Page 14 of When Hairy Met Stella

He didn’t reach for them. Doing so meant he was accepting this breaking news. And he most certainly wasn’t doing that. Denial was his middle name. “There have to be other rooms available. You said Marcie and her husband backed out, right? We can just get that room back.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” the man behind the counter said, adding his name to the list that also included Lucy’s and Eric’s. “With the autumn festival this week, we’re all booked up. Your otherparty’s room was probably filled before your friend got off the phone to cancel.”

Wonderful.

A family walked by, pushing a luggage cart so full it defied the laws of physics—especially when the youngest child hopped on the top for a ride. Maybe Eric could see if they’d share some space in their room. The kid hanging off the cart looked like someone who might like to spend a weekend with a werewolf as a roommate.

“What about bunking up with you guys?” He looked at Eric and Lucy. “I could stay with my brother and?—”

Eric shook his head. “No way, bro. Lucy got us the penthouse suite—two bedrooms, one giant tub. It’s part of the package with having our wedding here…right, honey?”

“Oh, yes. It’s lodge policy. Our name is on the room, so we…we have to stay in that room.” Yeah, Lucy’s lip was definitely quivering. Very convincing. But he let it go. It was their big week. They deserved to stay in the luxurious space with all its extra amenities.

His eyes moved to the other end of the lobby where the other two couples sat snuggled on the couches next to the roaring fireplace. He wasn’t about to ask any of them to switch, not when they looked like they needed the jaws of life to separate.

“Well, that’s that.” He snatched the two keycards from his brother’s hand. “Guess this one’s for you…roomie.”

She slipped the card out of his hand and tucked it into her purse.

Nate’s eyes looked her over, ignoring her tight jeans and the slouchy sweater that barely met the top of said jeans, looking for some indication that she was as frustrated about this whole situation as he was. “You’re being awfully quiet. I’m sure you’re not happy about this either.”

She shrugged. “You heard the man. This place is at capacity. What else can we do?”

He grunted and pulled his duffel bag over his shoulder. She was right. What else could they do? All that was left was to go to the room and check out the one bed in it. Probably had rose petals in the shape of a heart, champagne, candles, the whole nine freaking yards. That was what usually happened in these situations, right? At least, that was what had happened in the only romance book his brother had ever gotten him to read. That was fiction, of course. Those kinds of things didn’t happen in real life—he hoped, anyway.

He looked at Stella, her long blonde hair flowing down her back, a stark contrast to her dark sweater. Suddenly, he imagined her hair fanned out around her in bed.Theirbed. He swallowed. Hard. Taking a breath so deep he’d probably sucked in half the oxygen in the lobby, he willed himself to settle. This was so…not like him. Aside from the times he shifted, he always could control himself. And yet, the prospect of sharing a room with Stella…her being the last thing he saw before he slept and the first thing he saw when he woke…it was suddenly too much.

“Goldfish?” Stella said, bringing him back to the present moment and away from thoughts of what she wore when she went to bed.

“In the fountain? I don’t think there are any fish in that.”

“No.” She shook her head and held up a bag of the cheddar-flavored snack. “You look a little…pale? Maybe you need something to eat.” She reached for his hand, pulling his fingers out of his tightly clenched fist. The second the pads of her fingers made contact with his skin, a zap so intense traveled through his body. If he’d been in his werewolf form, every hair on his body would have stuck up on end.

“Thanks,” he croaked, unable to force enough air through his mouth to not sound like an amphibian. “These are perfect.”

She tucked the half empty pouch in her purse. “That’s why I keep them around.”

He popped one in his mouth. She was right that he was hungry—more like he was hungry for something to think about besides his living situation for the next few days. Goldfish crackers to the rescue. “You keep these for hunger emergencies?”

“Nope. Just for you.”

His head snapped in her direction. “For me?”

“Yeah. I started keeping them at the salon for you because you get a little…somethingwhen you’re hungry.”

He thought about the giant glass bowl of the snack-sized bags that appeared one day on the receptionist’s desk at the salon. He’d never given much thought to where it came from or who kept refilling it. Although, he was pretty sure he was the only one who ever ate any. But hunger was one of the things that made him shift. She couldn’t have known that, right?

“You noticed that?”

“I notice everything about you.”

Nate froze. What exactly had she noticed? That he’d stared at her more times than he cared to admit, unable to make himself stop? That if he didn’t eat regularly, he started to shift? That he wasn’t like the other people in town, because he wasn’tpeopleat all?

He bent to grab her luggage—and to avoid eye contact—at the same time she did. This time when their hands touched, he pulled back like he’d been burnt. Because he had once, hadn’t he? He’d acted on his feelings, and he’d paid dearly for it. He brought his hand to his chest, and he swore he could still feel the pain there as real and alive as the heart that pounded beneath his palm.

They walked to the elevator, his feet becoming less steady with each step he took. His only hope was that this timetogether, in such close proximity, would work in his favor. Maybe it would make her less appealing to him. With any luck, she snored louder than a garbage truck. He prayed she was super messy and would leave her clothes thrown about the room. Like shirts strewn across the bed, pants on the floor. As long as she didn’t leave her under…things lying about, everything was going to be fine.

He swallowed once. Twice. The thought of her under-anythings had him wanting to run back to the lobby to stick his whole head in that fountain. Or maybe he’d just go back to the lobby and stay. They had couches there. Maybe he could set up camp there.

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