Page 49 of Puck Yes

Didn’t text him I was coming. And I don’t have the patience to wait much longer. I bang again, louder this time, my knuckles getting raw. I might wake everyone on this floor.

And I don’t care.

“C’mon,” I mutter.

Soon, I hear the shuffling of feet, then the unlatching of the lock. Stefan opens the door a few inches. He squints at me, his hair sticking up. “What the fuck are you doing here at this hour?”

“Open the door,” I demand. “And get out of bed.”

With a tired groan, he rolls his eyes. “I am out of bed. This is literally me out of bed,” he says as he tugs open the door.

I storm past him.

He shuts the door behind me. You never know who might overhear, and this conversation is for him and me only.

I cross my arms and look him in the eyes. “I’ve got a question for you.”

“What is it?”

I’m no longer in a rush. I take my time as I let a dirty smile curve my lips. “Do you want to fuck my wife?”

18

ROOM SERVICE

Stefan

Clothes are such a formality. But you can’t walk around a Vegas hotel naked.

At least, you shouldn’t.

Normally I’m sound asleep at a quarter after two. Hell, I was cruising toward the land of nod fifteen minutes ago. Now, I’m wide awake, teeth brushed, hair finger combed, dressed in jeans and, yes, a fucking Henley.

I lean against the wall outside Ivy’s room as Hayes walks toward me. Like me, he’s ditched the suit for jeans and a T-shirt.

I give him a chin nod. “Took you long enough to figure it out.”

“Did you think I didn’t know you wanted her?”

Actually, I did. For a while at least. “Well, no,” I admit. But then screw it. I’m not here to shoot the shit with Hayes. We’re here for the woman.

I rap on the door. The seconds spread, each one growing heavier with anticipation, till the door opens, and Ivy’s there on the other side.

Wow.

She’s not wearing seductive lingerie.

She’s not pouting like a pinup.

Not that I’d object to any of the above. She’s simply wearing sleep shorts and a cami.

That. Is. All.

Her makeup is scrubbed off. Her skin is glowing. I want to devour her, but she seems to want to hold the reins for a bit since she checks us out with a fierce sort of determination. Purposefully, she looks me up and down, her eyes traveling freely in a way they haven’t during our last encounters. Her gaze slides to Hayes, and she gives him the same treatment. “You two were wrong,” she says.

A throwdown.

Did Hayes misunderstand Ivy’s request? “What do you mean?” I’m a little concerned. I don’t usually misread interest. My radar is finely calibrated.

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