Page 25 of The Sweet Spot

“Coffee,” I tell him.

“Yes, and two cups of coffee and a carafe of orange juice. Twenty minutes. Got it. Thanks.” He hangs up, then leans down and throws me over his shoulder like he’s throwing around a ten-pound bag of potatoes instead of an actual person. Deacon smacks my bare ass as he walks us into the bathroom, and I’ve gotta say, I’ve never been manhandled before, but holy hell, it’s hot.

He sits me on the counter and turns the warm water on, adjusting the temperature until he’s satisfied, then scoops me back up. “Oh my God, Deacon. I can walk,” I giggle as he walks us both into the massive shower.

Have I mentioned how much I love this hotel?

Because right about now, as the two showerheads rain down over us and this man gently sets me on my feet, I’m fairly certain this steam shower may have just surpassed the luxury sheets in the what I’m grateful for department.

However, that all fades to black as Deacon drops to his knees and drapes one of my legs over his shoulder.

Ileave Deacon in the shower to wash his hair and grab one of the fluffy robes hanging from the bathroom door and don’t even bother to check out what kind of hot mess I must look like before I run to the door. “I’m coming,” I call out right before I open the door, expecting room service. Only instead of a friendly hotel employee greeting me, an incredibly beautiful woman with shiny, short dark hair stands across from me with a questioning look.

“Oh,” she laughs. “I didn’t know Deacon had company.” She walks right by me like I invited her in, and I’m left staring at her like I should know who she is.

I close the door and tie my robe a little tighter, my fight-or-flight instinct starting to kick in, leaving me unsure which instinct is currently winning.

“I’m so sorry. Where are my manners? I’m Isla. It’s wonderful to meet you. Deacon didn’t tell me he was seeing someone. This is great news.”

I stand there silent, having no clue what I’m supposed to say when another knock on the door comes, followed by Deacon’s voice. “I’ll be right out, red.”

“You might want to hurry,” I yell back as I open the door. Blessedly, this time, it is room service. “Thanks,” I tell him and let him wheel the little cart in, happy for any distraction from the strange smiling ex-wife, who’s standing on the other side of the room that’s growing smaller by the minute.

What the fuck is she smiling about?

I don’t do extrovert in the morning before I’ve had at least one strong cup of coffee.

Deacon walks out of the bathroom the same way he opened the door for me last night, though now I know from personal inspection exactly what he’s hiding behind that towel. He ignores the food and stalks toward me instead, wrapping a hand around my head before I press both palms against his chest, stopping him.

“You, okay?” he asks, confused, and I nod toward Isla, who looks like she’s about to start clapping any minute.

“Hi.” She waves at Deacon, and I swear this woman is way too happy for this early in the morning.

Happy, peaceful Deacon, who spent an entire night worshipping my body, disappears in one single heartbeat. His brows pull tight, and his body tenses. “Is Kennedy okay?”

“Of course. She’s fine. I would have called you if she wasn’t,” Isla assures him before glancing back to me.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, but her focus stays solely on me. “I thought you were staying at the beach through Friday.”

“You know what? I should go.” I turn, but Deacon grabs the robe’s sash and tugs.

“Stay,” he says softly. And I consider it for a moment.

“Yes, stay. If you’re in Deacon’s life, then you’re in Kennedy’s life, and I should get to know you.” Isla tells me, before she finally does it.

She actually claps her hands together once, then clasps them in front of herself.

I look from him to her with an almost unbearable nervous energy and fight the urge to say peace out. Because I’m for sure, peacing the fuck out of this situation. One night, with absolutely no promises or any discussions of where we stand, because—hello, it was one night—doesn’t mean I need to be involved in a conversation between Deacon and the mother of his child slash ex-wife, who’s probably spent hundreds of hours worshipping the body I was just?—

Okay. Time to cut off that train of thought. STAT.

“This sounds like a conversation better had between the two of you.” I tug the sash away from him and watch as disappointment spreads over his chiseled face. I’ll see you later, I mouth silently before grabbing my clothes and changing in the bathroom.

This just became the strangest walk of shame I’ve ever done.

Deacon

My ex-wife sits primly on the couch, apparently much more well rested than I am, staring at me as I watch the hotel room door shut with a deafening click behind the woman who just blew my fucking mind.

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