Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 121764 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121764 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Like I could be just her friend after I’d seen every slender curve of her body, after I’d watched her pin her lip between her teeth and ride out an orgasm with those jade eyes locked on mine.
The receptionist — whose name tag read Emily — grimaced. “Unfortunately, we have many families staying with us, and—”
I waved her off before she could finish. “It’s fine. Thank you.”
The words were clipped as I handed her my card, and when I snuck a glance at Grace out of my peripheral, she had her arms folded around her, a somber look in her eyes.
Fuck.
That was worse than her fake smile.
I didn’t know what the hell I was doing. I could have called her after the tournament and told her I couldn’t come get her. I could have picked her up and started driving toward Tampa. I could have encouraged her to leave me behind and get on a plane. I could have broken all this off and given her the choice.
Instead, I’d picked her up and made her suffer through an hour drive to the middle of fucking nowhere Missouri in complete silence.
I was a bastard.
I didn’t know what to do, what to say. All I knew was that I didn’t want to let her go, even when every fucking sign in the universe pointed to that being the right thing to do. I was a selfish prick, like a dragon sitting on its gold knowing I can’t even spend it.
“Here you are,” Emily said, handing me two plastic key cards. “You’ll be on the bottom floor, right down this hallway to the left. Ice and vending are across the hallway, and our breakfast starts at six.”
I tapped the keys on the counter with a muttered thank you before grabbing Grace’s luggage and steering us down the hall.
I’d only taken a few steps before she dashed out in front of me, snatching a key from me as well as the handle of her suitcase. She dropped my duffle bag at my feet.
“I can handle my own shit,” she said, lifting her chin. “And don’t worry — I’ll sleep on the floor. Wouldn’t want you to have to suffer through accidentally touching me.”
Grace landed her blow straight to my chest — especially when her eyes watered a bit with the words.
Of course, in true Grace fashion, those tears didn’t get the chance to fully form before she whipped around and stormed down the hall, scanning the key and shoving through the door to our room so hard that it slammed against the wall.
I couldn’t swallow past the knot in my throat, and I stood there in the hallway for a long moment before following after her.
When I did, I walked right into a Grace Tanev tornado.
A shirt hit me in the face, and I peeled it off me and dangled it from one finger as I shut the door behind me and set my bag on the floor. On closer inspection, I realized it was the little crop top she’d been wearing all day, and I looked up just in time to see her tug on an oversized Harry Styles t-shirt to replace it.
It was huge on her, and because it fell to her mid-thighs, I couldn’t be sure if she had on anything underneath it.
There were more pressing things to attend to anyway — considering she had her bag half-opened and shoved to the side and was currently ripping pillows off the bed. She threw two down to the ground, leaving the other two on the mattress, and then she ripped the comforter off in one fell swoop that somewhat impressed me, given her size.
“Grace, you’re not sleeping on the floor.”
She ignored me, stomping past me and into the bathroom with her toothbrush and face wash in tow. She slammed the door shut, leaving me to look at the disaster of a room.
This is going splendidly.
I stepped out of my shoes, leaving them by the door before I crossed to the pallet she’d made on the short, hard carpet. I picked up each of the pillows and placed them back on the bed. I was resetting the comforter when she swung out of the bathroom, and she let out a frustrated grunt when she saw what I’d done.
“Stop,” she said, nudging me aside so she could take the pillows off. Again.
“Grace.”
“It’s fine. I sleep in tents all the time, this is the same thing.”
She plopped the pillows on the floor.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she clipped, and she plopped down onto the floor, yanked the comforter from my hands, and wrapped it around her until she looked like a burrito.
“Don’t do that.”
She tried to glare at me, but her eyes betrayed her, watering again against her will. She shut them tight and burrowed deeper into the comforter without responding.