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THIRTY-FIVE

“Poison”

Taylor Grey

Natalie

Freshly showered, I glance around my hotel room and decide to bide my time by packing. With the late hour, I’ve missed every available flight home and can’t manage to secure a rental car. With nothing but time to kill, I take care folding my clothes before spotting my discarded Stetson on the table. Tears I refuse to shed threaten as I think past the hurt to the raw honesty he fed me just hours ago—of how I again refused him and rejected us.

I told him I wouldn’t change my mind. He didn’t think I could or would hold my ground.

I hate that I have, while at the same time, am glad I did because screw him for being so cavalier with my feelings because his were hurt.

Stuck in the hotel but determined to make my exit as quickly as possible, I decide to do one last search in hopes of finding a twenty-four-hour rental car company and see a missed ping from Easton to a nearby hotel.

EC: Penthouse.

He must have sent it while I was showering. I note the time stamp.

He sent the message twenty-three minutes ago. Ago to hellready on my fingertips, they hover over the screen as I continue to stare at the text. My stomach twists as the thought occurs to me that maybe the invitation is just a formality on his part. Maybe he feels obligated to host me. Either way, he can take his half-assed invitation that reads more like an order and shove it up his over-privileged ass.

I told him I would see myself home, and I will. Maybe he’ll assume I’m already bound for Austin by not replying. No part of me believes entertaining said invitation is a good idea, especially with how furious I am with him. The longer I linger in his universe, the more susceptible and vulnerable I become.

Fuck my feelings. They don’t take a back seat to my self-respect.

Annoyed with myself for letting him be the victor while painting me the villain for trying to spare our parents—us—nothing but grief and heartache, I set the phone down and continue packing. I stare at the back of the phone like the ticking time bomb it is. I have got to get the hell out of here. Even if it means switching hotels for the night, I can’t give him any more access to me.

I’m not in the wrong for doing the right thing, and he’s got no right to make me feel as though I am. He’s not thinking about anyone but himself—his wants, his desires, even if they do heavily mirror my own. Once packed, I zip up my bag as my phone rattles again with an incoming text.

EC: Joel is on his way up.

Just as I read it, a knock sounds on the door. “Son of a bitch!” I roar, jumping out of my skin as Joel’s chuckle and amused voice drift in from the other side.

“Sorry, sweetheart, did I offend?”

“Tell him I already left!” I call out.

“Well, considering he heard you—along with half the hotel floor—he’s not going to believe me.”

Glaring, I roll my suitcase with me toward the door and open it. “I’m leaving,” I lie. “So, tell him I got his message loud and clear.”

Joel’s infuriating grin greets me as he lowers his eyes to the bag in my hand. “Yeah, she’s packed.”

I narrow my eyes at him. Apparently, he’s on Team Easton tonight.

“Will do,” Joel says.

“If he’s got anything to say to me, he can say it himself.”

A second later, Joel holds out the phone, and I barely manage to conceal my flinch.

Okay,that backfired.

Joel chuckles at my reaction as I take the phone and open my mouth to speak, but Easton beats me to the punch.

“Don’t make me come after you, Beauty. If I do, you won’t like it. Neither will youreditor.”

“You can’t be serious.”

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