His grin has me thinking he’s aware of my response to him, which is so not good. “I’m busy,” I say in a snotty tone.
“Really?” He leans on the bike, his thigh muscles flexing from his weight. “Doing what?”
I tear my gaze from his leg. “Laundry, calling Bryce, and stuff.”
He rolls his eyes, essentially dismissing the reference to my boyfriend. “How about I help you do laundry again, and we can do lunch while we’re at it.”
They won’t be back from sound checks until after two. “It will be too late to eat.”
“Grab a snack. I’ll get lunch. My treat.”
He’s making a refusal extremely difficult, as in having to admit he’s starting to do weird, hot things to my insides difficult. Hell will freeze over before I admit that to him.
“Fine.” I glance at the clock on the wall. “You’d better get going or you’re going to miss sound checks.”
Those baby blues roam slowly over my shorts and tank top. “See you later,” he says wistfully, then exits the exercise room.
I move toward the weight station. What the heck was that? I’m not sure what’s worse. Sam coming on to me. Or Sam being nice to me. Either way I’m in trouble.
The hotel in Charlotte is nothing like the one we stayed at in New Orleans. It’s not a dive or anything, just a normal hotel, with no chandeliers dripping crystals in the lobby or limos pulling up under a canopy out front. But at least the rollaway is much bigger, which confirms my suspicion that luxury hotels like to torment the extra person.
Hours after exercising, I’m in our small room, rearranging stuff in my suitcase because I already did the laundry—I’m not hanging out with Sam any more than I have to—and seriously contemplating taking off before the band returns, when a knock booms on the door. Dang. I contemplated too long. They must be back. Thinking Sam or Justin forgot his room key, I march over to the door and whip it open.
My eyes widen at the sight of the person standing in the hall. It can’t be him but it is. Shock like the sizzle of lightning courses through my veins. Seriously, I’m about to faint like a Southern belle in an old movie.
His shocked expression, which I’m sure mirrors mine, becomes tighter and more confused with each passing second. “Peyton?”
I grip the edge of the door for support. He is thinner than I remember, more lanky than muscular, and his once shoulder-length dark hair is cut super short, but there’s no mistaking that blade of a nose and his angular face, even drawn out and fatigued-looking as it is now. His dark blue eyes look as vivid as ever.
“Seth,” I say.
Hands deep in the pockets of his long shorts, he glances at the number on the door as his beat-up checkered Vans shuffle on the hallway carpet. “What are you doing here?”
“I . . .” Holy hell, breathe, Peyton! The sight of him still brings on hurt and guilt.
“Seth?” I hear the incredulous tone in Sam’s voice from down the hallway.
Seth turns and I draw in much-needed air. He looks back to me, then down the hall again to Sam, whom I can hear almost stomping toward us. “Sam, what the fuck is this?” Seth pulls a hand from his pocket and points at me. His lips twist into a snarl.
Sam steps into the doorway. Drawing in a deep breath, he wears a shocked expression too. “What are you doing here?” he asks his brother, obviously ignoring the reference to me.
Crossing his arms over his white beater tank, Seth glances at me. “Caught a bus. What is she doing in your room? What the hell is going on?”
Sam doesn’t look at me. Staring at his brother he says, “Peyton, can you give us a few?”
“Sure,” I say weakly, spinning around to grab my purse from the dresser.
Pushing a pissed off–looking Seth into our room, Sam says to me, “Wait in the lobby.”
I reach for the door handle. I’m not going to lunch with these two. There is absolutely no way. Other than the fact that Seth de-stroyed my reputation with wild rumors and my teenage heart, it would be very, very weird. “Um . . .”
Sam’s eyes bore into mine. “Please, Peyton.”
I’m not sure if it’s the plea in his eyes or the desperate tone of his voice, but I find myself stupidly nodding.
After shutting the door behind me, I move toward the elevator in a haze of confusion. The doors of the elevator open and Justin steps out.
“Hey, Peyton,” he says casually.
Still in shock, I drag him back into the elevator with me. “Don’t go to our room right now.”
He gives me an odd look. “Why?”
“Sam’s brother showed up unannounced.” With a shaky finger, I push the button for the ground floor.
Justin’s expression grows more confused. “Sam has a brother?”
I blink at Justin. How does he not know about Seth? He and Sam have been in a band for years together. “A twin brother.”
Justin gapes as the elevator doors open to the lobby. “Like identical?”
I shake my head. “No, not identical. They’re . . .” I was about to say “fraternal” and “eleven minutes apart, with Seth being the ‘older’ one.” But luckily, I catch myself. In my shock, I almost blew our cover. This is definitely not the time to reveal to Justin and the others that Sam and I have only been acting like we didn’t know each other before the tour. I really, really don’t want to open that can of craziness with Seth here. I don’t want to open it at all. “They must be fraternal.” I step out of the elevator and Justin follows. “I mean, they do look like they could be brothers, but they’re not identical.”
“Strange, he never said anything about having a brother,” Justin says, shoving his hands into his pockets as we enter the lobby. “Why shouldn’t we go up?”
“Well . . .” I desperately search for a plausible reason, but I don’t know what the hell is going on and decide to stick with the truth as much as possible. “Sam looked shocked and a little pissed that his brother was here. He asked me to leave,” I say, adding a shrug for good measure.
“Huh,” Justin says. “I can’t believe he has a twin brother.” He shakes his head. “Sam sometimes is closemouthed, but this takes it to a new level.”
I’m a little freaked out too that Sam never said anything to Justin about Seth. Is there still a huge rift between the brothers? If so, there’s no way I can still be the cause. That would be insane.
Justin glances around the lobby. “I’m supposed to meet Romeo for a workout.”
Guess today is workout day. “Sam told me he’d be down in a few.”
Justin digs out his phone, shaking his head. “I’ll give Sam ten, then I’m going up.” He puts the phone to his ear and says, “Hey, baby.”
While he talks to Allie, I go to one of the couches in the lobby and send a What’s up? text to Jill. While I wait to hear back from her, I have to force myself to stay seated, because I feel so agitated after seeing Seth. The guy annihilated my reputation and my heart.
It’s really, really not fair for Sam to ask me to wait for them. I’m about to leave when Sam and Seth step out of the elevator. Both appear tense, and my instinct to take off goes into overdrive. But when Sam’s pleading gaze finds me, I feel stuck in the corner of the couch.
Sam comes over with Seth slowly following. “I noticed you got the laundry done, so how about that lunch?”
I glance at Seth, who is studying me with a suspicious gaze. “I . . .”
“Come on, Peyton,” Sam says. “Like I said, my treat, especially for doing the laundry.”
My eyes implore Sam to go without me as I say, “I already ate.”
His eyes beg me to come. “We’re going to grab something quick, then we’re walking to the bus terminal.”