His hand touched my back and I spun around, shoving him away. "Don't you dare touch me," I snapped, stepping back, feeling a bit of adolescent delight in watching him stumble away.
Catching his footing, he raised his hands above his head in mock innocence. "I've thought this through and I've come to realize now—to swear to you—it was nothing," the cheating ass pleaded, walking closer and grabbing me gently by the shoulders, ushering me deeper into the room. "I swear I was just scared of being with one woman for the rest of my life. I’m twenty-seven. What if I’m making the wrong choice, what if…?”
"Then you shouldn’t have asked me to marry you, idiot."
"You wanted me to."
"That’s why you asked? Because I was perfectly happy with having a nice boyfriend I could trust, not a husband who cheats. You should have never asked me!"
He chuckled as if this was just a little incident to him. "Honestly, this is just a silly case of cold feet. You," he said, raising his eyes to the ceiling, "you have been so busy with dress fittings, food tastings, and registries, it just seemed like you were too busy for my needs..."
"Fuck you. Fuck you, fuckyoufuckyou! I was left alone to put together this stupid wedding. With your mother calling me up every day, inviting all her friends, and making a list of baby names for me. Baby names, Kevin!"
"It was cold feet, that's all it was, babe, please! I’m so sorry. You have to take me back. Let's just forget it, please."
"Take you back? For what? So I can worry the next forty years that you're sticking your thing in other people. You might call me petty, but guess what; I’m allowed to be petty right now. You would have kept her as a sidepiece well after we were married. I heard the things you said to her. Did you even use a condom?"
His face blanched.
"Oh, my God! I’m supposed to let you double-freaking-dip? Three weeks! Three weeks before our wedding and I find you balls deep in someone I work with and you want me to forgive you?" Oh hell no. No, it's all about me now. "You selfish ass, there's no CLEAR HISTORY button on your penis. I can't forget it."
"Lexa, please. I know you think this is all my fault but, things weren't..."
Sarcasm boiled my skin. "No, Trager, it's not you—this isn't your fault—any of it. It’s my horrible choice in men. My mistake." I grabbed his bag, the same one I had packed for two hours before my bachelorette party, opened the hotel room door, and tossed it out into the hallway. It smashed loudly against the far wall, spilling clothes and personal items across the floor. I couldn't have planned it better if I’d tried. "As soon as we get home I want your belongings packed and gone from my apartment."
"What? Are you serious? We are supposed to get married in a few days." He held his hands against the frame of the door as I pushed him into the hallway.
"Not any longer. You and your cold feet are off the hook."
"What? I'm not. I'm not leaving. We can get over this. I'm not moving out."
"Yes, you are. You cheated on me. I saw you. Do you even understand how I feel right now?"
He stood in the middle of the hallway, shoulders slumped, eyes wide and staring at me. He looked pathetic and guilty, even remorseful, but I couldn't not see what I saw. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw it. Every time I looked at him, I saw it. I leaned against the door for support. "Just leave, Kevin. Just leave me be. You've hurt me enough."
"But...but...but what about the cat?"
That's what he was concerned with at the moment? "I'll tell him you died," I snapped, slamming the door in his face. In my head, I was writing his eulogy and speaking about the numerous reasons he deserved to be thrown into traffic.
Finally alone in the room, I flipped off my shoes and flung them into the air. I dug through my suitcase for a pair of pajamas and of course came up with the sexy lingerie that I bought to surprise the stupid, cheating ass. There was no way in hell I was going to sit alone in my hotel room in lingerie feeling sorry for myself. I slapped on a pair of boy shorts and a sports bra and flopped on the bed. As soon as the hotel pool opened at one o'clock, I was going to put on a bathing suit and go for a swim. Forget everyone.
I leaned back against the headboard, cold hotel room sheets soft and cool against my skin, and folded my legs underneath me. I turned on the television and flicked through the channels while I waited, the slow hard thud of my hangover still pounding against my temples.
Sleep instantly claimed me.
Blinking my eyes open, I glanced at the clock. It was three in the morning. The sky outside the window was dark and the television was playing a late night infomercial about mops. What a waste of an entire day. I counted the hours I had slept on my fingers and cringed—that must have been some hangover. My stomach rumbled violently in hunger and my hair was a mess of wavy knots, my tight no-nonsense bun having somehow vanished.
I flipped open the hotel booklet and skimmed for the time room service was open. The kitchen closed at midnight and opened again at six. There was no way I could wait three more hours to eat. I'd have to hit a snack machine.
Grabbing my key card and wallet, I opened the hotel room door and slipped out. The hallway was silent, just the soft overhead buzz of the light bulbs hanging behind the shell-shaped sconces near the ceiling could be heard. Ugly, creepy looking decorations. Padding quickly over the plush business level carpet, I followed the maze of hallways, listening for the hum and groan of any vending machines.
After a five-minute search, I found one in a small corner.
Unfortunately, someone else seemed to be hungry in the wee hours of the morning, because Jameson Holt was sprawled out on the carpet, leaning against the machine. An array of wrappers and two cans of soda sat next to him. He had a bottle of water to his lips when he noticed me walking towards him.
I jerked to a complete stop, dead center of the hall. Slowing my steps, I wondered how insane I’d look if I just ran like heck the other way.
A splash of spilled water spread over his t-shirt as he fumbled with the bottle. He looked down, shook his head, and laughed at the wet spot on his shirt. Feeling a bit self-conscious, I folded my arms tightly across my chest then gasped aloud when I realized I was wearing practically nothing and standing in front of one of my bosses. How much of an idiot could I be to not even notice what I was wearing when I walked out of my hotel room? My face heated. I mean, I was seriously almost naked standing there. What a lovely way for my boss to see me: awkward, clumsy, half dressed, and freshly cheated on. If he calls me Nipples too, I'm quitting my job. Oh, screw this! I straightened my posture and sucked in my gut. Might as well pretend not to feel completely humiliated. Though my flaming cheeks were probably giving me away.
I tried for a smile. "You holding this machine hostage, or can a ravenous girl get a snack?"
He brought a chip to his lips and crunched. His eyes slowly grazed up and down my body without pause then quickly flitted to the huge pile of snacks on the floor next to him.
"Sit." His voice was husky and thick, like melted caramel and chocolate, and I wanted to pour him all over me. My stomach fluttered as a fantasy of Mr. Holt, me, and a slew of syrupy condiments slammed into my head, and my shame wasn't strong enough to stop it. I'm a dirty, dirty girl. Well, at least in my own imagination anyway.
Stepping back until my shoulders hit the wall across from him, I slid my body down. My back scraped against the wall, making my pulse race and my stomach quiver with nerves. His eyes never left mine; light hazel eyes, almost green, yet almost golden. A strange, intoxicating mix. Darn, I was caught in his playboy mating call, wasn't I? He had those super testosterone laser eyes that made women just want to hand him their panties.