Page 5 of The Hotel Room

Kate still looked at him like that. She still touched him like she did when they were younger.

None of this was Kate’s fault. It washim.

He was the one who felt like he’d become a checklist. Husband. Father. Provider. Problem-solver. Where wasJamesin all that?Whowas James?

“I’m not you, Nick,” James said finally, voice quieter now. “I’m not chasing that kind of thing. I have a good life. A solid one. Kate—she’s…she’s everything. I wouldn’t trade that.”

Nick’s gaze softened, but the teasing edge lingered. “Hey, I’m not saying you don’t love her. I’m saying…seventeen years, man. You got married before you even figured out who youwere. No shame in admitting you’re restless.”

Restless.

The word sank deep, because it wasn’t wrong.

James stared down at his glass, the ice melting slowly, the bourbon diluted now.

Was that what this was? Restlessness?

Or was it something worse—like he’d been so busy building the life they dreamed of, he forgot how to actuallylivein it?

Nick clinked his glass against James’s, breaking the tension. “Look, I’m just saying—if you ever need a break, Cabo next month. Girls like sand and tequila. Think about it.”

James forced a chuckle, shaking his head. “Yeah. Sure. That’sexactlywhat I need.”

Nick smirked but didn’t push further. The conversation shifted—work complaints, old college memories, easier topics that didn’t press too hard on the ache James was trying to ignore.

They stayed like that for a while, nursing drinks and trading stories, but James felt it lingering beneath the surface. That gnawing sense ofmissing something.

When James finally stood to leave, tossing cash onto the bar with a mumbled goodbye, Nick stayed behind, already leaning back against his stool, scoping the room with that familiar, casual ease.

James could picture it so clearly.

Nick would stay a little longer, order another round, and then—at some point—he’d make his move. Some woman would catch his eye. Maybe the blonde laughing too loud at the far end of the bar, or the brunette leaning against the high-top table, twisting her hair around her finger. Nick would chat her up, flash that easy grin of his, and then, if it went well...

James gripped the steering wheel tighter as he drove home, headlights blurring against the wet streets.

Except somewhere between the images, the fantasy shifted.

It wasn’t Nick he was picturing anymore.

It washimself.

His hands tracing a stranger’s waist. The press of unfamiliar lips. The heat of someone new, someone who didn’t know his history, who didn’t expectanythingfrom him but pleasure.

The thought made his chest tighten—guilt twisting with something darker.

Because it wasn’t just curiosity anymore.

It waswant.

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The bedroom was quiet except for the soft rhythm of Kate’s breathing and the distant hum of the dishwasher downstairs. The house felt settled for the night, the kids asleep, the world outside muted.

Kate was curled beside him, her body soft and warm against his, the scent of lavender lingering in her hair. His hand rested on her hip, fingers grazing bare skin where her tank top had ridden up slightly.

He should have feltcontent.

But instead, that hollow ache gnawed at him,.

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