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We laugh some more, and we get serious, too. She tells me how stressed she is that she got scammed into buying a huge kit of skincare products that she doesn’t even use. She was supposed to sell the products, but instead they’re sitting in her closet, a total waste of money and space. I tell her how I really feel about getting approached in public like the woman at the bar—I hate it—and I admit to feeling like I need the focus to be on football this season rather than on what conquest the media will pair me with.
As much as I want to take her upstairs, I’m not sure I should.
She’s too sweet. Too kind. Too…amazing. And I want more.
If I screw her tonight in my hotel room, am I limiting what sort of future I might be able to have with her? Am I putting a stamp on this thing by telling her it’s just one night for me?
I said it from the beginning, but I also said I didn’t know. The more time I spend with her, the more I want to make the effort for something beyond one night.
And that isn’t the norm for me. That isn’t something I’ve ever experienced before, to be honest.
I feel like I don’t want to ruin tonight with sex.
Our drinks are empty, though, and our plates are cleared.
I order a refill for the road since this is Vegas, and our server delivers them with our check. We’re done drinking them by the time we finish paying the bill.
The dinner portion of the evening has come to a close, and now it’s time to take her upstairs.
Only…I feel like I want to give her an out. I want to give her the choice.
Of course I want to take her upstairs, haul her into my arms, and strip her naked.
There’s nothing I want more, in fact.
Instead, though, I grab her hand and we meander through the casino back toward the front doors. I pause when we get there, and she looks surprised that I’m stopping. I look out front at the line of people waiting for cars to pick them up.
“Well,” I begin awkwardly. “I’ve had a lot of fun with you tonight.”
Her brows pinch together as her eyes fly to mine. She looks…disappointed. “I thought we were…”
“Well, we were. But I want to see you again. I don’t want this to be—” I fumble for the right words, and I finally find something awkward to finish that sentence. “A one and done.”
She stares at me for a few beats, and then she lifts to her tiptoes and reaches around my neck to pull me down toward her. She presses a gentle kiss to my lips, and she breaks the kiss but doesn’t let me go. “I’d love to go out with you again. But I also want you to take me up to your room.”
I pull back, and my eyes search hers. “Are you sure?”
She sinks back onto her heels, the height difference between us nearly a full foot. She snags her bottom lip demurely between her teeth as she nods. “I’m sure.”
I grunt out a soft sound, and then I grab her hand, surprised once more by this unexpected woman. “Then let’s go.”
Chapter 9: Ava Maxwell
Those Abs Though
I’m not sure if I’ve ever been so sure and simultaneously so nervous about anything in my entire life before.
Gone from my brain are all thoughts of my ex as I step onto the elevator with Grayson Nash.
This is really happening.
He’s taking me up to his hotel room.
He wants to see me again.
At some point, I’ll need to fess up to my true identity. I should probably do it before we have sex. But I find that I’m enjoying being Cookie. I’m still one hundred percent me, and it’s true that on occasion I’ve had people call me Cookie because of my kitchen sink cookies. I’m just leaving out the teeny-tiny detail that a decade ago, we were in the same place at the same time—a place which was not the right place at the right time.
But today is.
