Page 46 of Grumpy Puck

I blow out a breath.“You just said maybe it’s for the best that?—”

“And it is.We should only do things like that when someone is watching.Otherwise, what’s the point?”

“I fucking concur.”Nearly breaking the limo door, I get out and then let my frustration out by snapping at the limo driver and the porter who try to help with Calliope’s suitcase.

The fucking media people are here, taking pictures as I carry said suitcase inside.

“Is this why you insist on carrying my stuff?”she asks as we step into the hotel.“For the pictures?”

“Yeah,” I grit out.“I can only do something nice in a cold-hearted, calculated manner.”

“Please.You’re not doing it as a nice gesture.It’s just macho posturing.”

I decide to be the adult and not reply, which may be the hardest thing I’ve ever done.Instead, I stride over to the nearest concierge, make sure the rat carrier is not in her sight, and give her our names.

“Ah, right.”She grins conspiratorially.“We know who the two of you are, so we upgraded your room.”She hands me and Calliope two passkeys and explains how to get to the room in question.“I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.”She accompanies the last two words with a slight waggle of her drawn-on-with-pencil eyebrows.

Fuck.Until now, I’ve tried to put the fact that we’re sharing a room out of my mind, but the concierge’s insinuation—or whatever that was—brings me back to the reality of this situation.

We’re going to be breathing the same air.Calliope is going to be in the same shower as?—

“Excuse me?”Calliope snaps.“Why did you say ‘enjoy it’ like that?”

The concierge turns beet red.“Because you’re going to have an amazing view?And the?—”

“Don’t bother.”Calliope heads for the elevator without waiting to see if I will follow, and I have to sprint to make it before the doors close.

“Stupid ‘close door’ button doesn’t work,” Calliope mutters, seemingly to Wolfgang.

“Very mature,” I reply.

Calliope huffs, and we ride to the top floor in silence.A silence that’s maintained all the way to the ornate door of our room.

It’s not until we step inside that we resume talking—assuming a stream of curses qualifies as such.

“They gave us a honeymoon suite,” Calliope says after she runs out of cuss words.Since she speaks only one language, her vocabulary is much more limited in this regard than mine.

I glare at the giant four-poster bed covered in rose petals.“There had better be another place for one of us to sleep.”

Her eyes widen, and she runs toward a nearby door.

“That’s a bathroom,” she says and checks the other door.“And that’s a closet.”

“So… just one fucking bed?”Given the size of the suite, there could have been another bed in here, but someone put in a useless open dining area instead.There’s also a jacuzzi, but sleeping in one is a drowning risk.

“Screw that.”She rushes out of the room and back into the elevator, again so fast it’s an effort to keep up.

Marching over to the same concierge, she demands we get the original room that was booked for us.

“But why?”The concierge stares at us in confusion.“Your new room is the best one we’ve got.”

“Because she said so,” I growl.

The concierge blanches.“I’m sorry.Your original room is no longer available.”

“Fine.Give us another room—with two separate beds,” Calliope demands.“Or two rooms.”

The concierge takes a step back.“I’m sorry.We’re the closest hotel to the stadium, and with the game coming up, there are no rooms available.”

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