The Wedding Date

The Wedding Date Page 18

She met his eyes and nodded.

“Okay,” was all she said.

“Are you mad?” he asked. He didn’t want to push this. And he definitely didn’t want to keep talking about it. But he didn’t want her to be mad at him. They only had a little while left.

“I’m not mad,” she said. She looked at him for a minute, and her smile became more of a real one. “I did find out last night, you know. If I was mad, I wouldn’t be here right now.”

He shouldn’t ask. He really shouldn’t. She’d think that’s why he apologized, and it wasn’t. But he couldn’t help himself.

“Does this mean there’s a possibility for round four?” he asked, and he reached for the sheet she’d used to cover herself up.

She looked down at his hand on the sheet and met his eyes.

“Three and a half, you mean.”

He pulled the sheet covering her torso down and drew his thumb over her breasts. Her eyes followed his thumb as it stroked her body.

“I guess that means that I have some work to do,” he said.

He pushed her back down on the bed as she laughed. As they kissed, his fingers played with her nipples in the way that he now knew she liked. When his lips trailed down to her breasts, her fingernails dug into his back. Did she know that he liked that? He hoped so. He’d make sure to tell her in a second. He drew a nipple into his mouth, and—

“Room service!” came the call from outside.

She groaned and covered her face with her arm.

“Hey,” he said as he stood up. “You’re the one who insisted on coffee.”

She sighed dramatically and he laughed.

“Don’t remind me.” She got out of bed, too. “I’m going to the bathroom. The room service guy doesn’t need to see me naked, even if it’s under a sheet.”

Once she was safely in the bathroom, he let the room service guy in and tipped him well. While the guy set up the tray on the bed, Drew double-checked what time his flight was. Noon. Which meant he’d have to leave for the airport in, like, thirty minutes.

Damn it. It wasn’t enough time.

But there were a ton of flights from San Francisco to L.A. every day . . .

“Is the coast clear?” she shouted from the bathroom after the door closed behind room service.

He laughed.

“You can come out now.” When was the last time he’d laughed this much? He’d been laughing with her ever since that first moment in the elevator.

She padded out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel this time, and took a big sniff of the air.

“Ahhhh, coffee.” She got back in bed and poured herself a cup from the carafe on the tray.

“I’ll be right back.” He disappeared into the bathroom, his phone still in his hand. In few clicks, he changed his flight to the one at eight that night. Now he could relax.

He came back out of the bathroom—not covered in a towel—and was pleased to see her eyes follow him as he crossed to the bed.

“I thought you were going to start flexing any second,” she said as he climbed into bed next to her and reached for his own coffee cup. He pulled his hand back, met her eyes, and slowly made a fist. She laughed at him but bent over and kissed his bicep.

“I poured you coffee,” she said, sipping her own. “But I didn’t know how you take it.”

He poured half the container of cream into his coffee and shook in few sugar packets. She looked from the pale brown liquid in his mug to the unadulterated blackness of her own and laughed.

“I would make a ‘I like my coffee the way I like my men’ joke, but it would be either inaccurate or just really dirty.”

He put his arm up next to her mug, pretending to be injured.

“What, I’m not black enough for you?” he asked.

She put her arm up next to his mug.

“Sweetheart, it seems like I’m too black for you,” she said.

His coffee was paler than her skin color; she was right. Oops. Somehow that didn’t seem like the right observation to make.

“I didn’t mean . . . I wasn’t trying to . . .” He looked from his cup, to her, covered up by the white sheets again, and back to his cup. Everything he could think of to say sounded like a terrible idea. “Um.”

She turned his face toward hers, forcing him to look her in the eye.

“Stop. It’s okay. I was just joking.”

He saw the smile on her face and relaxed.

“Now,” she said, uncovering the room service plates, “let’s eat some bacon so we’re all fortified for round three and a half.”

Afterward, they lay curved around each other in bed again, his head on her chest, her fingers drifting through his hair.

“Drew?” she said eventually. “When do we have to get out of here? What time is your flight?”

“Not until eight tonight.” Hopefully, she wouldn’t ask why he was leaving so late. If she did, he could make up something. “I have to check out in”—he glanced at the clock by the bed—“twenty minutes, though. So . . . if you aren’t busy for the rest of the day, we could hang out. We’ll have to get out of here, but we can go somewhere else. Eat tacos, relax in the park, go for a walk, I don’t know.” Or go back to her place, maybe? “I mean, unless you’re busy. You probably have a work thing to do, or something, so no worries if you do.”

He was rambling, but he couldn’t help it. Why didn’t it occur to him when he changed his flight that she might have something else to do today? Now, not only was he going to have to say good-bye to her very soon, but he would then have to wander around San Francisco alone for the rest of the day. He was so preemptively annoyed that he almost missed her response.

“Sure, why not? Let me jump in the shower.”

Alexa grinned at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. How exactly was this happening to her? Not only had she had crazy, dirty, great sex all night with a really hot guy, but said hot guy wanted to spend the day with her? For once, she was going to ignore all the work she had to do today.

Thank God she’d gotten ready in his room yesterday, so she had her hair stuff and something to wear other than a cocktail dress.

As they loaded their bags into his rental car, she mused over the past two days, all of which the Alexa of Thursday afternoon would have never believed. Hell, the Alexa of nine a.m. Sunday wouldn’t have believed she’d still be with him at noon. The sex had been great—really great—and he’d made it pretty clear that he’d thought so, too. But she had figured he’d want to get out of the hotel as soon as he could on Sunday and leave all of the reminders of the wedding behind. Including her.

She shrugged. He had a late flight back to L.A. and needed something to occupy his time, and she was around and available. It wasn’t any more than that. She probably shouldn’t have jumped so quickly when he asked her if she could hang out today, but she couldn’t fool herself. She didn’t want this weekend to end yet. At this point, when he said jump, she’d ask how high.

She could hate herself for that on Monday. Sunday was all his.

“Didn’t you just eat a bushel of bacon?” she asked him as he drove toward the Mission. “You’re really ready for a burrito already?”

“Number one: I worked off that bacon, as you well know,” he said. He grinned at her, and she grinned right back. “Number two: I’m not quite ready for a burrito yet, but I know that I will be soon, so we might as well get them and find a good spot in Dolores Park. It’s already nice and sunny, and it’ll get busy.”

She watched his profile as he drove, a little sad he had shaved that day. His smooth skin was nice against her face, but just the thought of the feel of his stubble last night on her cheeks, her lips, and her thighs made her shift in her set.

“You used to live in the Bay Area?” she asked. He’d mentioned something about that to one of the wedding guests the night before. She’d nodded and smiled along like she already knew his whole life story, but now she actually got to ask questions.

“Yeah, had a fellowship for two years at Children’s Hospital in Oakland. I loved it. Great hospital.”