The Bluff (Graham Brothers, #2)(55)

As my bike eats up mile after mile in the dark, his words play on repeat in my head: Try, risk, lose.

But are the first two worth the possibility of the third?





CHAPTER NINETEEN





James



The question is still banging around in my head when Winnie opens the hotel room door the next morning. “James,” she says. Her tone is very much, Look what the cat dragged in. “Did you lose your keycard? And, perhaps, your way?”

Actually, yes. I did lose the keycard she gave me. Maybe my way too. For the first time, I realize she might have worried when I didn’t come back to the room. I should have at least texted her. The gravity of all my failures hits me with crippling intensity.

I understand Winnie’s flat gaze, and the way she doesn’t immediately move to let me in. It’s early—very early. I smell like gasoline and exhaust. I’m freezing, more than a little filthy, and my body still feels like it’s vibrating from the bike.

More importantly, I kissed her, then ran away last night, like our kiss wasn’t life-altering.

I wouldn’t let me in the room either.

I also have no idea what I’m going to say. No plan. Which is why I just stand here stupidly. More stupidly even than usual.

Winnie leans on the doorframe. Her hair is loose around her shoulders, and she has a brush in one hand, as though I’ve caught her in the midst of getting ready. She’s dressed in a classic white blouse paired with jeans so tight I can’t give them more than a passing glance or my gaze will get stuck there. She has on no makeup, and her full lips are a natural, pretty pink.

The memory of our kiss floods me, and I rock back on my heels.

My voice seems to have disappeared somewhere on my ride, and when I open my mouth to speak, my teeth chatter instead. The temperature dropped during the night, but I hardly noticed. Only now do I realize how the cold has seeped through my jacket and clothes. My bones are brittle ice.

Winnie’s guarded look disappears, swallowed up by concern. “Where have you been?” She tosses the brush behind her and puts her hands to my cheeks, frowning. “You’re freezing!”

“Y-y-yeah.” The word stutters out between my chattering teeth. I resist the urge to nuzzle into her palms like a big dog. I don’t deserve her kindness.

“Get in here, you big idiot.”

Or … her Winniefied version of kindness.

Winnie grabs me by the arm and drags me inside the room. My bags still sit by the door, and I wonder if she snooped through them.

Why do I hope she did?

Winnie disappears into the bathroom, and I hear the shower start. Her voice echoes off the tile. “I thought you went home.”

“I did. Couldn’t sleep. Went for a ride.” I’ve found my voice but haven't managed to locate more than two-syllable words.

I stand next to the door, unable to make myself walk any farther into the room, which is filled with Winnie’s sweet scent. The bed is rumpled, her pajamas in a pile next to the dresser like she got undressed right there, not long ago. I turn away, facing the ugly wallpaper like I’m a kid who’s been put in timeout.

Winnie emerges from the bathroom, followed by a cloud of steam. She leans on the doorframe for a moment, arms crossed as she studies me.

I kissed those lips, I think. The best kiss of my life. And then, stubbornly, But it was just a kiss. I’m not falling for her.

Two truths and a lie.

Try, Tank told me. Risk. I want to do both, but the how is the hard part. It’s like turning off all my default settings, rebooting a very slow system. Right now, my brain is just a blank screen with a blinking cursor.

“There may not be a lot of hot water left,” Winnie says. “I took a long shower this morning. But it should be enough to thaw you out.”

I swallow, attempting not to think of Winnie taking a long shower. “Thanks.”

Winnie blinks, then brushes right by me, grabbing her messenger bag. “There are a few clean towels hanging up. I’m headed down to get breakfast before the first session. The room is yours.”

When she walks by me again, not even looking my way, I almost reach out, almost grab her hand to—what? What would I say or do, exactly? I let her pass, though I make no move to enter the bathroom.

I don’t know how to do this, to be honest and vulnerable with a woman. I’ve never done it. There has never been anyone who gave me reason to think about opening up. Not even close.

Winnie’s going to walk right out before I can find my tongue or my courage. But she opens the door, then closes it again, leaning against it. She keeps one hand on the handle like she’s poised for escape. I don’t look away under her intense gaze.

“Question of the day,” she says.

The questions. I had forgotten all about them, and though the last thing I want now is to answer anything, I’m desperate for anything she’ll give me right now.

“Okay.”

“Do you regret it?” Her voice is barely above a whisper.

She doesn’t need to say what the it is. The kiss hangs between us, right along with my idiotic response. The memory of it is more palpable than the steam billowing out of the bathroom. The sad look in her eyes makes me hate myself.

Winnie is not a regret. She could never be.

I capture her gaze, unwavering. “No.”