Page 47 of Pulled Away

“That’s fine. I’ll take it.” Even if I’ll be paying the damn thing off for the next year.

Fuming, I ignore Hadley’s exclamations of how pretty everything is as we walk to our room. The one we will be sharing for two nights.

Walking inside, I give the big king-sized bed a dirty look which has Hadley rolling her eyes.

“I can’t see how this is different,” she mutters, rolling her suitcase to the corner.

“Seriously?” I look at her like she’s lost her mind. “Aspen will be furious when she finds out we’ll be sharing a room. And she’ll have a right to.”

“She knows we’re just friends.”

“That’s not the point, Hadley, and you know it. I will be sharing a bed with another woman.”

“Then we just don’t tell her. It’s only two nights.”

I stop dead in my tracks and turn to her. “You want me to lie to Aspen?”

“No, not lie. Just don’t tell her.”

An oily feeling slithers through me. “That’s the same thing.” I learned that the hard way.

“It’s not! Damn, Ryan. Why create drama because of an honest mix-up? Can’t we just enjoy our holiday? Look, let’s not fight. We’re tired and crabby from the long flight. Let’s just get cleaned up and get something to eat. We’ll both feel better.”

Nodding, I sink on the bed—the one I’ll be sharing with Hadley—and drop my head in my hands. Everything’s a mess.

The shower comes on in the bathroom, and I breathe a sigh of relief. Hadley’s been a constant by my side since we’ve left, and it’s felt cloying. It’s not at all how I thought I would feel. Besides the issues with her parents, things between Hadley and I have always been easy and free from drama.

It was why I married her. I thought that was how a relationship was supposed to be. But it wasn’t long before I started feeling that something was missing. Our relationship was easy. Hadley was always happy to fall in line with my plans. My feelings. My wants. There was never pushback from her side.

And it bothered me. I wasn’t sure why until I realized it was because it was too easy. There was no spark. No passion. I was happy that she was there, but I didn’t crave her. She didn’t make me feel as if I couldn’t breathe without her. And I wanted that. That’s when I knew I’d made a mistake and when I sat down and had a talk with her; it was once again easy. She didn’t fight for our marriage, and our divorce was easy and painless, just like our relationship. We easily slid back into our role as friends, and we were both happy.

And then I met Aspen, and she was all the things I wanted and more. I loved the way she called me on my shit. I loved the way she moaned when I was inside her, her voice, damn her whole body on fire for me, leaving me no doubt that she craved me the same way I craved her. There isn’t anything about her I don’t love. And now I have to call her and tell her I’m sharing a bed with another woman, because there’s no way I’m lying to her about it, even by omission. No matter how platonic it is, it’s wrong and I’ll shoulder her anger and disappointment because it would be justified.

Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I take a deep breath and dial her number. “Fuck, I hope she answers,” I mutter while running my hand through my hair. At this point, all the anger in the world would be worth just hearing her voice. Just before it goes to voicemail, the ringing stops, but it stays silent.

“Aspen?”

There’s a beat of silence before her voice comes down the line. “Hey.”

“I’m so glad you answered,” I rush out, my body sagging. Damn, just hearing her voice has me feeling better. “I’ve been worried.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. I’ve been a bit busy.”

Busy doing what? “We’re at the resort,” I whisper. “I miss you.”

“Great.” Great? That’s all she’s going to say?

“I miss you,” I repeat, everything inside me willing her to say it back because I need to hear it. I need the reassurance that we’re okay.

“Here we go.” I hear a voice in the background.

“Thanks, Piper.” She’s with Piper, so at least she’s not alone.

There’s a bit of fumbling, and then I hear Piper’s voice again, asking if she wants another one.

“Where are you?” I ask, feeling like she’s forgotten I’m on the phone with her.

There’s a long pause before she answers. “At…home. We’re doing tequila shots,” she mumbles, and I wince. Things must be bad if she’s drinking tequila.

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