Bait (Wake, #1)(31)

She was still pretty, with her long, blonde, wavy hair and green eyes, and she was fun to be around. She had an amazing body and took very good care of herself, but I didn't crave her.

I craved Blake. I snapped myself out of my thoughts and bucked up. If she wanted the truth—no bullshit—then I was going to let her have it.

“You're stiff in front of people you don't know. You need to act like you've been friends with them for years. You know, like you relate to your friends or me. Just be yourself. I can see you're only trying to be professional and that's great. But, Aly, no one is going to listen to you rattle on about numbers and spreadsheets if they don't already like you. That's sales.”

I watched her take it all in. A crinkle across her brow told me that she was deciding whether or not I'd insulted her.

So I added, “You just have to sell yourself first and then sell the beer second. I swear. That's it.”

The door dinged as we arrived on our floor. Our rooms were next to each other. She wanted to share last week when we were making arrangements, but I shut that down quickly. I wasn't about to toy with her, even if it would have been as easy as shooting fish in a barrel.

We stopped at 811 and 813, and she held both of the cards. Handing me one, she asked, “Do you want to get dinner in a little bit? I'm hungry, but I think I'm going to take a nap first.”

“Sure. Knock when you're ready.”

“Okay,” she said as she lugged her bags inside her room.



The room was nice. The customary king-sized bed, a nice wet bar, and a sitting area. That was more than what I needed, but I was happy to have a little space. Staying in hotels night after night was great, but sometimes they felt a little tight.

The beds were sometimes too close to the walls. The showers were often too short for my body. I’m not a giant, but six-foot-two guy like me should be able to fit under the showerhead. I’ve got a lot of hair. It’s a pain in the ass to get the soap out.

I don't mind living out of a suitcase, but I liked my space, too.

After I took out my clothes for the next day and hung them in the closet, and made the hotel room my home for the next forty-eight hours, I found myself on the couch looking at my phone. Reading and rereading the messages Blake sent. I wondered what she was doing. I did the math. What time zone was she in? What time zone was I in? This was becoming commonplace. This new me versus Blake time equation. Should I make her wait? Should I see if she'd give up or if she'd keep messaging me?

Then my mind would go somewhere else. It would wander to a place where she was with her boyfriend and they were happy. My conscience would tell me, “Drop it. She’s already taken.” But the biggest part of me said, “You want her. Make her yours.”

Was that an alpha male thing to think? I didn't think of myself like an alpha male. Pissing on everything I liked. Claiming everything that I conquered as my own. But when it came to her, my instincts told me to act. To claim. To take.

That part of me said, get her.

Then, like I did almost every day, I sent her a message because I couldn't wait to see what she'd say back.

Me: I just got off a plane and into a hotel. What are you doing?

Was she with him? What did she tell him when she got messages from me when he was around? Maybe she hid it. Maybe she just didn't answer her phone. There were so many things that I didn't know.

Sure. We'd had a one-night stand, but we didn't really mention it. For the most part our messages were strictly on the friendly side. Not that there wasn't flirting. There was and it was quickly becoming not enough for me.

Still, I'd played it cool. I sent her the reply and then decided to flick through the channels and find something on TV. I turned up the volume and drowned out my crazy mind with the Food Network.

That was also becoming a habit.

I watched mindlessly as the chefs battled it out for some top prize if they could make whatever the hell food out of these random ingredients. I both hated it and was hooked at the same time.

Honeybee: Just got back home.

When she would finally answer I always thought I should try to ignore her, but I never could.

Me: I thought you were ignoring me. LOL

Honeybee: You're not funny.

Me: How was your day? So you like Mayday Maggie?

Honeybee: My mother is driving me nuts, but other than that it was good. Yeah. That band is really good.

Me: We should go see them sometime.

Delete.

Me: I think I'm going to go see them. Cory and our friend Troy know their bassist.

Honeybee: Small world. How was your day?

It was six in Chicago, so it was four in Seattle. This time of the night was usually radio silent from her end. It made me curious.

Me: Good. Traveled most the day. Lost a few hours in the process. I've got a meeting in the morning. I'll probably call it a night early. You know. Beauty sleep. LOL.

Honeybee: You need it. From what little I remember of you, you look pretty haggard in general.

That was how she flirted. She insulted me. It was her way. She was becoming easy to read. If she thought things one way, then she'd admit to the complete opposite. It was her tell. At least via text. The other night when I told her I was going to brush my teeth and go to bed she told me she could still smell my dragon breath and that I better floss and rinse while I was at it. Since I'd already caught on to her exaggerations, I interpreted this as she thought about my mouth and liked it.