Page 22 of Catching Feels

GoodTimesOnly: Thirteenth floor, room 1331.

I use voice to text to reply. “See you soon. Yeah, that shit’s not gonna work. Well, hell, maybe it will. Unicorn emoji. If that reads wrong, forgive me. I’m using speech to text while driving in bumper-to-bumper traffic, rambling on like a moron.”

A horn blasts behind me. “Fuck it. Full send.”

5

Ouch!

Jillian

The fact it was nine p.m. when I got to my room was enough of a delay in the game, so to speak. But now, my eyes are burning from the shampoo I got in them, and no amount of rinsing has lessened the effect.

Blinking, I lean closer to the mirror to get a better look. “I hope to hell my hair and makeup look decent, not that I can see them. Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

My phone sounds off with a notification, and I blink rapidly as I look at the screen, hoping that minimizes the pain. It doesn’t.

I tap the notification and the messages while leaning in to read it. When a voice comes from somewhere, I jump back and …

“Noooo,” I cry as I slip on the wet floor, ending up on my ass—hard. “Shit, shit, shit.”

I push up and slip again, missing everything he said but “fuck it. Full send.”

Eyes burning, vision fucked, ass aching, I know I should call this off, except his voice, deep and calm, a little bit commanding, I know I’ve picked the perfect hookup.

Eyes now hot because I’m super freaking frustrated and not in the head space I need to be in, I wipe away tears while leaning in.

“Oh my God, seriously?” I feel myself begin to spiral when I notice the mascara running down my face.

For a good ten seconds, I consider using the card Rome gave me for emergencies to get an Uber and head back to Jersey. There, I could hole up in the RV, eat my way through dubious amounts of those damn gummy nerds that CeCe has me hooked on, and binge-watch shitty reality shows, like Real Housewives of Any-F’ing-Where But Here.

I smack reflection, I think. “Get your head in the game, Hart. You fucking got this.”

Within ten minutes, I’ve turned on the fake dollar store candles I bought, unscrewed lightbulbs on the bedside tables and desk, shoved drenched towels, clothes, and bags in the tiny hotel closet, and am ready to crash for a few minutes and rest my eyes when there is a knock on the door.

Taking in a deep breath then exhaling slowly, I step to the door, turn the knob, and open it, making sure to step back so he doesn’t get the full effect of my devil eyes.

He’s tall, dark, and blurry, not that I could see his face behind the flowers he’s holding out.

“They’re beautiful. You shouldn’t have.” I hold my hand out then pretend to smell them, but only so I can close my damn eyes.

“I …” He pauses, no doubt trying to figure out how to address the literal unicorn in the room. “You take the prize.”

I walk over to set the flowers on the entertainment console. Then I turn and look over my shoulder. “Are you coming in, or …?” I leave it hanging but keep the flow going before he decides to run away, which he might, and I couldn’t even be mad.

I must look like a lunatic with this damn unicorn mask on, but a girl has to do what a girl has to do. Which is why I am now pushing the hotel robe from my shoulders and shrugging it off.

“Fucking dream,” he groans.

Groans.

It’s incredibly hot. How hot? Hotter than ninety-eight point six degrees because I have goosebumps covering my skin.

Goosies.

My heart rate increases, my core is getting hot, my clit tingles, and my nipples are hardening. Burning eyes and blurred vision be damned. It’s no longer just determination driving this sin train; it’s desire.

I walk to the edge of the bed, bare except for the red bottoms, and bend down, ass pointed in his direction, not bending my knees so he gets a nice view of one of my best assets, even in this damn close to dark room, to remove the shoes.

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