Page 96 of The Soldier

Marshall needs to learn that he shouldn’t have fucked with me.

We pull up outside my hotel and I twist around.

“Come upstairs and I’ll make you a ginger tea for your tummy. I can’t let you go home on your own feeling so sick.”

Trina’s eyes dart around. “Listen—”

“No funny business. I promise. I don’t feel like we got to talk much tonight.” I brush the hair over her shoulder.

She squirms in her seat, then glances outside the vehicle. To my surprise, she nods.

I thought that it was going to be much harder.

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TRINA

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GODDAMN BLADDER. I’m absolutely busting to pee and with no panties on and still leaking Marshall’s come, I really need to use the bathroom.

I accept Roger’s invite out of pure desperation but if I see one in the lobby I may just shoot in there first.

Then sneak out.

“Just a ginger tea,” I say and use both hands to hold my purse so he can’t hold my hand as we cross the lobby.

Clenching my core as we ride up in the elevator I try hard to ignore his hand resting in the small of my back and his stupid story about his mom giving him the concoction when he was a kid.

I can’t think about him at the moment. I. Need. The. Toilet. Right. Now.

Roger swipes his card when we get to his door, and I dart into the bathroom.

“Sorry. Busting.” I yell out and lock the door.

I plonk down and let out a sigh.

Unfortunately, I can see myself in the mirror and my god, I look a mess. My hair is fluffed up in thatjust fuckedlook, and the fact that it was with a different man than the one I’m in a hotel room with right now makes me feel extremely slutty.

I’m here for the tea.Fuck.No, I’m here for the toilet.

God I’m drunk.

I drop my face into my hands and draw in a long breath.

I wonder what Marshall is doing right now. Where did he go? Is he mad at me? If I called would he speak with me?

I’m a little annoyed that he broke my trust and looked into my past, finding out about my dad. But at the same time, I want to curl up in his arms and tell him everything. To share how horrible it was and ask if he’s been scared while on tours.

I want to know about his family and if they worry and how that makes him feel. Does he have a brother or sister?

Suddenly I’m super aware how little I know about this man. And how much I want to know.

I really want to know.

I tug my phone out of my pocket and swipe, pulling up our messages. The last one he sent a few days ago said:

Miss you little wolf. I wish your body was plastered against mine and your lips on mine.

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