Page 36 of Wild Side
Now that I’m alone, it’s the perfect opportunity to take in the place. I’ve never been in the bedrooms at the clubhouse inCalifornia. That hallway has always been off-limits. Although I know that Sable has been in a few of them.
I imagine they look much like this. A small bedroom just large enough for a queen-size bed, a tall dresser, and one nightstand. There is a television on the wall above the dresser and closet doors on the opposite side of the room.
What there isn’t is a bathroom door. I assume it’s much like college, and there is a communal bathroom for all the guys to use. Maybe the president has his own private bathroom, but I doubt anyone else does.
Which is unfortunate and inconvenient for me. I’m going to have to put some clothes on, go to the bathroom, and hope that nobody sees me. I pause at the thought. Wait a minute. So what if someone sees me? I am pretty sure they all know exactly who I am and the predicament I’m facing.
What does it matter?
Throwing my legs over the side of the bed, I poke around on the floor and wince. There is trash, mostly empty beer bottles, littering the floor along with dirty clothes. Gross. When I find a plain black T-shirt, I hold it to my nose and promptly gag at the scent before I toss it across the room.
God.
Ew.
The shirt was beyond rank. Foregoing trying to be cute and putting on one of Maverick’s shirts, I find my own clothes and slip those on. The sudden urge to use the bathroom becomes beyond urgent, so I decide to come back for toiletries and anything else I might need and make a beeline for the facilities.
Luckily, I find them behind the first door I try. Locking the door behind me, I rush over to the toilet and groan. If I thought the bedroom was dirty, I was wrong. The bedroom is a palace compared to this place.
Using toilet paper, I line the seat as quickly as possible because I don’t think I can hover as much as I want to. Once I’m finished, I stand and hurry over to the sink, which is in as much disrepair as the rest of the room, and wash my hands.
I cannot stay here.
I don’t even peek into the shower, because it doesn’t matter. I am going down to the little, beat-up, worn motel room. It’s old but clean. And that is where I’m going to be staying, because I cannot be here.
I open the bathroom door and look up and down the hallway. There is nobody around. Making my way back to the bedroom, I decide that I’m going to brush my teeth, throw on some clothes, and eat a little breakfast before I go back to my motel.
I pause at the sight in front of me. It’s Maverick. His back is to me. He slowly turns around, his eyes find mine, and his lips curve up into a smile before he closes the distance between us.
“Thought you snuck out.” His words are serious, but his tone is playful.
“I just went to the bathroom,” I mutter.
His eyes widen. “It’s gross in there, I know.”
I flick my gaze from his to the floor, then shift it back to meet his. “In here, too,” I say.
He chuckles. “Not a good housekeeper, and neither is anyone else.”
I laugh softly, shaking my head. “Yeah,” I murmur. “I think that’s normal for a boys’ club, but I don’t think I can stay here.”
He curls his fingers around the side of my throat, his thumb gliding up the column before he leans forward slightly. My spine stiffens, but not necessarily because I’m scared. He is very serious right now, and I don’t know I’m going to like what he has to say to me.
“You’re staying here until we figure out whatever the fuck we need to figure out with your father. He’s on his way, you said soyourself, so we’re going to get that shit on lockdown before you leave this clubhouse.”
His tone is now as serious as his words, and if he intimidated me, I would probably be a bit unnerved by him in this moment. As it is, I know he’s being serious, but he doesn’t scare me. I can tell he’s concerned, though.
“What happens if my father somehow gets to me?”
He shakes his head once. “He could take you back home.”
“I’m an adult,” I point out.
His lips twitch into a smirk, but I can tell he doesn’t think this is funny. I have a feeling it’s more of an ironic smile more than anything. “You’re an adult in years, but, honey, in this place?” He lifts the hand not on my throat before he twirls his index finger around. “You don’t have a say in shit. The outside rules do not apply. And you, of all people, should know that.”
“I don’t know the rules, because I was never allowed to be at the clubhouse,” I confess. Maybe I shouldn’t be telling him this, maybe it’s the wrong thing to say, but I feel like he needs to know that I am really not part of this world. I’ve said it more than once, but I don’t know if he thought I was joking or something.
“You’re the president’s daughter.”
