Page 18 of Below the Barrel

My eyes fly open as I look over at the wine thief, ready to give them a piece of my mind, but the words get stuck in my throat as my eyes land on Koa. I watch as he brings my glass to his lips and drinks the rest of my wine in one gulp, his eyes never leaving mine, before he places the glass on the edge of the bridge railing.

“You and I both know you shouldn’t be this drunk the night before a competition,” he says disapprovingly. He holds out a water bottle for me to take, but I muster up the angriest look I can as I stare back at him.

“Take it,” he says sternly, “and drink it, or so help me God, Maliah.”

“Or. What,” I challenge.

He doesn’t say anything at first as we continue our stare-off, the tensions between us crackling. In one swift movement, he has me thrown over his shoulder, and we’re on the move, walking past the dining hall and toward the cars.

“Put me down,” I shout, smacking his back.

It earns me a slap on my ass that has heat rising to my face and my tongue silenced.

“You’re being very bad tonight, princess.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, my heart pounding in my chest as I feel the heat spread from my face, down my chest, and inbetween my thighs. His hands gripping the back of my legs feels like fire against my skin and I almost can’t take it.

He opens a car door and gently lowers me into the passenger’s side before he reaches across and buckles me in, his hand brushing along my thigh, leaving a fire trail beneath my skin.

“I’m fully capable of buckling my own seatbelt, Koa.”

He smirks before shutting the car door and walking around the front to the driver’s side. He slides in effortlessly, adjusting the seat to suit his long legs better before he pulls out of the pebbly parking lot and onto the dark country roads. It’s a twenty-minute drive back to the hotel, and I have no idea how I’m going to survive it.

I tighten both of my hands into a fist, my nails digging in my palms, as I try to mentally distract myself with anything other than Koa for the rest of the drive, but I’m overly aware of his presence and constant glances my way. I’m certain when I get out of this car, I’ll be leaving a puddle in my wake.

Twenty minutes feels more like an hour by the time we reach the hotel, and it’s not until I’m stomping down the hallway, Koa in tow, that I realize I left my bag at the winery. I freeze, mid step, Koa narrowly avoiding crashing into me.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, eyeing me as his brows pull together in concern.

“My key card is in my bag,” I say, sounding on the verge of tears.

“Okay, where’s your bag? Did you leave it in the car?”

I shake my head, meeting his gaze. “I left it at the winery.”

Understanding flashes across his face as he stares at me before glancing at his watch.

“The front desk is closed for the night,” he says, raising his eyes back up to mine. “No one will be back to get you a spare key until the morning.”

My throat tightens as panic begins to set in. Normally, I wouldn’t be this concerned, I’d probably suggest driving back to get my bag or calling someone there to bring it back with them, but right now I’m drunk and I’m not thinking straight. Especially around Koa.

“Sleep in my room tonight,” he suggests.

“Excuse me?” I shout. “Is this your sneaky way of trying to get me into the same bed as you, Koa Foster?”

He sighs before rolling his eyes. “I can sleep on the floor, Maliah. Let’s go, it’s already late and we both need at least some sleep before tomorrow.”

He walks to his door, swiping his key card and holding the door open for me. I bite my lip nervously before finally giving in and brushing past him on my way into his room. I stand by his bed awkwardly and silently as he tosses his jacket and card onto a chair before heading to his suitcase and pulling out an oversized T-shirt which he hands to me.

“There’s mouthwash in the bathroom,” he says, turning his back to me as he begins to strip out of his clothes.

I’m tempted to watch, but I know that images of Koa’s body will only keep me awake longer than I hope to be. So, instead, I turn my back to him and head to his bathroom to change out of my clothes and into his large T-shirt, gargling mouthwash as I stare at my reflection.

I hate that this shirt smells like him. Everything in this room smells like him. I can’t even pretend to be in my own room even if I tried. He’s everywhere here. I spit out the mouthwash and make my way back to the room, finding him shirtless and in grey sweatpants.

Not the grey sweatpants.

I practically whimper as I try my best to look anywhere but at him as I climb into his bed, hiding myself under the sheets as heheads to the bathroom to brush his own teeth. Tonight is going to be pure torture.

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