Page 38 of Summertime Friends

We arrive at Avenida Lagos Hotel.

Emerson trails me to the concierge desk. Callum and George immediately find themselves two seats and two drinks at the bar.

“Checking in for Hayes.”

Behind the desktop computer, the concierge is typing away. She doesn’t even lift her head to acknowledge us. “Hayes. Four ocean-view rooms. Can I have a copy of the card on file?”

“I thought we were all crashing together?” Emerson’s ears are perked up. She tosses me a confused glance.

“Made an accommodation to the reservation.” She goes to speak. “Don’t sweat it, States.” I smile down at her but catch a glimpse of disappointment. Did she want us to stay together? After this morning, I—well, I don’t know what she wanted this morning, and I was too much of a wuss to even begin to go there.

It’s not that I don’t want to. I want to be in there.

The concierge hands my card back to me, letting her hand and eyes linger a beat too long on me. I swear I hear Emerson scuff next to me as she watches us intently.

“Three of the rooms are on floor four; the other is on floor three.” She gestures to the stairs. “Stairs are there to the right behind you. Please let us know if there is anything we can do to make your stay more. . . pleasurable.”

“Thanks.” I give her a curt nod and ignore what she insinuates. If there’s anyone who will make that stay more enjoyable, it’s Emerson.

Callum and George have rejoined us, laughing between them. I hand each of them a key card. Emerson reaches her hand out, palm up, waiting for me to drop a card into her hand, but instead, I pocket hers and mine.

Spinning on my heels, I pick up her bag and head to the stairs.

“I can get that.” She stomps after me, missing the handle, she grabs my hand. “I didn’t pack light.”

Correct, she didn’t. We are here only for a night, but her bag easily has to weigh at least ten kilos. I would hate to know what her bags for the entire summer weigh. I force myself to keep laughing.

“You’re acting like I couldn’t lift you,” I joke.

“Are you calling me heavy?” Her eyes flare.

“That’s one way to flirt with her,” George critiques from six steps up.

“He is not flirting with me,” she says as if disgusted by the idea.

“Right. . . and we aren’t oblivious to the way you got jealous when the concierge was staring at him,” George says.

“Or like we didn’t hear him in the shower this morning after your little ‘friend’ sleepover,” Callum adds, air quotes friend.

“Is that what you were laughing about when you walked up?”

“Maybe,” George taunts.

“Go to your rooms,” I snap, annoyed.

“Yes, Dad.” Callum laughs. The sounds of their feet and bags dragging up the stairs echo in the well.

“Give me my bags,” Emerson demands.

“It’s not heavy. I know you are capable of carrying them, of taking care of yourself, but that doesn’t mean you have to. You should learn to let someonehelpyou now and then.”

She rolls her eyes. “For the record, I let people help quite often. I don’t wantyourhelp.” She drops her hand off her bag and walks up the stairs in front of me.

I wasn’t trying to insinuate anything. I genuinely wanted to do this for Emerson. I got the vibe that she’s too independent, admirable, and hot, but that doesn’t mean she has to be independent all of the time.

Her words play over in my head,‘I don’t want your help’and“like you are going to fall in love with me,’ as I follow behind her. A sting burns in my chest. I don’t give a shit what she was or wasn’t insinuating; I know her statement is weighted. There’s something else going on behind her hidden spiky exterior.

I try to shake off the feeling by staying in the present moment, which is a pair of frayed light denim shorts that barely cover an inch past Emerson’s butt. Tan legs stretch out of them, but I can’t, more like I don’t, avert my eyes from how the denim is secured onher round cheeks. Every so many steps, I can see the curve of said cheeks and all the blood rushes straight to my dick. Emerson halts, and I run directly into her. No doubt she can feel it up against her.

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