Unfortunately, the Uber driver that showed up to get us drove a Mini Cooper. Reed and I were barely able to fit in the back seat. He grumbled under his breath as we squished together. His long legs were cramped. The driving was erratic, too. Sharp turn after sharp turn, I was thrust into Reed’s hard body. I tried not to think about the fact that my own body reacted with every bit of contact.
I spoke to the driver. “Can you stop at that Walmart up ahead? I promise I’ll be quick.”
Reed’s frustration was through the roof. “What do you need at Walmart?”
“A few personal-care items, a bathing suit, and some snacks for the room.”
His eyes widened. “A bathing suit?”
“Yes. The hotel has a heated, indoor pool.” I smiled.
“What are you . . . ten? This isn’t a vacation. Shall we do Chuck E. Cheese for dinner?”
He was so condescending sometimes.
“Adults can enjoy swimming, too, you know. It’s a great way to relax and unwind from a stressful day, and living in the city, I rarely have the opportunity to swim in a pool. So you can damn well bet I’m gonna get my money’s worth at this hotel. Well, your money’s worth.” I paused before exiting the car. “Do you want anything?”
“No.”
“I’ll be back in five,” I said before slamming the door.
Fifteen minutes later, Reed looked miffed when I returned to the car with my stuff. “That was not five minutes.”
“I’m sorry. The man ahead of me in line was arguing with the cashier about the price of nose-hair clippers.”
“Are you serious?”
“I couldn’t make that up if I tried.”
Reed let out an exaggerated sigh. As mad as he looked, he was still so gosh-darn handsome, sometimes even more so when he was angry. He was dressed a bit more casually today, in a navy-blue polo that fit snug across his broad shoulders and a pair of khakis. He looked damn sexy.
I dug into the Walmart bag and took out the candy I’d bought. Opening it, I stripped off a piece of the strawberry licorice and held it up in front of his face. “Twizzler?”
He shook his head and chuckled, finally seeming to concede to the situation he was forced to endure. To my surprise, rather than mock me again, he took the Twizzler and began to devour it. His teeth sunk into it so good as he pulled that I could practically feel the bite in my flesh. I shivered. When he finished, he stuck out his hand in a silent request for more. For the first time, it was evident that he had a lighter side buried beneath that stuffy exterior. That made me hopeful about the possibility of a better working relationship with him.
The Mini screeched to a halt, letting us out at the Holiday Inn.
Reed got us our keys, and just as he was paying, his wallet slipped out of his hands, falling onto the marble floor. A photo that must have been tucked into it lay on the ground. I recognized it immediately as the engagement photo from his Facebook profile.
Oh my God. He still carries her photo.
Why?
This was the first time I truly realized that the same man who’d written the blue note was still somewhere inside of him. Maybe he really hadn’t changed all that much. Maybe he was just pretending to have changed.
I needed to know more but had to act nonchalant so that he didn’t suspect I knew anything I wasn’t supposed to.
Bending down to pick up the wallet and photo, I played dumb as I handed everything to him. “Who is that woman?”
“It’s no one.”
My heart was pounding as we made our way to the elevator. We took it up to our floor in silence.
He walked me to my room, which was three doors down from his.
That was it? He was going to just pretend that he was carrying a photo in his wallet of someone who meant nothing to him? He expected me to believe that?
My excitement at the prospect of figuring out a missing piece of the Reed Eastwood puzzle caused me to push further. “I don’t believe you when you say that was a picture of no one.”
“Excuse me?”
The words vomited out of me. “I stalked you once on Facebook. This was your engagement photo. Her name is Allison. I know it’s none of my business, but that’s how I know that you’re lying.”
Oh. Shit.
What is wrong with me?
“You what?” he spewed.
“I’m sorry. But you can’t tell me you’ve never done that . . . looked someone up.”
“No, I haven’t. I’m not a career stalker like certain people.”
I was almost afraid to ask. “What happened to her?”
He ignored my question. “This is out of line.”
“I often wonder if she’s the reason you are the way you are.”
“Excuse me? The way I am?”