Page 20 of Beyond the Fame

“Shut the fuck up,” I hiss at him. “And we have kissed, you idiot.”

“Oh, yeah, the car.” He smiles as if remembering every hot detail. “Let me kiss you again, Becky.”

“In your dreams.”

“We do kiss in my dreams,” he says, then to himself he not-so-quietly adds, “we do a lot more than kissing.”

My heart flutters at his words, but I ignore the traitorous bitch. She has no idea what she wants. Besides, he’s clearly drunk, and the booze is making him talk nonsense.

I chug down my drink and stand.

“I’m leaving.” I wave at Bruno, Ginger, and Eloise, not wanting to interrupt their conversation. They wave back and I'm high tailing it out of there before Jensen can keep confessing things my body wants to hear but my brain can’t comprehend.

Once inside the elevator with four other resort guests, I lean back against the wall and let out a long breath, relieved to be away from that man. As the doors close, I see Jensen’s face appear between the cracks.

Was he chasing after me?

I exit on the ninth floor and try not to trip over my feet as I walk to the room. I probably shouldn’t have had that last glass of wine. Right before I tap the card to let myself in, I hear a loud thud on my right. I turn my head to find a wasted Jensen face down on the cemented floor of the open-air hallway, steps away from our door.

He rolls over, breathing hard. He must have been running to catch up with me. His face is red and there is a line of sweat beaded along his forehead.

I cannot with him.

I walk to where he’s lying and hold out my hand. “Come on.”

He accepts my offered help and nearly topples me over.

“You gotta help me out, big guy.”

“Don’t call me big guy,” he slurs.

Yeah, I wasn’t talking about his body, but I can’t tell him I said that because of his massive dick.

Finally, after a few false starts, Jensen is standing on both feet. I peel my hand away and notice blood on my palm.

“What the hell?” I grab Jensen’s right hand and turn it over. “You’re bleeding.”

“I fell.” He pouts and points at his left knee, which is also scraped and bloody. “It hurt.”

He shoves his palm in my face.

“Will you kiss it and make it better?”

I smack it away and take hold of his wrist, dragging him behind me to our room.

Our room.

I hate how much I love the sound of that.

I take him into his bathroom—holy shit, this is nice—and sit him on the toilet. “Be a good boy and stay.”

He scoffs at my words but doesn’t complain as I walk away and search for a first aid kit. I've never seen one in a hotel room, likely only available if I go downstairs and ask the front desk clerk. Good thing I have a little kit in my purse. My clumsy ass has needed a Band-Aid after slicing my finger on God knows what far too many times.

I bring the kit—which holds a few Band-Aids, antiseptic wipes, and healing ointment—back into the bathroom, where I find Jensen hunched over with his eyes closed.

The moment I place his right hand in mine to clean it, his head jolts up.

“What are you doing?” He tries to jerk his hand away.

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