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And he kept his gaze averted from me, so I had no idea what he was thinking. What he’d felt when he’d woken up this morning and remembered his drunken phone call to me. How he’d reacted when he’d seen my text.
Whether he was going to show up later.
“Should be a good one.” Holt raised a hand and swept it in a dramatic arc. “I’m picturing you flying all around the arena, utilising the whole space. Making a real show of it.”
“Alright,” Crossbody said calmly.
“Okay, great.” Holt looked around at us all with a big smile. “The new wrestlers will start officially on Monday. Oh, and the support group regarding our former colleagues, Frank and Beans”—he coughed delicately into his fist—“will begin next Monday morning too. Bright and early, first thing in the arena. Taylor and I will bring donuts!”
“What kind?” Kit called down from the ceiling suspiciously.
Holt rolled his eyes. “A selection.”
“How many?”
He huffed. “Enough for all of you.”
“Actually enough for all of us, or more like you’re assuming only two thirds of us will show up so you’re only going to buy—”
“There’ll be enough fucking donuts.” Holt tipped his head back in exasperation. “I really need to arrange that spa day.”
“Ooh, a spa day,” Susan said wistfully.
“Alright, everyone, have a good day.” Holt turned for the door. “Any questions, you know where to find me.”
“Under Taylor’s desk, right?” Dan murmured beside me in amusement, which made me snort.
Unfortunately, Holt heard.
He spun back around and pointed a pink-nailed finger at Dan. “Accurate, but fucking disrespectful, Ewen.”
Dan sobered. “Sorry, boss.”
“Don’t make me take the TV away,” Holt said snippily as he strode out of the room, tossing his hair back.
—
At 7.56 p.m. that evening, I unlocked the door of room 15 at the Elfknot Motel and stepped inside, shifting into my true form once the door was closed behind me.
It hadn’t been updated since the seventies, by the looks of it. Everything was brown and orange and murky green. I kinda liked it. The curtains—which I immediately pulled across the window—were a loud geometric pattern. The bed sheets were leopard print.
My stomach was jittery with anticipation as I looked around and emptied my pockets onto the dresser before carrying the bottle of lube to the nightstand, which made my heart rate speed up a little.
Feeling too restless to sit down, I wandered into the bathroom and huffed in amusement at the monochromatic, dusky pink tiles and bathroom set. It all looked clean enough, and my eyes darted over to the bed again when I walked back out and stood there, trying not to stare at the door.
Was he going to show up?
We hadn’t even looked at each other all day at work. He’d been busy rehearsing for his match with Carl, while I’d spent some time with Heidi for us to go over the details of our own match, seeing as we didn’t get paired up all that often.
Every time I had glanced at him though, just quickly, I hadn’t been able to tell what he was thinking. Whether he was horribly regretting that phone call last night and what he’d admitted to me. Whether he was considering showing up tonight or not. He was good—most of the time—at revealing nothing.
Exhaling a noisy breath, I scrubbed at my face and walked over to the dresser to pick up my phone and look at the time.
8.01 p.m.
Automatically, I tapped onto my messages and opened my conversation with him. He still hadn’t replied.
I was pretty sure he wasn’t going to show up, just so he could feel like he’d won something. So he could gloat about knowing I’d waited here for him. So he could make himself feel big and in control by imagining me waiting alone in a motel room, dying to fuck him.
