Sighing, I start towards Heidi. His eyes follow me, doing a double take when they skim over my ass. He’s probably just now realizing that I’ve not showered or changed since leaving him. And if I know Wyatt, it’s probably giving him more ideas. “Let me talk to her, okay?”
“She’ll say yes,” he says confidently, and I look back at him.
“We’ll see.”
But in the end, Wyatt is right. Heidi feels she’s screwed up my night enough, so she doesn’t want to ruin what I had planned. She quickly agrees to sleep on the extra queen bed in Cal’s room without so much as an eye roll. Wyatt and I go with her to grab her bags—well, bag, because that’s all that’s left in our room. When he excuses himself to return to his own suite, I walk with her to Cal’s room on the sixth floor.
On the third knock, Cal flings the door open wearing nothing but a towel. There’s a toothbrush in his mouth and his black hair clings to damp shoulders. Leaning against the doorframe, he gives Heidi a head to toe once-over. I feel her fidget beside of me under his scrutiny. Through the mouthful of toothpaste, he says, “Your mascara looks like shit.”
And here we go.
Heidi sneers. “I’m only staying with you because I love Kylie, limp dick.” She shoves past him, snapping the towel away from his waist in the process. I’ve been on the road with the guys so much that there’s nothing I haven’t seen, but I still cover my eyes, feeling heat creep up my neck.
He chokes on the toothpaste and garbles something. I’m laughing as I head down the hallway, toward the staircase. After the night I’ve had, it feels good to laugh. “Good night, y’all.”
Cal is still coughing, but before I hear his door close, he says in a clear enough voice, “Bet you’re not going to try your small dick phone sex humiliation shit on me now.”
For the next forty-five minutes, I sit in the hotel’s business center, cancelling all of my credit and debit cards. It’s a pain in the ass because it’s so late, but I finally get it done and order replacements to be delivered to my apartment in Los Angeles.
I practically drag myself across the lobby to the elevator, and I lean against the wall as I ride up to the fifth floor.
Wyatt’s left the door to his room propped open with the hotel’s binder full of local restaurants and cable channel lineup. I pick it up as I go inside, throwing it on the chair by the door after I lock the deadbolts. I follow the hum of the pipes into the bathroom, which is a haze of fog from his piping hot shower.
He pokes his head out of the bathtub, scrubbing shampoo into his scalp. “You. Naked. In the shower. Now.”
“You. Caveman. Go screw yourself.” But I shed my clothes anyway, kicking them under the sink. I take his hand and carefully step into the shower. I recoil at how hot the water is, but he pulls me to him, shielding my body from the stream as he adjusts the temperature.
“It took you f**king forever.” He lathers soap over my br**sts, testing the weight of each and tracing his thumbs around my ni**les, before moving his hands to my bellybutton. When he glides a soapy finger around it, I shiver. “Thought you’d forgotten me.”
He’s echoing my sentiments from earlier tonight, and I smile slightly. “No, that’s impossible. I had to cancel my cards before someone steals all of Lucas’s money, and he decides to strangle me.”
“He’s too busy with Red to notice anything except for her pus—”
I flare my palms down his slick abs and his toned “V” to grab his cock. This must catch him off guard because his lips part. “I don’t want to hear things like that about my brother.”
Wyatt laughs but then asks me in a serious voice, “Did you get everything handled?”
“He stole my ID, too.”
He bends his head so that he can run his tongue around my lips. “You know what’s got to happen, beautiful,” he says. I start to move my fingers from around him, but he closes them back around his length. “You know that you’re coming with me tomorrow, don’t you?”
Yes, I know. I’ve known that was how things would go down the second Officer Townsend had mentioned my credit cards, and I realized there was no way I could board my flight tomorrow. I study Wyatt’s shit-eating grin. “You planned this, didn’t you?”
“For some motherfucker to screw you over? No. But for you to come with me? Yes. That was my plan all along.”
“But the fact that someone broke into my hotel room makes it easier for you.”
He pins me against the shower wall, hitching my leg around his waist, and I let go of his erection so that I can grip his tattooed shoulders for support. Water beats down into my face, but I don’t blink as I wait for him to answer. “Did you think I’d really give you up so easily, beautiful? Did you really think I’d let you go without reminding you why you f**king fell in the first place?”
I swallow hard and nod.
Before he lowers his mouth to mine, he shakes his head in disappointment and murmurs, “Then you must not know a goddamn thing about me.”
CHAPTER SIX
Generally speaking, I hate the way the insides of rental cars smell. I don’t know anyone who gets excited about the stale musk of dusty vacuum cleaner and Windex. But when I open the Suburban’s passenger door early the next afternoon, I pause. And I inhale. This particular vehicle smells like Wyatt’s cologne, Jean Paul Gaultier’s Le Male. I bend my nose closer to the seat, breathing the scent in again, this time as deeply as my lungs will allow. He must have spritzed some all over the leather as he was loading our bags.