Page 42 of The Situation
After a glance at Tate’s chiseled abs and sexy shoulders, I climb out of bed as quietly as I can.
I tiptoe into the living area, closing the bedroom door softly behind me, and gather my discarded heels as I go. My dress is where I stepped out of it last night. I do a brief search for my bra to no avail.
“Forget it,” I whisper, slipping the dress back on with shaky hands. “I don’t have time.”
There isn’t a mirror to check my reflection, but I’m positive I’m a mess. Tate and I took a bath at one point in the night. But before we had time to wash anything, like my face, I was bent over the side of the tub and getting railed from behind.
My stomach clenches at the memory, and I can’t help but smile.Was there a surface in this suite that I didn’t get pounded on last night?
I ignore the temptation to climb back in bed for one final hoorah and instead grab my purse and the rose Tate brought to me at Ruma. I start to leave but stop.
My breaths are hurried, and my heart pounds.What do I do? Do I walk out without a goodbye of any sort?
That seems like a viable solution, and one that’s merited. I told him this was a one-night thing. He must expect that I’ll be gone …right?
I groan, finding a small pad of paper and a pen on the desk by the wall.
Thanks for an incredible night.
“How do I sign this?” I whisper, nibbling my bottom lip.
I can’t put Aurora, and writing Kelly is more than I can handle this morning. After the way he treated me yesterday—so sweet and kind—my guilt is exceedingly high about using a fake name. Acid bubbles up my throat at the thought.
“Just …put something,” I whisper, scribbling a final line.
Call me. Xo
I roll my eyes, realizing how ridiculous that sentiment is—considering he doesn’t know my name or my phone number—and toss the pen next to the paper.
On an exhale, I turn to leave and spot the blueberry pie on the couch. My stomach growls.
I glance at the bedroom door again before grabbing the pie. After carrying it to the small kitchenette, I locate a paper plate and a plastic knife. My handiwork looks more like a serial killer than a chef, but one slice finds its way to the plate. I carry it across the room and leave it with the note.
A sound makes me jump. I cover my mouth, listening closely, uncertain where it came from. I watch the bedroom door, praying it doesn’t open.
I have to get out of here before it gets weird.
With my purse and rose in one hand, and the rest of the pie in the other, I slip into the hallway.
The elevator is only a few steps away. I hit the down button and shift my weight from foot to foot. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, it opens.
Luckily, the elevator is empty, and I hit the button for the lobby.
“Oh God!” My jaw drops as I catch a look at myself in the mirrors lining the car. “I look like a tiger has mauled me.”
I set my things on the floor and try to make my hair somewhat presentable. Nothing can be done about the raccoon eyes from the mascara, and my lips are swollen from Tate’s onslaught. All I can do is hope people think it’s filler.
My phone begins to ring.Dammit.“Where are you?” I groan as I forage to the bottom of my purse, barely answering it before the elevator’s doors open.
“Hello?” I ask, sweeping my possessions into my arms without making eye contact at the couple waiting to board.
“Why do you sound … rushed?” Jamie asks.
“Because I am.” I tuck my chin and step into the hallway. “This is not a good time. Can I call you back?”
“No. Now I’m curious. What are you doing?”
I fake a smile at one of the ladies at the front desk as I scurry past to my bank of elevators.
