Page 23 of New York Love Stories: Vol. 1

I head for the door and open it, but I’m not eager to rush out. With my life on the East Coast calling, I take a deep breath and push through my instant regret. “Thanks for being a friend for a night,” I whisper as I leave Nick behind.

I didn’t know how hurt I’d been prior to snuggling in his arms, the betrayal of other men wedged into my heart. Being a man of integrity, with kindness and an awesome sense of humor,Nick soothed that pain away, restoring my faith.

“Goodbye, Mr. Smug and Sexy.”

8

Nick

I openmy eyes and find the bed empty beside me.Fuck.

Jumping up, I grab my phone from the dresser and look for any sign of Natalie. But my brain is still half asleep, so I waste time on stupid things like looking for a text. “Natalie?” I call out, glancing through the open door to the bathroom and then moving into the living room. I could kick myself for falling asleep, but how could I not when I was holding her in my arms? I haven’t felt that kind of peace to let my mind rest in years. I found it with her, though. “Natalie?”

Peeking out through the glass, I hold the smallest bit of hope she might be on the terrace, lounging on the chair or leaning on the railing. A deep-seated disappointment returns because I didn’t even get her full name. I have no way of contacting her to tell her how much I enjoyed playing backgammon.

It was more than the game I enjoyed. I should have told her how much last night meant to me. I look at the door when I find no sign of her anywhere else. Glancing over to Harrison’s room, I notice his bed is still turned down from housekeeping, making it easy to conclude he scored with Tatum as well as a place to stay last night.

Ah, fuck it.

I put on my shoes and head out to search for Harrison. If I can find him, I can find Tatum, and that leads me back to Natalie. I hurry to the lobby, practically jumping over suitcases left near the bellhop station, but skid to a stop when I see Harrison coming toward me from the other hallway. “Where’s Natalie?”

“Good to see you, too.”

“Sorry, I don’t have time for jokes.” I look over his shoulder, hoping to see the girls coming. “I have to find her.”

That surefire smirk reveals how his night ended or morning started. We don’t discuss these things usually, but let’s just say the dude scores a lot. But there’s a sincerity about Harrison that not many see. He may not talk about it, but he’s been burned by plenty—family, friends, and gold diggers. The swagger is dropped, and he asks, “What’s going on with you, Christiansen?”

“I should have told her my last name. Or gotten hers. Exchanged numbers or made plans. I should have done something to keep in contact, but I didn’t.”

“Okay,” he says, shrugging, still appearing not to catch on to why I’m panicking. “Why not?”Why. Not?

That’s a good fucking question.

I don’t know why I didn’t when I felt more than lust for a woman for the first time in my life. With Natalie, I want to spend time talking with her rather than simply fucking or doing the foreplay dance leading up to it. Because I think I found someone real.

She was real with me.

She. Was. Real. And I let her fucking slip through my fingers while I slept. Fuck. I run my hand through my hair. “We were playing games when we should have realized it was more. Last night was more.” Maneuvering around him, I head in the direction from which he came, ready to bolt to their door. “What room are they in?”

He’s already shaking his head before I finish asking the question. "They’re already gone.”

Stopping, I look toward the large exit doors, not ready to admit defeat. “I can catch up to them. How long ago did they leave?”

“At least an hour, probably longer.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. Tatum said goodbye when it was still dark outside. I fell back asleep and just woke up. Figured I should get back to the room to pack.”

I look down at the tile beneath my feet, the same flooring that led Natalie away from me. Should I try the ferry? Maybe call the airlines at LAX? Will anyone give me information about another traveler?

I know the answer already.

When he moves out of the way of other guests, my attention drifts to his hand. And his phone, a new option coming into play. “You can text Tatum.”

His expression falls when he flips the screen toward him to look at it. “Yeah, it was kind of left back in the bedroom. We didn’t exchange details. It was . . .” he says, glancing toward the exit, “nothing more than a vacation thing.” Lowering his phone, he shoves it in his pocket. “I need to pack.”

When he turns to leave, I say, “Are you sure about that?”

---