Better With You (Better Love 2)

12

It’s just after noon when I pull my Audi up to the hotel where we’ll be staying for the week. The Holiday Bake Off is being held at a convention center about four miles away, so I hired a driver to take us to and from the hotel every day.

I pop the trunk, then hop out of the car to grab our luggage.

“I got it,” Bailey grumbles when I reach for her duffle bag. She snags the handle away from me and tugs it out of the trunk. I grit my teeth and swallow my protest. Instead, I grab my own suitcase, then turn and drop my keys into the hand of the hotel valet.

I’m in for a long ass week if that car ride was any indicator. She had her headphones in most of the drive, and any time I tried to make conversation, she’d give monosyllabic responses. It was the most uncomfortable two hours and forty-seven minutes I have ever spent in a vehicle, and that’s saying something because I travel cross country after pitching no-hitters with smelly-ass athletes on the regular.

“I’ll go check us in,” I say over my shoulder. She shrugs and plops down into a chair in the lobby. She’s trying to act bored, but I don’t miss the way her eyes widen and eat up the luxury dripping from every corner of this hotel. With the Christmas lights and decorations in full swing, it’s beautiful. My father spares no expense on his hotels, and this particular one, The ParisHouse, my mom helped design and decorate, even down to the various holiday and seasonal displays. It’s my favorite of them all.

“Good morning,” the front desk attendant greets with a smile. “Are you checking in with us today?”

“I am. The name is Riggs Stanton.”

“Oh! Mr. Stanton.” Her eyes grow wide at the name. “And will your parents be joining us on this visit as well?”

“Not this time,” I say with a smile. “Two suites. They should be together,” I add the last part quietly. I don’t want Bailey hearing that I specifically requested we be neighbors for the week. I can only imagine how well that would go over with her.

“Yes, sir, I see it right here. Two luxury suites, and we’ve put you on the twenty-first floor. The receipt will be emailed. Is that alright?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Wonderful. Here are your key cards.” She slides two small envelopes over the counter toward me. “Check out is Monday at 2 p.m. for room 2110, and next Saturday at 2 p.m. for room 2112.”

“Thank y—” wait, what? “Wait. Monday?” I lower my voice, check over my shoulder to make sure Bailey can’t hear, then lean in closer to the attendant. “I should have both suites for the week. Saturday to Saturday. There must be some mistake.”

“Oh,” she gasps. “Well, let me check...” Poor woman looks like a deer in headlights as she frantically types on her keyboard. “I’m sorry, Mr. Stanton...we’re all booked through. But if you wait, I can call—”

“No,” I cut her off quickly. “No, that won’t be necessary.” If she calls the manager, then they will alert my dad, and I really don’t need to deal with him. I give her a reassuring smile. “We’ll be fine. Thank you for your help.”

Bailey looks up from her phone when I step in front of her. “You ready?”

She stands and drags her beat-up duffle over her shoulder. “Lead the way.”

It’s silent in the elevator as we glide to the twenty-first floor, but I catch her looking at me in the mirrored glass doors. When they slide open, we empty out into a large hallway with stylish carpet and expensive textured wallpaper. I watch her take it all in the same way she did in the lobby.

“2112 is you.” I stop in front of her door and hold out the keycard.

“And you’re...” she asks with a raised brow.

I grin and gesture to the door we just passed. “2110.”

“We share a wall.”

I nod, and I watch as she chews on her lip. For a few seconds, we’re locked in one of those stare-offs I’ve gotten used to. Where her gaze is drawn to mine against her will. Where we stay fixated on each other in spite of everything. My eyes seek her out the way they would a candle flickering in near darkness, instinctual and immediate, and they cling to her out of what feels like need as much as desire. It’s the same for her, I think, and she hates it.

Her breath hitches, and she blinks. “Thanks.” She disappears into her room, letting the big wooden door fall closed behind her.

I leave my suitcase by the door in my room and kick off my shoes. My dad used to get pissed whenever we’d travel because I don’t like using the closet or dressers in these fancy hotels. If you unpack, it feels more like a home and less like a hotel, and half the fun of staying in hotels is that they’re not your home. Mom always understood.

I head into the bathroom and crank the shower, needing to thaw the chill from my body that has less to do with the weather and more to do with a particularly icy brunette. She has the itinerary, so she knows we’re leaving for the convention center at 9 a.m. for the contest debriefing and orientation. That means I have no reason to see her again tonight.

Except...

I really need to tell her about the room issue. These suites are big—equipped with king beds and couches—so it won’t be terrible if we have to share. We’ll be spending most of the day at the convention center, anyway, so really, we’ll only need the room for...sleeping...and showering.

Fuck.

Come Monday, shit’s gonna get real interesting.

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