Page 2 of One Room Vacancy
I slip into my gold heels, one foot at a time, and give myself a final once-over before stepping into the hall. My stomach flips with every click of my heels against the marble floor on the way to the hotel bar.
It’s not that I don’t like being around Gabe. I do. Probably too much. But being the girl he calls every time Kara kicks him to the curb? That’s started to feel a little cheap. And given the situation, the last thing I want is to admit to any of our friends that we’ve hooked up more than once. It’s messy. It’s complicated. And I’d look pathetic.
So, I do what any average woman in her twenties would do…I do it anyway, and I don’t tell anyone about it.
My heels clack against the marble flooring of the hotel bar as I approach, my eyes falling to the all-too-familiar man sitting at the end, leaning against the lacquered bar top.
Even leaning against the bar, he towers at least a head above the rest of the guys in the room. That’s part of what drew me in the first time I saw him—out on the golf course, standing next to my brother and their friends, larger than life with that wild red hair and a smile that could melt the panties off a nun.
But I learned pretty quickly that there was a major problem.
“You and Kara break up again?” I ask as I approach, trying—and mostly failing—to slide into the cool, detached version of myself I like to present around men. Well, most men. Gabe’s always managed to bulldoze right through it.
He exhales hard, scratching the back of his neck. Classic Gabe. That move always means he’s uncomfortable. “Yeah. It just wasn’t working anymore. Hasn’t been for a while.”
“No shit,” I mutter, my tone sharper than I meant it to be. I expect him to brush it off like usual, throw me one of his easy smiles or fire back with something sarcastic.
But he doesn’t.
Instead, he looks at me—and there’s something raw behind his gaze. The exhaustion. The defeat. It catches me off guard, this version of him. The one without the armor. Unfortunately, that is my least favorite form of Gabe.
“Are you okay?” My voice softens.
He pauses for a moment before nodding. “Yeah, I’m fine. It had to happen.”
That should be what I want to hear, that they’re really done, but I’ve been here before. “Are you two done for good?”
Gabe says nothing, just nods. It hardly instills confidence, yet I take his response at face value because it’s what I want to hear.
Pathetic, I know.
“And you’re sure you’re okay?” I ask, genuinely concerned by the answer. This isn’t the first time I’ve seen him this defeated, and I hate it. He doesn’t deserve this; he never has. I don’t understand the hold she has on him, but it can’t be good for him.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” He sighs as he lifts a pint glass to his lips and downs half his beer in three slow gulps.
Fine, I’m sure.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
He shakes his head. I swivel back and forth on my heels, trying to think of how to proceed, but everything I can think of would just cause me to sound pathetic. So, I put up my typical facade.
“Well, as fun as this has been, you seem content by yourself, so I’m going to go…”
With no hesitation, Gabe reaches out and delicately takes hold of my wrist with one hand. His touch is both gentle and strong, easily keeping me from moving. His hand, with its fair complexion and roughness from hard work, encircles my wrist effortlessly.
“Please don’t go,” he whispers, so softly that I almost miss it, but the sincerity in his plea causes me to abandon my plan of leaving the bar.
Our gazes lock and I swallow hard, seeing the man I’ve come to care for over the years looking back at me with a brokenness that exceeds his towering frame. “All right.”
An hour and a half passes, along with four glasses of Bordeaux, and I’m feeling a bit tipsy. Gabe, on the other hand, is still sulking.
I playfully nudge his cheek with my finger, prompting a small, dimpled smile to form on his lips. “C’mon. Buck up, Buttercup!” I say in an effort to cheer him up.
His attempts at hiding his grin are futile as he laughs. “I hate when you call me that.”
“It’s a common phrase.”
“It’s corny.”
