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“Come on, kissing fool,” Dean says, leading her out the door.
“Did you get her all tucked in,” Ryker asks as I step into his room. A mixture of soap and aftershave fill the chilled room. I pull in a deep inhale, filling my senses with his smell. I’ve missed it.
“I did.”
I spin in place when he shuts the hotel door, dropping my bag and taking two steps to him. His butt hits the door, and he stares down at me.
“What’s on your mind, Whiskey?”
I bite my lip, pushing my body against his and run my palms up his bare chest. “I missed you.”
His fingers grip my hair, and he tugs. He bites along my jaw, sending goose bumps down my arm. “I missed you, too. But we have to talk first.”
Talk about a mood killer.
My bottom lip sticks out. Talking is not what I had in mind. He picks me up and I wrap my legs around his waist and he carries me into the room. My back hits the cool bed, but I lock my feet together so he can’t get up. The white down comforter swallows me under the weight of both of us.
“I told you I loved you and not that I expect it in return, I expected a little more of a response from you.”
I guess we’re diving right into it.
My legs fall to the bed. “It was a little surprising, Ryker. Especially after you didn’t text me back or accept any of my phone calls. And then I get to see a picture of you and Bree, looking very comfortable with each other two days after you told me you’d wait for me.”
“What the hell are you talking about? I never got a text or phone call from you.” His accusing voice stabs the air, piercing any buzz I had left.
Irritation builds in my chest. He can’t lie when I have proof. I push him off me so I can grab my bag off the floor and dig for my phone. He watches as I search for my phone. When I have the unanswered texts on the screen, I throw it at him.
“You might think I’m at a disadvantage because I’m not tech savvy with that thing, but I know you can’t say I didn’t text you when it’s right there.”
He looks down at the phone, and his brows crease. “I didn’t get these,” he says, confusion in his voice as he lifts his head. He continues to look through my call log. “Or these phone calls.”
I stare at him. What do I say to that? Mila said I was doing it correctly.
“Fuck,” he snaps, making me jump and his face pales. He squeezes his neck as he drops his gaze to the floor. “I’m so fucking stupid.”
“What? Why?”
He shakes his hand in the air with the phone. “Because I fat fingered my number.”
My mind jumps to what those large fingers have done. Stop, Aspen, this is serious. I shake the dirty thoughts out of my head. “What does that mean, Ryker?”
He places my phone on the side table and pushes off the bed. Wincing as he steps up to me, he mutters, “It means I entered the wrong phone number.”
All this time I thought he didn’t want me, it was because I had the wrong number?
“I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.” He squeezes the bridge of his nose. “It was a digit off.”
His admission is heavy with guilt, and I hate seeing him like this. I like the playful Ryker better.
“It’s okay. I’d rather hear I didn’t have your correct number than you didn’t answer me. But, now that we’re getting everything out in the open, tell me about the picture.”
He nods, grabbing my hand and walking backward to the bed. We both sit, but it’s him keeping hold of me this time. “A picture doesn’t tell the story. Anyone can take a picture and spin a story to their liking. In my world…” He pauses for a second. “Well… our world, you can’t believe anything that’s printed. They’re all half-truths.”
“Tell me, what’s true about you and Bree?”
“I asked her to go with me to the gala, because you weren’t available and she’s a friend. Everyone knows she’s my PR manager and we’ve been photographed a million times together. I thought she was safe.” He shrugs.
“So, what changed? Because the photo I saw, you looked like more than friends.”
