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The other reason was because something had gotten into me.
Thoughts that shouldn’t be in my goddamn head.
Thoughts that were mentally set in stone, especially as I said to them, “Text me the name of the whiskey bar.” I slowly looked at Dominick. “I’m going to meet you there.”
I could strangle myself for this. Because what I was about to do wasn’t going to lead to anything good. I had several drinks already in me, and I’d had a hard-on for hours.
But as I gave the hotel another glance, I knew there wasn’t anywhere else I wanted to be right now.
“Where are you going?” Macon asked.
I gazed back at the guys, the anger building in my chest.
It hadn’t come out of nowhere.
I was mad at myself for doing this, mad about the entire situation.
Mad that I knew better and I couldn’t fucking resist.
“You don’t need to worry about that,” I told Macon.
“You’re really leaving us now?” Ford persisted.
“Brady, things are just getting started,” Cooper said.
Enough with the fucking questions and guilt trip.
“I’ll see you guys later,” I told them.
Dominick nodded, knowing exactly what I was going to do, and said, “I’ll text you the address.”
As I turned around and walked toward the street, I heard, “Pussy.”
I held my middle finger high in the air and went to the hotel’s front entrance. After moving through the lobby, I stopped at the bank of elevators. Before I’d gone to the game, I’d called the hotel manager to get the room number I needed. Although it was against hotel policy to give out information on any guest, he couldn’t deny an owner. So, when I stepped into the elevator, I knew just what button to press.
I waited for the lift to climb, and when it finally opened on the sixth floor, I went down the hallway, halting when I reached room 632. I stood in front of the door, my hand flat against it, as though I was waiting for the sense to be knocked back into me. My forehead was positioned the same way as my palm, landing just above it, my fingers now balled into a fist.
Why couldn’t I resist her?
Why was she eating away at my mind?
Why had I thought of her scent and the feel of her pussy and the softness of her lips the entire time I was at the game?
Why was knowing she was behind this door, assuming she hadn’t gone out, driving me to a level that was far beyond fucking wild?
My hand lifted from the hardness and returned; the sound it left was a heavy, deep knock, and in case she didn’t hear the first one, I followed up with two more.
While I waited, I pulled my face away and gripped the frame on either side of the door. As the seconds passed, the little patience I had began to thin out.
And when I couldn’t stand another second, my fist pounded a series of three more knocks.
She had the next couple of days off. I didn’t know why my gut told me she was in her room since there was no reason for her to be. But I stayed right here, listening to every sound, and within a few seconds, there was the faintest scratch on the back side of the door right before I heard the twist of the knob.
Her face appeared through the crack, scanning the entire doorway even though I filled it. She kept it ajar and whispered, “Brady …”
“I need to know something.”
I tried not to let her scent affect me.
