Page 47 of All Your Pucking Secrets

Her expression is kinder than I deserve. “I understand. I might get frustrated sometimes, but I know why it has to be this way.”

Her tolerance only makes me feel worse. I wish she’d rail against me and tell me off for treating her like a dirty secret, but instead, she rewards my cowardly denial of our relationship with never-ending empathy.

Echo Dean is one-hundred percent a better person than me. If she’d put me in the same position, I can’t be sure I wouldn’t do something to force her to admit the truth.

“You’re sure?” I ask again.

She rolls her eyes. “Come on, Ty. Let’s go.”

She gets out of the car, slings her bag over her shoulder, and I meet her beside the flatbed. We walk side by side toward the hotel, our hands brushing, but I don’t wrap my arm around her the way I’d like to.

Coward.

The glass doors slide open as we approach and we step inside and stop in front of the desk, which is only a few feet from the doors. I guide Echo partially behind me, so the clerk won’t get a good look at her.

“Do you have a booking?” the clerk asked, their tone bored.

I hide my smirk. He’s barely paying attention. Good.

“Yes. For Johnson.”

He pulls out a book, flips through the pages, and makes a note. “Got it. You prepaid so no need to worry about that.” He opens a drawer and digs around, eventually emerging with a wooden keyring that had the number 102 stamped onto the side. He passed it to me. “You’re room 102. Down the hall to the left.”

“Thanks.”

I palm the key and cross the foyer, heading to the left and keeping myself between the clerk and Echo as much as possible. Hockey is big in Charlesville, so I’m reasonably confident he probably recognized me—even if he didn’t call me out on using a fake name. It’s less likely he knows who Echo is, and I’d like to keep it that way.

We’re silent as we walk to room 102. I stop outside and unlock the door, wondering briefly if the hotel owner knows how out-of-date it is to have actual keys rather than key cards. I reach inside and switch on the light. Echo brushes past me, smelling deliciously of strawberries, and dumps her bag beside the bed.

I look around, taking stock of the place. It’s a little clinical, with white walls, a white bedspread, and gray carpet. I suppose at least the white bedspread isn’t stained. The pillows and sheets are also white. If the light weren’t so dim, I might feel the urge to put on sunglasses to protect my eyes from the glare.

The bedroom isn’t the reason I booked this room though—although the fact the bed is king-sized doesn’t hurt. No, the thing that tempted me to bring Echo here for our first time is through the door to our right.

I open the door to show Echo, and she gasps with delight. In the back corner of the bathroom is a massive spa bath with heaps of buttons and dials.

“I thought you might like that,” I say.

She flies into my arms and kisses me. “I love it. We don’t have a bath at home. Can we use it?”

“Absolutely.” I reach into my pocket and pull out the travel-sized container of bubble bath I slipped in there earlier. “I even brought this.”

She beams, the gold flecks in her eyes shining happily. “You are the best.”

My chest tightens. Sometimes I wish it were more difficult to please her. It makes me feel like an ass that she takes so much joy in little things when there are so many big things I’m not giving her.

I want to do more than take from her, but the situation makes it challenging to give back the way I should.

I kiss her, then step away to start the bathtub filling. It takes a few minutes, but I figure out how to start the jets and turn on the underwater lights, which flash purple and blue. I empty the bubble bath into the water bit by bit, waiting a little after each addition to make sure the bubbles don’t go crazy and flood the room.

The last thing I need is to cause a scene.

Nearer to the doorway, Echo strips off her sweater to reveal a low cut short-sleeved blouse beneath. It isn’t designer, but it looks good on her, showing off the slight swell of her breasts and emphasizing the slimness of her waist.

“You’re beautiful,” I tell her.

She blushes. “You haven’t even seen all of me yet.”

“But I know you’re beautiful anyway.” She could be scarred from head to toe and she’d be the most stunning person I’ve ever laid eyes on. Her beauty is on the inside, and it shines brightly from every part of her.

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