Page 5 of I Wanna Be Your Lager

Passengers shuffle down the aisle, collecting their carry-on luggage as they go. When it’s my turn, I rise. Twisting to peer over my shoulder, I spare a glance back at Patrick, and I’m met with soft blue eyes.

“Are you going to go?” a guy behind me asks.

I shake my head. With everything that happened, he’s the last person I need to think about. “Yeah. Sorry,” I mutter before grabbing my tote bag from the overhead bin and shuffling down the aisle to exit the plane.

While waiting in line to collect the hotel arrangements and rebook the flight for tomorrow, I never saw Patrick. He got buried in the chaos. It’s better this way. I’m sure he’ll again ask why I ditched him in the hotel room, and I’d hate for my answer to be, “My boyfriend is married, and his wife was stopping by, and I wanted to make him jealous.” He just happened to be in the right place at the right time. Or the wrong place, depending on how you look at it. I exhale a deep yawn. Sleeping in my car didn’t offer me a quality night’s sleep like a bed would have. After collecting my checked bag from the baggage carousel, I exit the small airport. A warm, light breeze floats by, flinging hair across my face. I brush it away on a huff. I scan the long line waiting for the bus and then the size of the bus. Math isn’t my forte, but when I put the two together, the math isn’t mathing. There is no way all these people will fit on the bus. Call me selfish, but I’m tired as fuck, and don’t want to wait. I shimmy past a group of people, weave between another group, and squeeze past a few more.

“Kat!”

My fake name pierces through the air. I guess I found Patrick. Or he found me. Either way, there’s no time for chitchat.The bus is filling up and fast. He calls my name again, but I ignore him. I squeeze into the line, pass my suitcase off to a worker to shove in the storage compartment, and board the bus before the doors close. I sink down in the last window seat, more than ready for this day to end. Patrick’s crammed in the middle of a group of people like a herd of cattle, having to wait for the next bus.

After the longest fifteen-minute ride ever, the bus slows to a stop in front of the modest three-story hotel. Everyone races off and through the sliding door to the lobby, including me. People from all directions swarm the small, one-person front desk, wanting to claim a room. I yawn and rub the tiredness from my eyes as I stand in line. It’s been a long weekend and an even longer twenty-four hours. All I want to do is snuggle under the blankets—in a bed, curse my ex for his shittiness—and drift off to a peaceful sleep. But all that soon dies a quick death as a familiar sandalwood scent wafts through the air. Peering around the broad shoulder of the guy in front of me, I spot him. Patrick. My heart rate spikes from anxiety or excitement. At this point, I’m not even sure anymore. More importantly, how in the hell did he beat me here? As the line inches closer to the reception desk, I refrain from making any noise or sudden movements. I don’t need to draw attention to myself and have him turn around and berate me with questions. Sleep. That’s all I want.

“Good evening, sir,” the receptionist’s soft voice floats across the desk like she’s trying to compensate for our shitty situation. He replies with a greeting of his own. “You are in luck. You get our last room.”

My ears perk up from her last two words. I step out from behind Patrick. “Excuse me? What do you mean ‘last room’? What about the rest of us?” Patrick’s gaze snaps to mine. Brows furrowed together.

“We’ll have to take you to our sister hotel twenty minutes away.”

Everyone’s attention, including mine, drifts to the other receptionist as he announces that all remaining guests will have to wait to be transported to another hotel in another bus. A collective groan echoes through the lobby.

Oh hell no! I’m exhausted and just want to sleep. There is no way I’m waiting for another twenty-minute bus ride. “I’ll share a room with him. He’s my boyfriend,” I blurt. Twenty-four hours ago, I was going to sleep with him. Might as well share a room with him now.

A deep rumble sounds from Patrick’s chest. Bending down, he whispers, “An hour ago, you wouldn’t talk to me, and now I’m your boyfriend?”

A fake laugh bubbles out of me, and I hook my arm through his. “Don’t be silly.” I pat my hand against his chest. The cotton of his zip-up hoodie does nothing to mask the hard muscle underneath. I turn to the receptionist. “He’s just being funny. Always the jokester in the relationship. We got into a teeny, tiny argument about a little problem of his.” I nod at the crotch of his jeans, then hold out a limp pointer finger. “It’s a sensitive topic.”

He leans down. His breath warm against my ear as he says, “If you want to stay in my room, fine, but you’re also telling me why you bailed.”

I glare at him from the corner of my eye. “I didn’t realize this was a negotiation.”

“It is now.” He lifts a brow.

“Is your ego bruised that bad?”

“Call me curious.”

“Curiosity killed the cat.”

“Good thing I’m not a cat then.”

I huff out a deep breath. He’s infuriating. Yet, I’m intrigued just as much, if not more, than when we met last night. “Fine. I’ll tell you. But not right now.”

“If you think I’m going to let this go, you’re delusional.” He pulls his phone from his pocket and types on the screen with one hand.

“What are you doing?”

“Making myself a note to ask about this later.”

I roll my eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

When he’s finished typing, he shoves his phone back into his pocket. He unlinks his arm from mine and wraps it around my shoulders, tugging me to the crook of his arm. His cologne invades my senses just like last night, when I was close to him like this, along with the taste of the smooth whiskey that lingered on his lips when they pressed to mine.

“She’ll be staying in my room.” The receptionist’s gaze drifts from me to Patrick and back to me. I flash her a bright smile, and she nods before passing us two key cards.

“Your room is on the third floor. The elevators are on the left.”

“Thank you,” Patrick says.

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