Page 32 of The Accidental Honeymoon

“Right.” The elevator doors open before I have to figure out what to say next. We step into a hallway that’s just as over-the-top as the lobby. Lasso-shaped light fixtures hang from the ceiling. The walls are lined with paintings of cowboys and Native Americans that look like they came straight out of a discount art store.

When we reach the door marked “Honeymoon Suite,” I swipe the keycard and push the door open. The sight that greets us is… a lot. A massive heart-shaped bed with a wagon wheel headboard dominates the room, covered in a quilt that’s an eye-searing mix of turquoise and coral. A stuffed bison head hangs on the wall, its glassy eyes glaring down at us like we’ve just invaded its territory.

I run a hand through my hair. “It’s… something,” I say, trying not to laugh.

Calla lets out a short, sharp bark of laughter. It’s unexpected. For a moment, I see something shift in her expression. “It’s hideous,” she announces, shaking her head.

I grin. “Memorable, though. You’ve got to give it that.”

She rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue. Instead, she moves toward the window and pulls back the curtains, revealing a view of the hotel’s indoor pool. It’s shaped like a giant horseshoe, complete with a bronze statue of a bucking bronco in the center.

“Should we just bite the bullet and go check out the pool? It’s empty right now,” I venture.

Calla shakes her head but she is smiling. “If it will make you happy, I’ll follow you anywhere. Well, anywhere I can get on a tank of gas, at least.”

“Wow. That’s a lot of trust. I’ll try to live up to it.” He grins. “Get your bathing suit on.”

We stumble back into the room, dripping wet and laughing like idiots. Calla’s hair is a tangled mess. The towel slung over my shoulder is doing nothing to soak up the water running down my back. That hot tub session turned into a splash war real fast, leaving us soaked but somehow grinning like kids.

Plus, Calla in a bikini is an absolute stunner. The entire time we were getting comfortable in the hot tub, I had to desperately try not to stare at her breasts. It was as tense as disarming a missile.

"I can’t believe you," she says, still catching her breath. "You’re like a giant, clumsy puppy."

I rake a hand through my wet hair, flicking droplets onto the walls. "Admit it, you had fun."

Her lips quirk up, even though she’s trying to play it cool. "It was exquisite," she says.

We stand there for a second, the laughter dying down asthe silence stretches. My gaze flicks to the heart-shaped bed in the center of the room. Calla notices me noticing. She shifts on her feet, crossing her arms.

"So," I say, breaking the awkward pause. "How do you want to do this?"

She raises an eyebrow. "Do what?"

"Sleep. Er, the sleeping arrangements."

She bites her lower lip, thinking. "I can take the floor. There are plenty of blankets and pillows."

I shake my head. "Don’t be ridiculous. We can share the bed. It’s big enough."

"Is it?" she shoots back. Her tone is teasing, but her expression mildly wary.

"We’re adults. We can put a pillow barrier down the middle if that makes you feel better."

She studies me, clearly weighing her options. I can tell she’s torn. But eventually, she sighs. "Fine. But no cuddling."

I laugh at that. "I’ll try to resist your gravitational pull."

We grab dry clothes. Calla disappears into the bathroom while I change as quickly as possible. I slide onto my side of the bed, propping myself up on an elbow. I’ve traded my usual polished look for a pair of plaid pajama bottoms, which feels weirdly casual in front of her.

Calla emerges, clutching a pillow like it’s a shield. She walks to the bed slowly, almost like she’s approaching a wild animal, and eases herself onto the heart-shaped mattress. She places the pillow down in the middle like a fortress wall.

That’s when I see that she’s wearing a silky black teddy. God damn, she is hotter than molten fire. My jaw drops and it takes me a solid three seconds to roll my tongue back in my mouth.

For the most part, I’ve only dated Instagram girlies likeBlake. She was a fitness freak like me and stick-skinny to boot. But Calla makes a very persuasive argument for a fuller figure being the sexiest of the body types. Big tits, nipped-in waist, and a shapely ass that looks amazing wrapped in black silk. One glance at her and I can physically feel my preference shifting to… well…her.

“So, uh….” Calla sits down on the bed, pulling another pillow in front of her body. I hate that pillow. I want to look at my fill. We don’t always get what we want, though.

"Ready for bed?” I ask.

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