It’s also just one bed.
Thankfully, it’s a king. Even if nothing happens between us, and that increasingly seems to be the case, he’s a really big guy and he takes up a lot of the space.
He puts the suitcases down and then immediately crawls on top of the pristine white cover, lying face down.
“So that’s it?” I ask, leaning against the wall. “You’re just going to go to sleep?”
“Yep,” he mumbles into the bed, moving his arms above his head, his green t-shirt raising a few inches, showing a slice of his strong back. Naturally, my predatory gaze goes to his ass, his jeans really showing it off. Big, bouncy, nothing but muscle.
Instinctively I reach out and smack him right across his cheek, the sound echoing against the bricks.
He stiffens, head up, giving me the most incredulous look that I have to laugh.
“Ada! What the fuck?”
“What?” I say, holding up my palm like a weapon. “Like hell I’m going to let you take a nap when we literally just got to the French Quarter.”
“Sweetheart, I’m exhausted,’ he says to me, frowning at my palm. “And you need to put that away.”
I bite back a smile. “I’ll put it away if you promise me we’ll have a bit of fun tonight. We’ve been doing nothing but driving.”
“And that’s why I want a nap. Fuck, Ada. I’m old as hell. Give me a break.”
“Fine,” I tell him, sitting on the corner of the bed. “I’ll let you nap. Just tell me the plan.”
“I sleep. Then I’ll take you to a few of my favorite bars—”
“On Bourbon Street?” I ask excitedly.
“Hell no,” he says. “That place is trash. You’d get into too many fist fights.”
I grin. “Oh yeah? Maybe I’m a little more open to attention this time around.”
“Then I’ll get into too many fist fights,” he says, turning his head away from me.
Okay, I admit that tiny inkling of possessiveness makes my stomach flutter. I’m a simple girl, what can I say?
“Then what happens after the fist fights?”
When do we see Rose?
He sighs. “Then we’ll go to Rose’s bar and figure it out from there.”
The fluttery feeling in my stomach grows hard.
“What do you think will happen?” I ask, my voice going quiet.
“I don’t know,” he says. He sounds sleepy. “Guess we’ll have to wait and see.”
What if right now is the only time I get with Max? What if Rose breaks off her engagement once she realizes that he’s alive? What if this is the start of their happily-ever-after? I might be sleeping here alone tonight. I might have to fly home. I might not ever see Max again.
I’m so tempted to crawl onto that bed to be with him in whatever way that I can. But the more I stare at him, the more my heart fumbles in my chest over the idea of losing him to her, losing him before I even had him, the more I realize that there’s nothing I can do to stop any of this.
Maybe it’s destiny.
I gulp, my stomach in knots, wanting to say something else to him.
But I don’t know what, and I think he’s actually asleep right now from the way his back is rising and falling.
So I quickly change out of my shirt into a fresh flowy white one that shows off what modest cleavage I have, grab my purse, and I head out the door.
I don’t go far. Even though it’s winter, it’s humid as hell, hot even, and I still don’t know how far away from Max I should go before it affects him. So I find a quaint bar around the corner from the hotel and order a Bloody Mary, totally expecting to get turned down because I don’t have ID.
But the bartender serves me anyway, so I take a seat at the bar and just take in the sights and sounds of the city. The other side of the bar is a window where you can just walk up from the outside and get a drink to go, and holy shit, this town is going to be the death of me.
I’m about two-and-a-half Bloody Marys in when Max texts me, wondering where I am, and I swear I can hear the panic on the screen. I tell him the bar, and a minute later he strolls on in, ducking slightly as he goes through the door. This city isn’t built for those who are six foot four.
I stare at him for a moment, a moment where I pretend he’s mine and he’s meeting me here for a date and for that moment I’m shot up with giddiness. Helps that he’s looking extra dashing, full of sex and swagger, with his hair styled back off his face, wearing boots, dark-grey jeans, a black button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showcasing his forearms, the first two buttons undone, the collar having a pointy western flair.
And then my heart absolutely sinks when I realize why he’s made such an effort to look extra hot.
It’s not for me.
It’s for Rose.
“There you are,” he says to me, sliding onto the stool next to me, his presence so wonderfully overwhelming after being apart from him. He smells like pine and cinnamon and I’m instantly brought back to New Year’s Eve when I forbade him from kissing me. Oh, if I could go back in time.
He eyes the drink. “I see you’re getting by without me.”
I manage a smile. “Maybe I have my own voodoo magic.”
“That you do,” he says, eyes briefly resting on my chest before he looks at the bartender. “I’ll have the same as the lady. Then we’re going to leave and not pay the bill.”
“Got it,” the bartender says with a smile, and gets to making the drink.
I shake my head at him. “It’s been a while. I’ve missed
