Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98909 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98909 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Slowly, she shakes her head.
Fuck.
Crossing the rug to the door, I try to think of what I’ll say when I step outside and apologize. That will be awkward, but at least I can say my piece. Maybe he’s ugly, anyway. Maybe I’ll laugh about this tomorrow.
Maybe this sick, sad feeling in my gut will go away.
Bracing myself, I open the door.
So Many Uglies
Luke
After tapping on the door to room 409, I don’t quite know what to do with my hands. This moment—when you’re standing outside, waiting to meet your hookup for the first time…it’s the most nerve-wracking part.
There are voices inside. A man’s and a woman’s. So I must be in the right place. But I’ve never been to this hotel. I never even gave it a sideways glance. It’s the kind of place rich folks stay on parents’ weekend.
Honestly, it would never occur to me to get a hotel room just for shiggles. Who does that?
I hear someone coming toward the door, and I suck in my stomach. Don’t judge—it’s a reflex for someone who’s used to being on stage without a shirt. I’m just pasting a friendly smile on my face when the door opens, and—
What the…?
Are you fucking kidding me?
“Hayworth?” I bark. “What are you... I was just…” My brain is quickly backpedalling. I must be at the wrong door. My hand is already closing around my phone so I can check my facts.
But then I look at his face, and I know there hasn’t been a mix-up. His ears are suddenly red, and his mouth is opening and closing like a fish’s. Quickly, he steps out into the hall and closes the door behind him.
“You’re shitting me,” Keaton Hayworth III hisses. “Is this some kind of joke?”
“I don’t know,” I snarl. “Is it? You tell me.”
“Did you catfish me, Bailey?” He looks suddenly furious.
“No!” I howl. “But now that you mention it, is that your game?”
“No!” he snaps. Then he looks up and down the hall. “And keep your voice down.”
“Why? Are you slumming right now?” I’m too full of nervous energy to behave like a rational human. I take a step closer.
He looks down. Our chests are almost touching. “Back off, would you?”
“Why? Aren’t you going to invite me in?” I don’t really see this going anywhere, but I’m going to make him say it. “This was all your idea. Did you chicken out?”
His face goes a shade redder. “There’s been a change of plans.”
“I’ll bet.” I’m about three inches from his face, and I can see both anger and frustration rolling off him. “Good thing I canceled a shift at work for your little fantasy.”
He blinks, and I see sweat beading at his hairline. It’s just starting to actually sink in that Keaton is LobsterShorts. He’s the guy who hates Christmas and knows which animals masturbate?
He made me laugh, and then I made him come? If heads blowing off were a real thing, mine would be detonating right now.
But then he opens up his big mouth and reminds me how it really is between us. “If you leave now, maybe you can get your shift back.”
I roll my eyes, because that’s such a Keaton Hayworth III thing to say. I’ll bet he’s never held down a job in his life. “Maybe. But the boss will still be annoyed. And I’ll still be late…” I realize there’s no point in explaining it.
“Sorry,” he says stiffly.
I take a step back. And then another one. “Yeah? You’re sorry that I’m someone you already dislike, huh? Better luck with your next match on the app, then.”
Spinning around, I walk toward the elevators.
“That’s not what happened!” he calls after me.
But I don’t bother waiting to hear what excuses he’d give.
“I don’t understand,” Lance says several hours later. He shakes his blond head in confusion. “Why did you agree to bone your frat brother if you don’t like him?”
“I didn’t agree to bone my frat brother! I—” I drop my face in my hands and try to gather my composure.
You’d think that four hours after the big shock, I’d have found a way to compose myself, right? But nope. I’m still shook. The second the bouncers locked the club’s doors, I collapsed on the nearest barstool and started pouring the tequila.
Most of the other staff left for the night, but a few of my fellow dancers stuck around to keep me company. Brock and George haven’t stopped laughing since I told them what went down at the hotel earlier, but Lance still doesn’t get it.
“It was an anonymous hookup, Lance,” I grumble into my palms. “We’ve been chatting on Kink and we were meeting for the first time tonight.”
“You and the frat guy and his girlfriend,” Lance says.
“Yes.” I raise my head and swipe the tequila bottle out of George’s beefy hand. We stopped using shot glasses about an hour ago. It’s almost three in the morning, we’re half-naked, still covered in oil, and discussing the fact that I almost fucked my nemesis tonight—these are drink-straight-from-the-bottle times.