Page 20 of Full Tilt
As he walks past and slides my surf ’n’ turf straight off the table, warmth lands in my lap—fries, steak, and shrimp all soaking into my light-gray leggings.
Okay, now I’m fucking playing.
CHAPTER SEVEN
TOMMY
“What the fuck is that smell?” I bolt up in bed and rip back the duvet.
“Jack?!” I yell, searching for the light switch in a pitch-black room. “I told you a week ago to take a shower.”
When I finally find the light, my captain is nowhere to be seen, and his bed is still made with not a wrinkle in the sheets.
Did he not come back last night?
The smell hits me again and I gag and stalk toward the source. If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s any kind of filth. I keep my place pristine, and I expect the same when I travel and stay in hotels.
Apparently, the same cannot be said for other guests.
When I take a final step toward our hotel room door, ready to ream someone out for leaving their half-eaten food in the hallway, my foot squashes down into something cold and slippery.
“What the fuck?!”I retch when I flick on the main light to find … a fucking shrimp stuck to my foot with congealed ketchup.
Jenna fucking Miller.
My fingers tremble with fury as I peel the half-eaten seafood from my foot, the ketchup squelched between my toes.
Beside the plate I just stood on, there’s a handwritten note. Despite never seeing Jenna’s writing before, I know it’s hers. Only she’s capable of a sick, immature prank like this.
Tommy,
You wanted to play.
Best get a good meal down before we do.
—Hellion
I fist the note, considering the best way to respond. It’s the middle of the night, and I’ve no idea which room she’s staying in. Hell, I’ve no idea how she snuck leftover food into my room, unannounced.
Still, regardless of my rage and the sticky sauce coating the base of my foot, I can’t help but feel a smidgen of delight at the way she signed off the letter.
Hellion.
She heard what I called her and obviously embraced it. Never has there ever been a more appropriate nickname for someone.
“Mr. Schneider,how can I be of assistance?” The front-desk clerk covering the night shift stands to attention as I waltz into the lobby, having pulled on a pair of sweats I wore early in the day although not bothering to grab a shirt.
For a brief moment, my mind wanders back to the time when I showed up unannounced at my dad’s apartment building. Back then, I was fully dressed and polite, yet I was looked at like I was a nobody—a far cry from the reception I’m receiving today.
That only enrages me further as I stalk toward the front desk.
“I need to know which room Jenna Miller is staying in,” I bite out, not really caring about maintaining a friendly exterior.
Whether or not the Blades use this hotel again next time we play Boston really isn’t at the top of my current agenda.
Finding Jenna is.
The young blond clerk shakes his head, eyes wide and a little frantic. “I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t disclose that in?—”
