Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 107453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
“Oh, good. I thought it was missing,” I say, relieved since I don’t want anything going wrong on this trip. Not after the fiasco of my whole damn wedding.
The manager winces and then offers an I’m about to disappoint you smile. “The thing is…”
“You don’t have our reservation,” I blurt out.
“We do,” Harry reassures me. “But it seems whoever took your change last night was mistaken. We can’t make any changes to a non-refundable booking.”
He flashes a smile that both says sorry and you’re shit out of luck.
“But the person I spoke to last night said it was no problem. That you upgrade all the time,” I say, panic rising in me right along with my pitch. Harry, help a girl out! How am I supposed to share a room with these two men and all my desire? It’s like an elephant tromping around. I’ll call her Ellie the Elephant. She’s a very dirty girl.
Another grin from the man behind the counter. This one says he’s a brick wall. A nice brick wall but an unscalable one, nonetheless. “Yes, and I do regret the misunderstanding. I’ll have to see who was staffing the phones last night and educate them on the policy. But our non-refundable suites are also not changeable.” He swivels his tablet screen around to show me the policy, like that’ll soothe the wild thrashing of lust and worry in my chest.
“Harry,” Dev says with his customary warmth, “I hear ya. And that makes perfect sense. But you probably have other rooms. I’d be happy to handle it,” he says, and I can’t let him pay for another room. He already booked a private freaking jet.
I set a hand on Dev’s arm. His very big, very strong, very touchable arm. “You don’t have to,” I say, taking my hand off right away. I don’t need more temptation.
Dev’s green eyes meet mine, flickering with tenderness and concern. “I know. I want to. For you,” he says, holding my gaze.
My heart pounds.
I feel foolish for not wanting to share with them. It’ll be fine. Of course it’ll be fine. I handled getting dumped at the altar yesterday. I’ve handled my mother’s emotions for the last few years. I’ve weathered the grief of my father’s death. There is no need for my little internal freak-out. Ellie the Elephant will be fine, and so will I. “It’ll be fine,” I say, meaning it. “I swear.”
“We want you to have a good trip,” Ledger puts in.
Dev turns back to the man with the magic tablet, trying again. “Can you get us some more rooms?”
One more sorry smile comes our way. “We don’t have any other suites available. There’s a wine festival in town and every room is booked.” Harry pauses, peering at the screen again. He holds up a finger. “This is interesting.”
He found a room! For Ellie the Elephant and me. “You found something?”
His brow knits, then he lifts his face. “It seems whoever made the change last night put you in our Ultra-Deluxe Honeymoon Suite instead of the Deluxe Honeymoon Suite.”
I perk up. “Does it have three beds?”
Harry shakes his head. “No, but the tub is bigger.”
Oh, great. Thanks, Harry. I’ll just put my lust in the tub for the next few days. No problem.
“Thanks,” I say.
“And the beds are bigger too. So, there you go.”
Wait! There’s hope on the horizon from Harry Titterington. “Bedssssss?”
I mean, surely there are honeymoon suites somewhere, someplace, with beds plural? Like, for sets of twins honeymooning together. That has to be a thing.
“This suite has one very big bed.”
One big bed for my brother’s two best friends and me.
16
THE BED PROCLAMATION
Aubrey
Act normal, act normal, act totally fucking normal.
After we grab the bags from the car, Dev thanks the valet and tips him well. With suitcases in tow, the three of us head to the elevator. No one has said a real word since we left the front desk with key cards in hand. Just the basics. Here’s your bag, I’ll carry it, what floor are we on.
The tension is thick as we step into the small elevator. If this isn’t a metaphor for the next week, being trapped in this small space with two hockey studs, I don’t know what is.
But this kind of uncomfortable silence is familiar to me. And since I got us into this situation, I’ll have to see us through. “There’s probably a couch,” I say, looking on the bright side as the doors to the elevator shut.
“Maybe even two,” Dev offers, equally hopeful.
“Guys, I’ll take the couch,” Ledger says, laying down the law like that.
And what? Give the bed to Dev and me? That’s even weirder, sharing a bed with just one of the guys. “I’ll take the couch,” I say, eagerly volunteering. Then I jut out a hip and gesture to myself. “I’m not a big hockey player.”