I’m halfway down the block and ready to hit send on a text message to Stewart—letting him know I’m ready to be picked up—when someone grabs my arm from behind. My fight or flight response kicks in, and I choose fight. I spin around, ready to knee another guy in the balls, when Niles grabs me harder and stronger, pushing me up against the building. “Listen, Sunshine. We can do this the hard way or the easy way. If I were you, I’d choose the latter. One way or another, we will merge our companies. Let’s save everyone some trouble and get married, before I go after your widowed mother when your old man kicks the bucket.”
I’d laugh in his face, but Niles is serious. I wouldn’t put it past him to try and seduce my mother into marriage. Little does he know, she gets a small fortune when my dad passes away, but Lance and I have all the control over Glasson. Not that it matters anyway. My mother would never give this slimeball the time of day. “Give it your best shot, Niles. She’ll shoot you down faster than I did. Face it, you lost. We won.” Giving a swift jerk, I free myself from his hold.
“Then I guess we have to do it the hard way. Enjoy your privacy. It’s all coming to an end.”
He’s gone too far this time. For the first time in a while, Niles has instilled fear inside of me. He will make good on his word. He’ll expose my identity, and do everything in his power to destroy Glasson if we don’t join forces with him.
Chapter Eight
Sawyer
Get her out of your head.
Deep breath in. Deep breath out.
I pick up my pace, jogging faster down the alleyway while “Alive” by Pearl Jam plays through my earbuds.
Who was that guy she was with? It had to have been her boyfriend, or at the very least, a date. He called her ‘Sunshine’ and took care of the bill. Definitely a date.
I’m full-on sprinting, sweat sliding down my back beneath my shirt, when a black cat crosses my path. I do a knee lift and jump over it and it hisses at me, the hair on its back sticking up like porcupine quills. “You’re the one who tried to trip me,” I hiss back at the cat.
I take a right at the end of the alley so I can circle back around to the hotel parking garage. I know she’s long gone by now, but at the risk of running into her and lover boy again, I’ll take the garage entrance. Should have gone for a run on the pier and gotten a better view, but it’s packed with tourists right now. It’s the first of July and they’ve got fireworks every night until after the fourth. Maybe I’ll go catch a show this week. Maybe Mia will want to go. What am I thinking? Asking her out would make me a hypocrite and it would also go against everything I promised myself. She was mine for a night, nothing more. Nothing’s changed.
She did look hot as hell today in that cute little dress. She looked even better in her gym clothes without all that makeup on. I prefer the natural look, and she wears it well. Although, I’m sure she’d disagree—most girls do.
Why the hell am I still thinking about her?
I’m sorry, Taylor.
Fuck. Maybe I just need to get laid by someone else so her pussy isn’t the last one in my memory. Or, maybe I should just write off women all-together. At least for a while. Ever since I lost Taylor, I’ve tried so hard to hold onto the memories with her, but now I’ve replaced them with new ones—not just the sex, but the picture of her beautiful face in my head. Up until Mia, Taylor’s was the only face I saw when I closed my eyes.
I head straight for my room, desperate to alleviate some of the tension built up in my cock. Bypassing chipper couples, whiny kids, and a group of ladies with name tags who must be leaving some sort of convention held in the hotel, I glance back over my shoulder as I pass them. They’re probably in their mid-fifties, but with permission, I’d gladly railroad any one of them just to get Mia out of my head. The memory of one of them won’t linger like it does with this girl who is still nothing short of a stranger.
I pick up my pace until I’m walking briskly, breaking more of a sweat now than I did on my run. I hit the elevator button repeatedly, needing to get into my room and away from the noise—away from people.
“Come on,” I mutter under my breath, my heart pounding in my chest as the anxiety I’ve felt daily for two years rears its ugly head.
The elevator doors open and it’s packed full. The hotel is at full capacity with the upcoming holiday and events happening in the city. Sandwiching myself between two teenage boys who smell like B.O masked with Bod Spray, I remind myself that this is temporary. The stay in the hotel, the abundance of tourists, and the job.
It feels suffocating as we make our way up. The breaths that hit my bare arms feel like a thousand baby spiders crawling on my skin.
We stop—three people get out. Then we’re moving again.
Another stop—two more people out. Another couple in.
Finally, we make it to the sixth floor, where I make my exit, but not before tripping over a briefcase in front of me. Fortunately, I brace my fall on the man’s wife, unintentionally copping a feel of her cushioned breast. I look over my shoulder, scoffing at the asshat who set it there.
Life is giving me a shitload of lemons lately and I’m trying hard as hell not to be sour about it.
With hurry behind my steps, I make a beeline for my room, ready for all the noise of the hustle and bustle of life to diminish. Even if the thoughts in my head will continue to scream louder than any toddler or drunk idiot I might encounter.
As soon as I’m in my room, I slide off my shoes and pull off my socks, dropping them at my feet. I draw in a deep breath, filling my lungs, finally having a moment of peace. Once my head begins to clear slightly, I go over to the mini bar, willing my thoughts to clear even more. I don’t want to feel. I don’t want to think.
I pour a shot of scotch and take it down in one gulp. Pouring myself another, I let it rest on the bar while I strip out of my gym clothes. With each article of clothing that falls, I relish in the burn that settles in my stomach from the booze. I’m completely naked, with the curtains to the sliding door wide open, but no one can see up this far, so it doesn't even faze me.
Slow steps lead me over to the dresser that I have yet to fill with my clothes that are still packed in a suitcase. I pull the drawer open and retrieve the pink, silk panties—Mia’s panties. She left that morning with a mountain of regret, I’m sure, and a bare ass. Not that these things cover her ass, anyway. My index finger skates up the G-string and I lift them up to my face, inhaling the sweet scent of her pussy. She was so wet that night.
Regret or not, she wanted it then, and I’m sure she’d spread her legs for me again if given the chance. I see the way she looks at me, which is exactly why I can’t fuck her again. It would only complicate things further. Because, I’m pretty sure she notices the way I look at her, too. Even if I keep our encounters short and try to get away from her as quickly as possible every time we bump into each other, there is no way she doesn’t notice the way my body tenses and my fingers twitch in her presence.
Walking back over to the bed, I slide up until my back hits the headboard. My legs spread so my balls aren't sticking to my sweaty thighs. Mia’s panties drop to my side and I grab the bottle of lotion on the nightstand next to the bed.