, I need to find a store to grab clothes, a toothbrush, body wash, deodorant. There’s no way I’m flying in the same clothes I wore all day today.
I think I saw a store close by this hotel, within walking distance. If—
“What?” Chance almost yells, snapping me out of my thoughts. “What do you mean that’s the last room?”
The clerk looks apologetic as she points to Professor Bridge. “He took the last double bed.”
“But what about a single bed?” he asks. “Queen or king, I’m not picky.”
Again, the clerk gives us that practiced look of sympathy. “That was the last room in the entire hotel. We have—”
“Yeah, we know, the book event.” Chance pushes his fingers through his hair. He looks down at the floor for a moment, then shakes his head and growls, “Fuck,” before walking away.
I take off after him, not sure why. I should allow him to storm away so he can stop trailing after me like a lost puppy. But for some reason, I don’t want to leave him alone. I don’t know why, but I’m not going to question it.
“Wait up,” I say, grabbing his shirt sleeve. “We can get one of those houses for the night. I can pay for it.”
He exhales roughly and shakes his head. “No, I can’t ask you to do that. I can—”
“Hey,” Professor Bridge steps over to us. “It’s two queens and a pullout couch in the room. You want to share it with me?”
Chance says, “We can’t put you out like that, Professor.”
“You’re not. I’m offering. It’s not like I can sleep on two beds and a pullout. You’ll be keeping me company.”
Chance can do what he wants—there’s no way I’m going back out there to hunt down a place to sleep when we’re offered a room here.
“I’m down,” I tell Professor Bridge, hoping Chance follows suit. “Thanks, Professor.”
“You can call me Warren while we’re not in class.” That beautiful blush creeps up his neck and I track it with greedy eyes. He’s so shy, but also kind of commanding. It’s a conundrum I want to figure out.
Licking my lip ring, I say, “Okay, Warren,” smiling widely when I watch how his eyes lock on my mouth.
Chance looks torn, like he wants to accept, but feels bad about it.
He’s so hard to get a read on. Chance is rich as fuck and those types feel entitled to literally everything. But Chance doesn’t like to take any charity. He’s tried to pay for lunch on his birthday for fuck’s sake.
I’m not sure why, but I want to untangle the web of Chance. He might be more than the rich asshole he appears to be.
Resignation colors his face and Chance drops his head in defeat. “Fine, yeah okay. Thanks Prof—Warren. But I’ll take the couch.”
That’s fine with me. I don’t care where I sleep as long as I can lie down.
We head up to our room and drop off our carry-ons, then we walk the few blocks to the store to grab items for the night.
By the time we get back, I’m fucking tired.
“I’m gonna shower,” I say to them as we all unpack our stuff.
“I’ll go next,” Chance says. “Can we get room service? I’m too tired to function right now.”
Warren nods as he plops down on the couch. “Yeah, that’s a good idea. We can check the menu when we’ve finished our showers. Also.” He reaches into one of the bags and pulls out a candle. “We can sing you happy birthday.”
Chance blushes furiously, his golden complexion beet red. “Shit, Warren. Thanks, man. That means a lot.”
Cheeks pink, Warren nods but doesn’t meet our gaze.
I smirk as I head into the bathroom.
As I’m standing under the shower spray, I think about the phone call I got from Bensotti just before Chance and Warren found me in front of the restaurant.
He found another man in that shitty ring we’ve been trying to shut down. The scumbag is usually over in the UK, but he has some sort of business in Canada. It’s not American soil, but it’s close enough across the border that Bensotti can get a clean-up crew there to cover our crime.
My mark isn’t supposed to be on this side of the pond until late September, so I have a few weeks until I’m needed.
I told Bensotti to make sure there aren’t any fucking surprises like with the last kill. There’s no chance of me getting caught, but that doesn’t stop the paranoia from crawling up my spine.
I wonder if Chance and Warren can tell what I really am. I see fear in their eyes when they look at me sometimes, but it hasn’t stopped them from wanting to be near me. Maybe it’s the danger they sense in me that draws them in. Either way, I like it.
Eyes closed, I think about how they both blush so prettily; the pink covering their faces and down their necks. I’d like to see how low it goes, if it drifts down to their chests, their bellies, their dicks.
“Fuck,” I grunt, tipping my head back as I cup my shaft without thought. I jerk myself, thinking about the two of them naked, that flush painting their bodies beautifully. I imagine they’d both be hard for me, touching themselves while I gave them orders.
Making Chance touch Warren, making Warren kiss Chance. I don’t get far into my fantasy before my back is bowing and I’m biting off a moan as I come all over the shower tiles.
I milk myself with the vision of Chance and Warren wrapped up in each other, their sweaty bodies flushed under the low lights.
“Fuck,” I curse again, leaning against the wall as I try to catch my breath. It’s been a while since I’ve fucked someone’s ass and I’m due to get some.
The dry spell is hitting hard if I’m fantasizing about a fucking rich kid and a professor. I’ve lost my fucking mind.
Turning off the shower, I climb out, dry off, and get dressed.
Before I leave the bathroom, I scrub the shower down, making sure not to leave my mess behind.