Page 5 of Hating the Book Boyfriend

She scoots back and leans up onto her elbows. "Wrong. I'm here now, and I have no plans of leaving."

"I'll call security."

Her golden brown eyes hold mine in a war of wills. She's always been able to crawl under my skin and seep into my veins. It's been at least a decade since I've seen her, and it would appear that hasn't changed.

"I'm calling your bluff. You can hate me all you want, but you owe me."

I snap my head back incredulously. "Owe you? I don't owe you anything." I'm a lawyer. It's literally my job to settle debts. But I know for sure I owe her nothing.

"The way I see it, if you hadn't barged in on my date at the bar last night, I wouldn't be in your room now. I'd be in his."

The way those words make my pulse quicken, and my palms sweat only makes my anger rise. I drop her gaze and head toward the desk by the window to empty my pockets and disengage, hating how her words make me react. "I was only doing what your brother would have done were he here. That guy didn't deserve to breathe the same air as you. If anything, I did you a favor. You deserve better than that guy."

"Better than that guy? You act like I was talking to a bum. He was nice, and?—"

"And only looking for one thing." I cut her off, my tone harsher than intended. "We both know that guy last night is nothing you want. He's a quick fix, something to fill the void, but in the morning, you'll go back to feeling numb after the high of sealing the deal and landing the guy is over."

"That sounded like projection."

I stop at the door to the bathroom. "And your response sounds like deflection. The girl I once knew carried a sketch pad, constantly drawing pictures of couples and scenes, only to sit and stare at them for hours. I asked her once why she did that…" My eyes connect with hers, and lips I shouldn't be thinking twice about, slightly part. "She said she was dreaming." Her forehead pinches as though the memory was long forgotten until now. "I doubt that girl spent hours dreaming about the one-night stand she'd meet at the bar and never see again." She pulls in a stuttered breath and drops her eyes to the bed. "I'm taking a shower. You have tonight. Tomorrow, you're out, and the only place I'll be sleeping tonight is in that bed, Posey. So I suggest you find a way to make that office chair comfortable.” I close the door and draw in what feels like the first breath I've dared to take since being in the same room with her.

"Get it together, Colton. This isn't you," I remind myself. I haven't been me for months. It's why I'm on sabbatical, to begin with. I turn the water on, scalding. I showered less than an hour ago, but now I need another. Her scent attached to the fibers of my clothes and seeped into my pores and that's one more lure I don't need. I'm already weak. I don't need a tempting little devil sitting on my shoulder. I can't afford to slip, not with her.

Along groan followed by a wince pulls me from the sleep I must have drifted into after lying awake staring at the ceiling for hours after Josephine fell asleep at the desk chair last night. When I finally hauled myself out of the bathroom, I found her at the desk with noise-canceling headphones on, typing away on her computer. I didn't bother telling her I was leaving. I didn't need her following me to the bar, not that she would have, but I didn't want to risk it. The less we talk, the better. I just needed to get through the night, and I did. I didn't come back to the room until well after 11 p.m., and that was when I found her slumped over the desk, fast asleep in the same spot I'd left her that afternoon. But that's not where she's at now. Now she's on the floor.

I reach for my phone. "It's 5 a.m.. Please be quiet as you see yourself out. I gave you the night. Your time is up." I reach for a pillow and cover my head so I don't smell, hear, or see her. Seeing Josephine Estes first thing in the morning is the last thing I need to be imprinted on any part of my mind.

"Colton…" She uses my first name, the first clue that something is a miss, the second being the tremble in her tone. "I can't move."

I clench my jaw, pinch my eyes closed, and squeeze the pillow hard before tossing it across the room in the opposite direction. I roll to the side of the bed only to hop off the second I see a tear slide down her cheek.

"Fuck, Posey. What's wrong?" I thought this may have been another one of her ruses to help herself to my room, but I now know that's not the case. Josephine Estes is one of the strongest women I've ever known. She doesn't cry. Even when tears are warranted, she's a rock, never showing weakness.

She shakes her head from side to side. "It's my back. I thought the pillows would be okay, but I rolled off them. I just need you to help me to the bathroom, or if that's too much can you call room service for an ice pack?"

"Are you kidding me? It's not too much. I'm not heartless. A prick? That's a different story." I know what she thinks of me. I've always known. What she doesn't know is I've intentionally penciled myself into that box. Josephine Estes doesn't get another version of me. "What do you want me to do? Tell me what to do," I lick my bottom lip as I examine her body. Her limbs are stiff, and her fists are clenched as another tear falls.

"Can you bring me my bag?"

My head darts up as I look around the room. It's by her suitcases. I reach it in two strides before returning to her side. She pinches her lips and slowly tries to move her arm.

I grind my teeth. I can't stand seeing her like this. "Tell me, and I'll get it for you." She closes her eyes, and I know it's because I'm the last person she wants to help her right now. What's more, I hate that I'm this guy. "Tell me," I try again, forcing comfort into my tone.

She nods. "Inside, there's a cream-colored pouch." I instantly start digging while she talks. "There is a prescription bottle and ibuprofen in there. I need three ibuprofen and one prescription pill."

I rifle through, finding both, eyeing the name of the prescription, diazepam. My anxiety wrenches down a notch. I'm familiar with prescription medications. They are constantly being used in court as a defense. Inexperienced lawyers do their best to justify their client's bad behavior, claiming they were under the influence. That's how I know this is a muscle relaxer. I quickly look for a drink and find a water bottle on the desk behind her. I grab it and ask, "Do you want me to help you sit up so you can take these?"

"Yes," she answers softly. "Slow, please."

"Of course." As if I'd be anything but gentle. I bend down and slowly slide my arm under her back, hyper-focused on ensuring I don't fuck up and cause her any more pain. Her eyes close, but her eyebrows pinch together as I slowly begin to lift. "Does this hurt?"

"Yes," she grinds out. "Don't stop. It can't get better until I take the pills." I lean her against the bed, scared to do more when all I really want to do is lay her on top of it. I hate that she slept on this floor because of me. She's in pain because of me. Her fists are still balled up in her lap when she asks. "Can you put the pills in my mouth?"

"All of them?"

"Yes, I can handle all of them." Her mouth opens, and I delicately place the pills on her tongue before bringing the bottle of water to her lips. She drinks it, finishing the half bottle in a few large gulps. When I pull the bottle away, a little water trickles from the corner of her mouth. My thumb instinctively wipes it away before my brain can think better of it. Her caramel eyes connect with mine, the gold flecks in them easily bewitching me for seconds longer than I should ever hold her gaze. The instant I think she sees someone other than the man I've always been, I avert my eyes.

"Sorry, you had a little water on your chin." I stand, putting distance between us. "You mentioned the bathroom…" Shit, I stop myself. I am not helping her use the restroom. Hard limit. I'll call a female concierge or something.

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