Page 7 of Too Good to be True

It's not that I want him, because I don't. I mean, I shouldn't. And it's not like I'd take him back even if he did ask. At least, I don't think I would. Definitely not without some serious begging and pleading first.

I look at the screen. Disappointment weighs heavy on my sinking heart. It's my mother. I never let her know I arrived safe and sound. It's not until this moment that I realize how pathetic I am, holding out hope that my ex will change his mind. That he'll want me back.

This totally freaking sucks. The only thing worse than having no hope at all is having false hope for something that will never happen. False hope that will sink your spirits over and over again until, eventually, it rises above your head and drowns you.

After the quick call with my mother, I spend the next thirty minutes tossing and turning in bed. The room is hot and sticky even though I lower the temperature, and sleep doesn’t come.

I take my shirt and panties off and toss them on the floor. I'm not one for sleeping in the buff. I don't have anything against it, but I'm so used to covering my body up, it never occurred to me to do it. Not even when I spent the night with Corey.

In fact, I was rarely naked in front of Corey. At least not for very long. Never naked and proud. My clothes would only come off completely when we'd have sex. Even then, I didn't feel comfortable. He'd often make comments about how I should be doing more sit-ups. Or how hot I'd look if I lost just ten pounds.

Even after I lost fifteen.

Instead of frustrating myself any further with thoughts of that shithead, I pad into the bathroom in my naked glory and grab the soft terrycloth robe from the back of the door. It feels luxurious against my bare skin.

Feeling thirsty, I take a bottle of water out of the well-stocked refrigerator. If I can cool down, I might be able to get back to sleep. I chug down some water. It's not refreshing enough. Even though it's cold, it needs ice. And if worst comes to worst and the water doesn't help, I can use the ice cubes to bring down my body temperature.

With a glance at the clock to check the time and a quick listen to the noise, or lack thereof, on the floor, I decide to do something crazy. Daring. Something I'd never dream of doing if Corey was here.

I grab the ice bucket, slip my key card into my pocket, and open my door in nothing but my robe and slippers. It's an act of defiance against my ex, even though he's thousands of miles away. A small act of defiance. It is close to midnight, and there isn't a peep on the floor. It's not like I'm going to run into anyone. But still, I'm making a statement. Even if just to myself.

I look down the hall from left to right and step out as if I'm crossing a street instead of going down the hall. Just as I expected, it's quiet and empty. No one is around.

I make it to the small room with the ice machine at the end of the hall unnoticed. I'm filled with a sense of pride. I did it. I took a risk. Did something wild. Wild for me, anyway. I have to admit it's a little bit of a turn-on.

Filled with a sense of accomplishment, I don't pay attention as I throw the door open, ready to head back to my room.

"Fuck!" I hear as something white billows up and drops to the ground.

I stare open-mouthed at the guy who is now bent on one knee at my feet.

"I'm so sorry," I say, finding my voice.

Hearing me speak, his eyes drift from what he's doing up to my bare legs, which he has a close-up view of. For a split second, my stomach drops, thinking he might notice stubble covering my calves, until I remember I was waxed two days ago: lip, eyebrow, legs, vajayjay. The works.

I kneel down to help him gather and fold the towels on the floor.

His soft caramel eyes meet mine, and I'm struck dumb by the intensity of them. It's like they can see right through me. Right through the bullshit front I'm putting up. Like if he looks long enough, he's going to see how insecure I really am. His eyes hold such strength and tenacity, it hurts to stare into them too long.

I drop my gaze but quickly force it back up to meet his.I can do this.Something happens to my heart; it’s as if it sprouted a pair of wings. Wings that race and flutter against my chest.

This time, the stranger’s eyes leave mine and trail slowly down my body, down to the towels on the floor. If I didn't know better, I'd think he was checking me out. But I do know better. Guys don't check me out. At least not according to Corey.

"I think that guy's staring at me."

"Trust me, babe. I love you, and I think you’re hot, but he's not looking at you. Not with that hot piece of ass behind you."

Why didn't Corey ever think I was the hot piece of ass being ogled by a strange man? I think I'm pretty. My brown hair is thick and long and makes my gray eyes really stand out. I'm certainly not hideous. I'm sure some men in this world are attracted to me. Wasn't Corey?

"It’s fine," the hottie staring at me says with a smile, showing off a set of deep dimples. "I should've been more careful. I figured I'm the only one up this late."

“It’s only midnight,” I say without thinking. My voice betrays my excitement that I have an opportunity to speak to this man.

“I’m a workaholic," he says, winking one eye at me. "And I didn’t sleep last night, so it’s pretty late if you ask me.”

I close my eyes tight and shake my head, hoping to break the spell his large eyes have me under so I might think of something to say and not sound like a babbling fool. My brain isn’t working. I stand back up to my full height and hug the ice container against my body. If only I could jump in and melt like one of the damn cubes instead of turning into a sloppy puddle at this man’s feet.

“I’m sorry.” Searching for something to do with my hands, I clench my robe lapel. “I’m a little clumsy.”

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