Page 181 of The Night Shift
Not many people around. Just some guy by the windows, dressed in upscale casual, talking on his phone. He must feel me looking because he suddenly turns, then smiles.
I frown and look away.
“Could you check again?” Theo presses. “Just in case someone accidentally gave one away. If there’s only one room left, it’s fine, we can share a bed.”
I yank him back by his sweater and turn to the receptionist with a tight smile. “I’m sorry, my friend here was repeatedly dropped on his head as a child and doesn’t know how to talk to another human being. Can we have our key cards, please?”
She basically trips over herself to hand them over.
Theo and I head toward the elevator. My hand is still gripping the back of his sweater, forcing him to walk beside me with an awkward bend in his knees.
“I’m not your friend,” he says.
My grip tightens. “Keep fucking walking.”
A bellhop follows behind us, dragging our bags down the carpeted hallway. The elevator doors slide open on the fifth floor. Our rooms are located at the end of the hall adjacent to each other. The bellhop drops our bags and disappears before Theo can question him about knocking down the wall between our rooms.
“Try not to moan my name too loud when you’re missing me,” he says. “The walls seem thin.”
I roll my suitcase forward right over his toes.
“Ow—”
I tap my key card on the sensor, shooting him a saccharine smile as the door unlocks with a soft click.
The room looks pretty ordinary. There’s a single queen bed with white linens smack in the center. A floor-length mirror stands across the bed. Off to the side, there’s a small round table set for two with a bottle of wine and a pair of glasses. A card sits between the glasses. I walk over to pick it up.
Welcome to our wedding weekend! We’re so happy you’re here to celebrate with us. Rest up, suit up, and get ready to party — we love you 3000!
Lots of love and superpowers,
April and Parker
I’m not a judgemental person, but if I’m ever this corny, I hope someone has the decency to shoot me between the eyes.
I drop the card back on the table.
The faint click of Theo’s door shutting carries through the quiet hallway. My head lifts slightly — instinct. I hear the faint thump of his footsteps, the soft clearing of his throat, and the eventual rush of water as the shower turns on. He was right. The wallsarevery thin.
I shut the door behind me and wheel my suitcase to the corner, setting it down flat. It’s not like I wasexpectinghim to follow me inside or anything, I’m just surprised he didn’t barge in to make some wildly offhanded comment about how the bed would look infinitely better with me on it, straddling his lap, fingers wrapped around his throat.
The sound of running water from his room grows louder. Making it all the more difficult to stop picturing him in there, steam curling around his body, water trailing down his chest, over his stomach, lower —
Nope. Nope. Absolutely not.
I shake my head hard, hoping to physically dislodge the thought from my brain. It’s one thing to use his body as a distraction, that doesn’t mean I also get to fantasize about him in the shower.
Though, it could help with all the guilt that’s currently curling in my stomach. Not even twenty-four hours have passed since my best friend was attacked because of me, and here I am, thinking about how nice it’s been to forget. I’m a horrible friend. I know that. It’s a fact. But I also know how good it’s felt to let it all slip away for a little while. Especially when I have no idea where the fuck to even begin with tracking down the person who attacked Cami.
The whole drive here, I did my best not to think about it. Theo helped. His exasperating insistence to not let me touch the stereo, his remarks about not leaving the window down because it would “mess up his hair.” His mouth on mine. His hands that knewexactlywhere to go before I could sink too deep into my own thoughts.
It’s not healthy. I get that. I know I shouldn’t be thinking these thoughts about Theo and his hands. But I can’t help it. They just feel too damn good.
I blink away the unwelcome feeling, shove it somewhere dark and unexamined.Whatever.At least I’m not slitting his throat, so there’s that. Progress.
My phone is already in my hand, my thumb hovering over Cami’s name. I hitcall. It rings five times before going to voicemail.
I shoot her a text.
