We arrive at the hotel and file out of the car.
We’re responsible for our own rooms so Nova and I decided to bunk together to save money and we have an unspoken agreement not to tell the others.
We head inside to the front desk. Nova and I purposely choose to be last in line, in the hope that the others will get their room keys and go on up.
Sure enough, our plan works and the others head off to the elevators once they have their room keys.
“Name?” the receptionist asks, smiling pleasantly even though she’s probably bored out of her mind. I would be bored if I had to do her job.
“Kensington,” I respond.
She types a few things and hands me two keys. I promptly hand Nova the extra one.
We head up to our room, and as soon as our bags are placed on the floor, I announce, “We’re going out.”
Nova’s halfway to one of the beds, and she turns back to glare at me. “No.”
“No?” I repeat with a laugh. “Come on. We need a night out. We’re in Miami. There are clubs on every block.”
“I just want to go to bed,” she grumbles.
“Nuh-uh.” I shake my head. I refuse to let her mope. “We’re going out, for at least an hour.”
She groans, and I know I’m wearing her down. “I just want to shower and go to bed. Aren’t you tired?” she counters.
“I am,” I agree. “But we’re here and we only have tonight and tomorrow to do something for ourselves and we’ll probably have to do something with everyone else tomorrow, which leaves right now for me and you,” I ramble.
“All right,” she agrees. “Let me change, though.”
“As you wish.”
I step out of the way as she grabs her bag again, her messy bun bobbing, and locks herself in the bathroom.
I flop on the one bed and turn on the TV.
Twenty minutes later she steps out of the bathroom with her hair down and changed into jeans, a black and white striped top, and a leather jacket. She looks bad ass, like she’s ready to take on the fucking world, and I find myself licking my lips.
Down, boy.
I’m attracted to Nova, I can’t deny that, and I’m not stupid so I know she’s attracted to me too. But I think we both know we’re different … damaged … and that makes a relationship impossible. Nothing good can come from something so broken.
“Ready?” I ask her, and I hate how annoyingly high my voice suddenly sounds.
She nods, slipping her feet into a pair of boots.
I’m sure ninety-nine percent of the girls at the club will be half-dressed and in high heels, and there’s nothing wrong with that, but I find myself intrigued by how different Nova is. She doesn’t try to be like everyone else. She is who she is.
I shove the room key in my jeans pocket and tug on her blue hair as I pass.
“Let’s go, Clarke.”
“You look miserable!” I yell to be heard above the music.
“I am miserable,” she shouts back. “This isn’t my
thing!”
I take her hand and drag her to the bar, trying not to be blinded by the flashing lights.