Page 90 of The Chance

Peach snorts and guides the car into the hotel parking lot. “Sure is. But keep lying to me.”

He parks and kills the engine, turning to me in his seat instead of scanning the surroundings and I huff. “Aren’t you supposed to do bodyguard shit?”

“Sixteen cars in the lot, a couple sneaking into the side entrance that probably have a key and are staying here but drank a little much judging by her laugh, and an empty bus under the overhang. Red sedan has someone smoking inside,” he says without breaking his sight from mine. I blink, then turn to see the couple laughing as they stumble through the glass door. The bus. The red car with a window cracked and a lit cherry flaring red. I don’t count the cars, but I trust that there’s as many as he suggested.

“Shit, Peach.”

“Thanks,” he mutters smugly and props his elbow on the back of his seat. “Now lie to me again.”

Groaning, I roll my eyes. “There’s nothing I can tell you.”

He hums. “Acceptable answer.”

With a pat on my shoulder, he grabs the handle and clamors out of the car. I follow close behind as he leads me inside and up to the floor that As Above has for the next few days. It takes a second tap of the key card to let us off the elevator and another to open my door, but then he’s rushing back out of the suite and I’m left standing in the living space between the two bedrooms all alone.

Now that I’m here, I don’t know what to do with myself.

My hand goes to the back of my neck as I take in the white walls and tan couch. The TV boasting the hotel’s in-room features on a continuous scroll. There’s a balcony beyond the French doors on the opposite side of the room, but I honestly don’t trust myself to be out there.

A closed door to the room I’m using.

Kitchenette with a stocked minibar including snacks.

I step closer when it beckons me, something seemingly misplaced atop the small fridge.

My brow furrows over the mixed nuts and pretzel bags still in place where they were when I looked this afternoon.

Wasn’t there a pack of Skittles?

Shaking myself, I slip my drumsticks from my back pocket and twirl them between my fingers as a distraction when I force myself to step away.

“Probably Rex stealing my shit,” I say under my breath as I cross the room. My plan of showering off this day before collapsing in bed sounds better with each step.

But when I push open my bedroom door, my entire body locks up on the spot.

A warmth crackles in my chest only seconds before it’s taken over by a red-hot rage that makes my fingers tingle and my spine snap straight.

“Jordan?”

“Hey, Vida.”

Chapter Fifty-Six

Jordan

He’s staring at me.

Mouth working.

Muscles taut.

Face contorting as every emotion slides over his features.

A weariness makes his movements hesitant as he takes one step into the room and then just stands there gawking through the haze of black that’s around his eyes and on his hands.

He can wear all the black in the world. Smudge his eyes in the darkest colors. Paint his goddamn nails with ink.

Yet none of that does anything to snub out the lightness of him.

---