Page 122 of The Golden Boys

A bucket of ice sits on the dresser. Beside it, a stack of red, plastic cups and a cluster of empty beer bottles. How they smuggled this stuff in here without getting caught, I’ll never know, but I would imagine this group has plenty of experience with such things.

But anyway, I’m not here for any of this.

While I showered, I decided Joss is right. If I’m going to move on, if I’ll ever have any measure of peace where West and I are concerned, a conversation is one-hundred percent necessary. No more of this BS with him not stating clearly what I’ve done to warrant his hatred. I’m not expecting it to go well, but I’m sick of this.Allof it. Either we fix things and move forward—whatever that means for two people like us, the broken. Or, we burn the bridge that connects us.

And when I say burn it, I mean we burn that bitch down to the studs.

“You came!”

Joss is clearly a little tipsy, which accounts for the overly enthusiastic greeting. I’ll take it, though. At leastsomeone’shappy to see me. She hops off the chair she’s seated in and squeezes me around my neck like we’re old friends.

“Yeah, guess I had a change of heart.”

I leave out the part about how Scar and Jules pretty much threatened me.

Joss backs off a bit, but apparently notices how my eyes dart around. Doesn’t take her long to figure out who I’m searching for.

“Last time I saw him he was headed back to his room,” she whispers with a smile.

“Alone?” I ask, feeling my heart race with the question.

“Far as I know,” she adds with a shrug. “Room 271.”

I appreciate the fact that, even drunk, she’s still discreet.

I offer the best smile I can give. “Thank you.”

She nods and staggers back into her seat, picking up whatever conversation she was having before spotting me a moment ago.

Seeing as how I didn’t want to come here in the first place, I’m beyond eager to leave. And, no, not because I’m in a rush to confront King Midas. Actually, it’s the opposite. My ego is still wounded from being ignored before and during the bus ride and, again, since settling into the hotel. We’ve been here for hours and he hasn’t stopped by my room to say a single word.

If his goal has been to make me feel iced out, mission accomplished.

Was it ever even real, though? What I thought he’d begun to feel? Or is he just like all the other guys—horny and heartless?

I’m a little embarrassed I’m even asking myself these questions. Of course, he’s like the rest. Actually, he’s worse.

The walk to his door is a relatively short one. Just a trip down the hall and around the corner from Trip’s room. But the spaces between these are notably bigger. Doesn’t take long to realize the difference is that the rooms downthishallway are suites. Already frustrated, this discovery only adds to my disgust with this guy.

Couldn’t even slum it in a regular room like the rest of us for one weekend?

My hand lingers in the air, and then I just do it. I knock. Then, I fix my clothes, because despite every ugly thing he’s done, and every terrible thing he’s said, I still care what he thinks of me.

Damn him.

I hear his heavy steps padding toward the door, and then there’s a pause. I imagine that he’s looking through the peephole, realizing it’s me. For a moment, he seems to hesitate to turn the lock, but then he does, and despite thinking I was ready for this, it’s a completely different story as we stand face-to-face.

Chapter 38

BLUE

The room behind him is dark and he squints to adjust to the light from the hallway. He’s shirtless, his hair’s disheveled, and a pair of black sweats ride low on his hips. And, based on the unobstructed outline of his dick through the fabric, he’s not wearing anything underneath them.

Focus, stupid.

“I didn’t mean to wake you, but—”

“I wasn’t asleep.” His tone is deep and cold, confirming what I already believed.

---