Page 10 of So Wrong, It's Wright
Theo holds the keycard between his fingers. “Well, it says five-oh-nine right here on the card. And look”—he slots the card in the door—“it opens it too. Get inside.”
“I love it when you boss me around.” I giggle, taking the key back from him as he pushes the door open. “Don’t you think it’s kinda dumb they wrote the room number on the card? I didn’t notice it there before. But anyone could use it. I’m gonna call downstairs and tell them it’s dumb, dumb.”
“You need some help getting changed, baby girl?” Darren asks, his smile telling me that maybe everything I just said didn’t come out as coherent as it did in my mind.
I look at him through one eye. “No. I’m fiiiine. I can even touch my nose with my finger.” I demonstrate by poking myself in the eye.
“OK. Maybe we should stay with you tonight,” Theo says, moving to come in the room. I put my hand against his solid chest to stop him.
“No. No. You two go and be in love!” I’m singing my words here. “I’m just gonna sleep and pretend I’m not gonna end up a lonely cat lady. OK?” I step into the room and let the door close, saying, “Bye-bye,” just before it clicks shut and I’m plunged into darkness.
“Oh. Fuck,” I mutter, feeling for the wall for the slot thingy where I’m supposed to put my keycard, but I can’t find it in my inebriation, deciding instead to just follow the wall because I know the bed is just past the hall.
After a few stumbles, giggles and a couple more bars ofThe House of the Rising Sun,my knees hit the bed and I fall flat on my face on the soft mattress, feeling sure I can hear myself snore before I even fall asleep…
ASH
My eyes pop open as I’m pulled from slumber by the very distinct feeling that I'm not alone. And the moment the sleep haze clears from my mind, I swear I can hear a soft snore on the bed beside me, so I lean over to turn on the lamp.
“Holy shit!” Suddenly wide awake, I leap out of bed the moment the light illuminates the room. Tahlia is face down on the mattress, still fully dressed and sleeping—well, passed out—peacefully. Her face is all smooshed into the pillow, her mouth is open and she's drooling up a storm. I laugh at myself there, because my god, I still think she sexy.What the hell is wrong with me?This so isn’t what I was expecting when I got on that plane from Atlanta. I thought I’d attend the wedding, congratulate the bride and groom, then be back on my merry way come sunup. But now, I’ve got this tiny, gorgeous redhead who’s almost half my age, delivered right to me like it was my dreams who called her.How the fuck did she even get in here?
A quick check on the screen of my phone shows it’s almost three in the morning. Seems the party went on for a while longer since I left not long after twelve.
My eyes travel down her gorgeous body, lingering places I really shouldn’t be looking if I’m half the gentleman I think I am.Fuck.Temptation really does come in all forms and when you least expect it.
Turning away, I scrub a hand down my face and pace back and forth alongside the bed, trying to figure out how the hell this happened and why. Sure, when I came up here earlier, I was wishing the gods would see it fit to send me a gift so sweet, but that was when it was just a fantasy. I didn’t think it could possiblyhappen. The reality of it is kind of… unnerving, and I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do.
Was there a genie at the bottom of that tequila bottle?
Has Camille suddenly become magical, and those rose petals actually did something?
Or did I just leave the door open and a drunk girl wandered in?
The possibilities are many and varied. Including the option whereI’mthe one in the wrong room.
I stop pacing and shake that last idea off pretty fast. I had a shower when I got back in—jerking off over the little minx lying on my bed included—and my toiletries were here, as well as my suitcase since I changed into my sleep shorts. So, it's not me in the wrong room, it's definitely her. But how?
Chewing on the inside of my lip, I scan her sleeping form, my dick reacting to that round ass of hers. I turn away and grab a pair of gray sweatpants, tugging them on so I can at least coversomeof what she’s doing to me. “Fuck,” I mutter, pulling on a sweatshirt too. “What the hell am I doing here? What the hell am Ithinking?”
I blow out a breath and tell myself I’m a dirty old man who has no right looking at this pretty young thing at all. Darren said she’s twenty-five. That’s a big age difference. Almost a full adult human. If I wasn’t feeling sober before, that thought alone does it. But to add insult to injury, I also remind myself that she’s tiny and beautiful and I’m big and well…not beautiful. It’s the reality check I need. The poor girl would probably have a fit if she woke up here in the morning and thought she’s gotten horizontal with the black sheep of the Wright family. How fucking disappointing.
“Tahlia,” I whisper, reaching out and touching her shoulder, trying to rouse her so I can get her back to her room. “Tahlia. You’re in the wrong room.” And I am definitely not the right guy—despite my surname. “Tahlia?”
She shifts a little, and I think she’s about to wake, but all I get is a snort in return. She's out cold. Maybe I should call Tanner? No. It's his wedding night, and he probably doesn't want to be interrupted to deal with this. If I had a number for Theo or Darren, I’d call them, but…
Wait.
Her cell is clutched in her hand. So, if I can manage to free that from her grip, I can use it to get in contact with Theo and Darren. Maybe they know what room she should be in so I can get her back in there safe and sound. Away from me and my dirty thoughts.
I give myself a mental slap in the face.
Moving to the opposite side of the bed, I reach over her and take a hold of the top of the phone. I move it maybe a quarter of an inch before her grip tightens and I freeze up, feeling like I’m doing something really creepy and invasive.
“You’re helping her, you idiot,” I say to myself, steeling myself to try again. This time, I use two hands, one to peel her fingers away, and the other to free her phone. It’s a success on the second go, and I tap my thumb against the unlock button, hoping against hope that she doesn’t have a security lock setup. Shockingly, it unlocks. “Huh.”
My thumb moves to the contacts list, but then my eyes stray to the sleeping beauty and my curiosity about her sends my thumb to her photo gallery before it pauses, shifting to her messages, hovering while guilt churns in my gut then sends it straight back to that contact list where it belongs.
The moment I tap however, I’m struck by a sense of familiarity that has me exiting the contacts list and tapping straight on the photos without any hesitation. My ugly mug shows up on screen, along with a hundred random photos I’ve taken and memes I’ve saved.
