Page 55 of Drop the Mitts

A round bed sat in the center, framed by velvet drapes that screamed Caesar’s brothel, and there was a heart-shaped jacuzzi tucked beneath faux marble columns. Cherubs adorned the wall. Real ones. Carved. Edged in gold.

Andre blinked. “I swear to you, I booked a standard room.”

Grace held back a grin. “Sure you did.”

He gave her a sidelong glance, but she pushed past him, taking in the full scope of the Roman decor. “You didn’t have plans to bring someone back here?”

André rolled his eyes. “I’m here for a hockey tournament.”

“Yeah, and nobody at tournaments brings puck bunnies back to their rooms?”

“First, I’m impressed you know the term puck bunny. Second, how dare you insinuate that I’m a man of such loose moral values.”

Grace snorted. “Mmkay.” She spun in a slow circle.

André set their bags against the wall and walked over to the jacuzzi. “If I didn’t think I’d get Hep C, I might use this after our games.”

“That or a yeast infection.”

He grimaced. “That was over the line.”

“We’re roommates now. Get used to it.”

Something fluttered in his chest, and his eyes narrowed. Grace stood with her arms still crossed over her chest and her jaw set.That’swhat she was doing. Setting boundaries. Making this feel as unromantic as possible. Controlling the narrative.

To hell with that.

André dragged his suitcase over to the end of the bed and opened it on the moon-shaped bench. Then he pulled his shirt over his head.

“What are you doing?” Grace snapped.

André looked over his shoulder. “We’re roommates now. Get used to it.”

Her nostrils flared. “There’s a separate bathroom. You can change in there.”

He turned toward her, running a hand over the back of his neck so his stomach crunched a bit. Just enough to show off some definition in his abs. “I’ve already seen you topless. I figured it was only fair.”

Grace’s lips drew into a tight line. She looked like she was in a self-proclaimed staring contest, right down to the eye twitch.

“You can look. I’ll give you a minute.” André grinned.

“Shut up.” She rolled her eyes and walked to her suitcase. “I’m not going to have sex with you, so you can stop trying so hard.”

“You haven’t seen me try hard. Not by a long shot.”

Grace ignored him, dragging her bag to the other side of the bed and opening it on the floor. She rifled through her things, grabbed two clothing items, then pulled out a toiletry bag and stalked into the bathroom.

André stared at the closed door. Now what? She hadn’t said anything about the bed. He turned back, appraising it. The mattress looked large enough, but with the shape, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to sleep straight without his feet hanging off the end of the bed. But if he slept diagonal, there was a chance he’d be touching her. And he hadn’t brought any pajamas.

He pulled out one of his T-shirts. Grace would be pissed if he pulled the “Oh, sorry, I sleep in my underwear” excuse, even if it was true. And for the first time in a long time, he found himselfcaring what a woman thought. He wanted to push but not that hard.

Settling on a pair of shorts that he’d thankfully thrown in his bag last minute in case the guys went for a warm-up lifting sesh in the gym, he got dressed and dropped onto the bed. He grabbed the TV remote from the nightstand and . . . that’s when he noticed the mirror.

Mounted above the bed. Same size as the mattress, actually. It covered the entire circular inset in the ceiling.

"Are you going to shower at the arena or back here in the room?" Grace exited the bathroom and padded back to her suitcase.

"I'm just wondering because the shower is glass, so I want to make sure that I take care of everything I need in there so you can have it to yourself."

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