Page 42 of Spinning Out Of Control

“It wasn’t romantic. I’m not supposed to like him.”

“Do you hear yourself, Keeks?” Rachel asks, rolling her eyes. “You’ve been saying for weeks that you don’t like Warren. Now you’re saying you’re notsupposedto like him, which means that you do. Stop fighting yourself, babe. There’s chemistry between the two of you. It wouldn’t kill you to explore it.”

It could, though. I’ve been down this road before. I might have been younger and naïve as hell, but I lost a piece of myself when Jonathan betrayed me. I let him take pieces of me every time we slept together. Every time I shared an idea or a dream, he got another piece of me, and he used those pieces against me. Warren already has my job. I don’t know if I have it in me to risk giving him my heart, too.

I say goodbye to my friends, letting them loose to their own loves with promises of drinks and spa days when I return hanging in the air. I hit the volume button on the remote, letting the sound of Julia Roberts and Richard Grere finding their happily ever after on the television screen provide the soundtrack to the echoes in my mind.

Leaning back against the headboard, I pull my knees into my chest. Now that I’m alone, I can feel the beginning of the adrenaline crash start to simmer in my chest. From the lunch meeting to the punch to the altercation with Jonathan, not to mention the almost kiss…I shouldn’t be surprised that my mood is dipping right now.

If I sit here all night, I risk giving in to the spins and waking up to a depression hangover for the meeting with Lumina Salts. I could get dressed and go out. I’m in Manhattan. There are a million places I could live out my Carrie Bradshaw fantasies. I’ve already got the curly hair going since I let it air dry after my shower, after all.

I do a quick search on my phone for any club orrestaurant that sounds intriguing, but the thought of putting on a dress and heels gnaws at me. Besides, drinking with strangers may take the edge off my emotions, but it won’t heal me. When I inevitably stumble back to this room by myself, I’ll have a champagne hangover to accompany my depression hangover. What I need is to not be alone.

I could call Pops, IronDad, or Tía Camila, but the three of them would just worry about me. Hell, they might even catch a flight to Manhattan if they got even an inkling that I might be a little sad. That won’t do.

I could call my brother and check in on him and Pancakes, but it’s early in California. He’s likely still in team meetings or getting a workout in before tomorrow’s game. I could call my friends back. All of them, any of them. They’d answer in a heartbeat, staying on the phone with me until I fell asleep if I asked them to. But I don’t want to take them away from their significant others any longer than I already have tonight.

Which leaves…

“Fuck it,” I say out loud to no one as I roll out of the bed. I throw a loose hoodie over my bralette and pull lounge pants and a pair of slippers on, tucking my key in my pocket and slipping out of the room.

Unlike this morning, when I reach Warren’s door, I knock immediately, not wanting to give myself the chance to chicken out.

“Just a moment,” he calls out from the other side of the door. I listen to his footsteps as he makes his waycloser, fumbling with the lock for a moment before pulling the door open.

“Is everything alright, Kira?” he asks.

No. No it’s fucking not alright.

Warren is devastatingly handsome in his casual wear. His hair is mussed, like he’s been running his hands through it. Black frame glasses I’ve never seen before rest on the bridge of his nose. A simple white t-shirt clings to his broad chest, the sleeves hugging his generous bicep muscles and shoulders. The bottom of the shirt just barely skims the top of his navy-blue lounge pants, showing off the sexiest sliver of stomach. His feet are bareagain, and in his hand is a floppy paperback novel I recognize from the mystery section at my favorite local bookstore.

He looks soft and so damn kissable, the way I imagine he might look if I were to wake up next to him. A pulse blooms between my legs, the dull ache that haunts me whenever I’m in this man’s presence growing stronger and more insistent. I cross my arms over my chest as I feel my nipples tighten into hard buds.

“I’m not here to have sex with you.”

I wince. Of course that was the first thing out of my stupid mouth. Just of fucking course.

“That’s…good to know.”

“Can I come in any way?”

“Be my guest,” he says, stepping back as he swings the door open wider. I breeze past him, but once I’m inthe room, I don’t know what to do. Do I sit on the couch? Do I sit on his bed? The nerves of uncertainty mix with the tide of fatigue and moodiness, washing over me and making me feel unsteady on my feet.

“Have a seat, love. Anywhere you’d like. Can I get you something to drink?”

“Water, if you don’t mind.”

If Warren can sense my discomfort, he doesn’t show it. I take a seat on the very edge of the bed, tucking my hands under my ass so he can’t see them shake. I watch him move about the room, finding a glass and then opening a bottle of water from the mini bar. He hands me the glass and I take it, clinking it with the half-empty bottle when he offers it up.

“Cheers.”

“Cheers,” I say, slowly sipping the water. He sits down next to me, his thigh so close I can feel the heat of his skin on mine. We sit like that for long moments, sipping our water. It’s become a bit of a routine for us, to sit in silence. I can’t say that I hate it, but I know we can’t exist like this forever. Mustering up all the courage I have, I turn to him.

“You are completely unfair, you know.”

Great, Keeks. Go with the negative. Good job, dumbass.

Warren, to his credit, looks amused as he crosses one leg over the other and rolls his bare ankle in lazy circles. Damn him, that’s hot.

---