13. Jules
THIRTEEN
JULES
I’m not sure if it's funny how we’ve gone from being almost mortal enemies to being almost cordial, but it’s definitely something.
Drew stops the car in front of the hotel and I’m surprised to find that I didn’t hate a single second of the last four and a half hours.
Wait, can Drew and I actually be friends? Is that a possibility neither of us considered? I look at him in appraisal as he gets out of the car and hands his keys to the valet. We grab our luggage from the back and walk into the hotel to check-in.
There’s a massive line in front of the desk. The last time I saw this many people trying to check in or out was in Las Vegas.
“Maybe there’s a big conference or something?” I look at Drew in question.
“A hotel full of dentists,” Drew says, nodding at a banner by the elevator bank. It announces the fifth annual East Coast Dental Association conference, which runs the whole weekend.
“Do you think they win awards at this thing, and if so, is it a little plaque?” I giggle at my joke.
Drew removed his sunglasses and put on his regular ones, so I can see exactly how unamused he is when he looks at me.
“What does a dentist call an astronaut’s cavity?” I ask, looking up at Drew.
“A black hole,” I reply.
Drew sighs, though I’m sure he’s smiling just a little. Maybe. It’s hard to tell with him.
“What does a dentist call x-rays of their patients teeth?” I look up at Drew expectantly. “Tooth pics.”
I open my mouth to ask another one and Drew holds up his finger. “How many of these do you have?”
“How long is this line?”
Drew sighs, looking at the line that’s twenty people deep. “I’d rather get a root canal than listen to dentist jokes.”
“Don’t say that, they’ll probably use you as a test subject in cutting edge root canal technology.”
Drew shakes his head, heaving a sigh. “This is the last time I listen to Aunt Constance. She’s off in Boca Raton while I’m stuck listening to dentist jokes.”
I suppress a giggle. I don’t want to push him too far. He is doing me a massive favor.
The line moves quickly and pretty soon we’re at the desk. My check in is fast but when I look around, Drew is still talking to the person behind the desk. She looks apologetic while Drew looks frustrated, his arms crossed.
I step back toward the lobby so I’m not holding up the line while I keep my eye on Drew.
A manager comes out of the office, and there’s a lot of nodding and hemming and hawing. Drew’s shoulders are set in a stiff line. Whatever it is, it can’t be good.
Drew leaves the desk and finds me, his face set in a scowl.
“They’ve lost my booking,” he says through gritted teeth.
Yep, not good.
“How do they just lose a booking?” I ask.
Drew shoves a hand through his hair. “Apparently, there was an error with their system last night, right along the time I did the booking. The system sent out a booking confirmation without registering the actual booking.”
“Okay, so they have another room for you?” The guilt I’m feeling right now is no joke.
It’s going to dampen the whole weekend and hang over me like a cloud that just won’t rain when all you want is either sunshine or rain.
He’s here because of me and I’m the one who recommended the hotel because I’d already booked a room here.
Drew shakes his head, pulling out his phone. “It’s a Friday in New York City during tourist season and they have this conference happening. They’re fully booked.”
I glance at his screen to see him looking up hotels. This is New York, it’s the city of hotels. He can walk two blocks and find a different hotel. It will be fine.
I chew on my lip as I watch him scroll. Is this the kind of guilt I can live with or one that’s going to come back and haunt me in the middle of the night ten years from now?
I don’t even care if Drew is going to use this against me in a future argument when my guilt is going to make it impossible for me to live.
I hope Aunt Constance is having a jolly good time in Boca Raton giving heart attacks to old men.
This is one of those times when I have to ask myself what’s louder, my guilt or my fear.
Do I trust Drew, and if so, how much? Theoretically, Drew Callahan is everything I’m terrified of simply because he’s a man who’s twice my size with the added (dis)advantage of being a professional athlete. He can easily overpower me.
Fear, guilt, or trust?
“I think I found one--”
“We can just share my room,” I say, stopping him mid-sentence.
Drew’s head snaps up, wide eyes meeting mine. He looks around as if expecting someone to jump out with a camera and yell ‘Psych’. The poor thing looks way too confused and I don’t blame him one bit.
“Pardon?”
I take a deep breath. I’ve already taken the plunge, there’s no going back now. Once you jump out of a plane, you can’t go back.
“I booked a suite with a king sized bed. It doesn’t make sense for you to find another hotel when I already have a room.”
Drew’s brow wrinkles as he crosses his arms. “Did you get high while I wasn’t looking? Are you seriously suggesting that two people who make frequent death threats against each other share a room?”
I almost smile at the absurdity of the situation.
“What choice do we have?” I raise my hands in question. “I hate the idea of you finding another hotel when you’ve come all this way for me.”
“Actually, I came for Aunt Constance,” Drew corrects.
“Because she asked you to come for me,” I say with a sigh. Pushing my hair back behind my ear, I place my hand on my suitcase. “Look, I obviously can’t force you to stay here with me. I just thought it would be easier than having to find another hotel, even if it is only a few blocks away.”
Drew’s green eyes, like the color of palm fronds, assess me carefully. Sometimes I wish I could know exactly what’s going on in his head.
“And you’ll be okay with that? Sharing a room for the whole weekend? With me?” Drew asks, sounding unsure.
As far as Callahan’s are concerned, he’s not my favorite by any means.
If given the choice, I’d rather share a room with Lavinia.
But Lavinia’s on her way to Italy, living out her happily ever after.
And yeah, sharing my space with a man--any man--makes my palms sweat.
Sometimes we all have to do things we don’t like, right?
“Yeah, I’m totally fine with it.”
Drew is still frowning, still unsure if this is the right decision. “Are you sure you won’t be uncomfortable?”
Ugh, why is he doing this to me? I can’t comprehend the man who teases me about poisoned apples with the man who buys me snacks and worries about my comfort. My mind is all haywire.
“Will you be comfortable?” I ask.
“Ford and I sometimes share a room when we’re traveling for away games.” Drew shrugs, and tilts his head, looking at me appraisingly. “Though, we don’t share the same bed. And you’re not Ford.”
“Sorry to disappoint.” I lift a shoulder in a shrug, matching him.
Sighing, Drew puts his phone back in his pocket. “If you’re sure, let’s do it. It’s only two nights. We’re leaving Sunday.”
“It’ll be just like a sleepover,” I assure.
Drew’s arched brow tells me he doesn’t believe that at all. When I swipe the keycard on the door and push it open, walking into the suite, the first thing that comes into view is the king sized bed. The bed that I will be sharing with Drew.
Suddenly, I’m less concerned about sharing it with a man and more concerned about the fact that man is Drew Callahan.
Maybe it won’t be like a sleepover.
“Are you still sure about this?”
I nearly jump at his voice, turning to face him.
“Yes, you don’t have to keep asking,” I say.
So what is it’s a little different from what I planned? It’s fine. The universe works in mysterious ways. I’m going to be fine. It’ll all be fine. It’s a big bed. Drew is going to stick to his side and I’m going to stick to mine. Once you’re asleep, you don’t care who’s beside you.
“I’m going to freshen up,” Drew says. “Do you need to use the bathroom?”
I shake my head and sink with relief when he disappears into the bathroom. It occurs to me that he probably realized I needed a minute and chose to leave me alone.
I fall onto the bed face first and groan quietly when I hear the water turn on in the bathroom. As if an entire weekend with Drew wasn’t bad enough, I basically shot myself in the foot by offering to share a room with him.
I can only pray I don’t regret this decision.
I regret this decision.
See, when I packed, I was doing it as a woman who’s going to have a relaxing, almost staycation, in a hotel. I planned on taking an everything shower, blow drying my hair to perfection so I don’t have to stress about it tomorrow, and I was going to sleep in the skimpiest pajamas known to man.
I’m a woman who’s blessed in the chest area, which means I can never go comfortably braless. Which also means that I only wear my cutest sleepwear set of shorts and a tank top while alone because the tank top is loose and hangs low.
If I walk out wearing this, Drew is going to file a harassment claim against me.
“We need to go shopping,” I say, walking out into the room.
I’m dressed for dinner in a red dress, which has a corset style top that hugs the girls very nicely. The ruffled collar sits almost off the shoulder.
“Color me shocked,” Drew says drily.
“Don’t be misogynistic, Andrew.” I look at him in the mirror as I put on my hoop earrings. “It’s an emergency. I need to buy clothes to sleep in.”
His eyes leave the TV, on which he’s watching the Discovery channel, and look at me. He pauses briefly and I think, for almost a second, his eyes flicker down to my chest. But there’s no way Andrew Callahan is checking me out, so it was surely a trick of the light.
“You didn’t bring anything to sleep in?”
“It’s not suitable for company.” I grab my perfume and spritz a little.
In the mirror, I just catch his blush before he glances away. My stomach twists, not unpleasantly, and I realize that I like the idea of Drew wondering what I packed that’s not suitable for his eyes.
Oh my god, what is happening? Why am I having these thoughts about him?
It’s the clothes, I decide. The clothes make the man.
Drew with his black pants, baby blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up to display those veiny forearms, and his slutty little glasses are causing my brain to short circuit.
Because why else would I be curious about seeing his reaction to my nightwear?
I grab my purse and we leave the room. Whenever I visit New York, I like to stay in midtown in the bougie area. It’s a habit left over from Gemma and all the birthdays we celebrated here.
It’s funny how even a place like Manhattan, which moves at the pace of lightning, can still hold memories within its limits. I remember walking down these streets while holding Gemma’s hand, my eyes wide as we walked into Tiffany’s & Co.
The broach she bought is still in my closet. The last time I held it was after removing it from the plastic bag the hospital handed to me with her belongings.
“Where are we going?” Drew asks, bringing me out of my thoughts.
I quickly dawn my sunglasses so he doesn’t see my moist eyes.
“We’re going to Bloomingdales.” I start walking when I feel his hand on the top of my head, turning me in the opposite direction.
“It’s this way,” Drew says sardonically. I huff and start walking. I know we have a no touching rule, but he doesn’t have to ruin my hair because of it.
I pause at the end block and start to turn left, when Drew settles his hand on my head and turns me back.
“We’re going straight,” he announces.
Okay, so I’m a little directionally challenged.
“Why can’t you just tell me without grabbing my head?” I smooth out my hair. As if the Manhattan humidity isn’t bad enough. It’s a good thing I have a hairstylist coming tomorrow to do my hair for the wedding. I can’t be relied upon to make it look presentable.
“I’m trying to follow our no touching rule.” Drew’s hand appears in front of my face. “You can hold my hand if you want.”
I shoot him a look. “Get your hand out of my face before I bite it.”
“Always so hostile, Juliet.”
“Always so insufferable, Andrew.”
We’re back to our steady rhythm. This feels more natural than sharing a car ride in amicable conversation which muddled my brain so much I suggested we share a room for the whole weekend. Clearly muddled it so much that I found him attractive for a hot second.
Clearly, I just need to keep picking fights with him to keep my head straight.
“We still have to spend a whole weekend together and Lavinia isn’t here to make us behave. It’s up to us to not kill each other,” Drew says.
“I’ve always wanted to write a noir murder mystery set in a hotel around two lovers’ death,” I say with a laugh.
“Why don’t you?” Drew asks curiously.
“Too many commitments, and I can’t think of a realistic happily ever after that I like.”
“I’m sure if you write it, it will be an instant hit,” Drew says.
I glance up at him in thought. “How can you say that?”
He shrugs, and says cryptically, “I just know it.”
I pout. How can he just know it? He’s never read anything I’ve ever written. I know because Drew doesn’t hesitate to point out all my mistakes. If he’s read any of my books, I’m sure he’d have found a dozen flaws.
“You just know it?” I repeat.
He doesn’t deign to reply. “Exactly how long will I be expected to stay at this wedding?”
“As long as I’m there,” I say.
“And how long will you be there?” Drew looks at me flatly.
“Until the happy couple whisks off into the sunset.”
The truth is, I’m only planning on staying through the ceremony. I agreed to attend because Ash and Remy bullied me into attending. While I am thrilled for them, I’m sad for myself and I don’t want my loneliness epidemic affecting their big day.
“So if they decide to party until dawn?” Drew asks.
“We party until dawn.”
Drew looks like he’d rather walk into oncoming traffic and I can’t help laughing. God, I love torturing this man.