Page 6 of Hungry Hearts

Four-sixteen. Tapping the key card against my palm, I scan the crowd that gathered while I was eye fucking my angel, see they’re content, and call Kayla over.

“How many more reservations for the bar tonight?”

“Four. They should be here soon.”

“Good. After them, the bar is closed for occupancy. Guests can get their drinks at their tables.”

“What about those who come early?”

“They can wait in the lounge. Short staffed tonight. They’ll deal. Meantime, you and Brynn will have to get your own drinks.”

“Um, sure. Is everything okay?”

“It is now.”

CHAPTER TWO

HOLY CRAP. WHAT THEheck was I thinking? I tug at my hair as I pace my hotel room, regretting what I’ve done. I’ve never slept with a stranger before. Never had a one-night stand. Heck, I’ve only had sex with one person in my entire thirty years of life.

What if I’m terrible at it? Adam and I were each other’s firsts so he wouldn’t have known to tell me I was bad at sex.

I left my key card for the sexy bartender with the brilliant blue eyes and a panty-melting smile.

What.

Did.

I.

Just.

Do?

Maybe he won’t show up. I’m sure hundreds of women throw their numbers and hotel keys at him every night. I’m nothing special. My boobs are okay, especially with the right bra, but I’m lacking a thigh gap, and my mouth is too big.

I have good hair. Being a hairstylist has helped me maintain the thickness and softness of my auburn curls. But I highly doubt my mane is what’s going to bring Ryder the Sexy Bartender to my door.

I throw open the curtains and stare out at the city. From up here, it’s so flashy and sexy. I don’t spend much time in this part of Boston. My salon is outside Newton, and I prefer to do my shopping outside the city instead of in, which is a lot cheaper.

Cheap. Yeah. That’s how I feel. Ryder didn’t make me feel this way, it’s all on me. I bang my forehead against the cool glass. I can’t believe I left him my key card. What if he doesn’t show? I’ll be humiliated. Not that I ever plan on showing my face in this casino ever again.

And if he does show, does that make me a hooker? I bite on my thumbnail and spin around, nervously pacing the small hotel room. This was not part of my plan tonight. Have a few drinks then come up to my room,alone,and cry into the pint of ice cream I have stored in the mini fridge.

Sex was not on the menu. I stop in front of the full-length mirror and gasp. I can’t remember the last time I shaved. Stumbling into the bathroom, I strip out of my black dress pants and wet a washcloth. I prop my leg up on the counter—I’ve always been flexible, thank you yoga and Pilates—and dampen the two weeks’ worth of stubble.

Nope. Not stubble. Hair. I run the razor up and down the lower half of my leg and catch a glimpse of my thighs. Good lord. I don’t think I’ve shaved them since mid-summer. I wet my entire leg and shave through the mess.

When I glance at my bikini line, I shriek. I’m going to need a weed wacker for this. I should have asked Tia to wax me the other day at the salon. But if I did that, she’d want to know who I was waxing for since I’d never done it before. I hear the shrieks from the men and women who put themselves through that kind of misery.

I’ve heard women say the sex is incredible when you’re bare down there. What if Ryder the Sexy Bartender prefers his women bare? I’m only thirty and suddenly feeling washed up and out of style.

Screw it.I shave off a little more than I’m used to, take care of my armpits, then toss the razor in the trash. I give myself a rub down with my honey jasmine lotion, wait for it to dry, then get dressed again.

Or should I strip down naked and wait for him in bed? He has a key to let himself in. I nibble on my thumbnail again and go back to the room, eyeing the bed like it’s a poisonous snake. I can’t do this.

Tripping over my feet as I back away, I pick myself up and start throwing my toiletries into my bag and stuff the two tops I had hanging in the closet in my suitcase. Checking the room to make sure I have everything, I let out a deep breath, knowing I’m doing the right thing by leaving.

I’m sure the sex with Ryder the Sexy Bartender would have been off the charts, but do I really want to lower my standards by giving my body away like that? Sure, it’s been forever, and the release I find with my own hand and the toy I have hidden in my bedside table don’t bring me pleasure like human contact, but I’m not brave enough to go through with it.

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