The Do-Over (The Miles High Club #4)(56)

I stare at the back of it, shocked to silence.

What the hell just happened?

“You slept together, didn’t you?” Basil says dryly.

I exhale heavily.

“Hayden, have you learned nothing?” He sighs. “No hanky-panky with roommates.”

My eyes well with tears. If I’d thought we were only roommates, I wouldn’t have.

I thought we were more.





CHRISTOPHER

I throw my bag into the trunk and get into the back of the cab. “Airport, please.”

“Okay.” The driver calmly pulls out and into the traffic.

My heart is hammering hard in my chest, and I turn and look at the hostel through the back window.

I drag my hand down my face. Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I take out my phone and call Eddie. He answers on the first ring. “Hello, Mr. Christo.”

“Hi, buddy. Listen, I have to go out of town for a while. Can you look after Miss Hazen for me please?”

“Where are you going?”

“I have to sign some papers at home.” I’m not lying. I do have to sign some papers, but I wasn’t due to do it until next week, but I know the boys are all in New York this week. I need to go home.

“Are you coming back?” he asks softly.

I can hear the disappointment in his voice, and I close my eyes. Damn it. “Of course I am.”

“When?”

“A couple of days.”

“What day?”

“I don’t know yet,” I snap. “Can you watch over her for me or not?”

“Fine.”

“Good. She’s too trusting, and I just—”

He cuts me off. “I’m on it.”

“Thank you.”

He hangs up before I can say anything else, and I exhale heavily. It’s a weird world where the person I trust most is a fourteen-year-old kid who works nights in a bar.

Perspiration dusts my skin, and I wipe my brow. Damn it, sleeping with that woman—or nearly sleeping with that woman—has me on the verge of a complete fucking meltdown. I’ve never felt so unstable.

I take a deep steadying breath as I stare out the window. I shouldn’t be going.

But I can’t stay.

The walls are closing in around me, and I didn’t sleep the entire night.

I pursued this . . . I wanted this.

And now?

Fuck . . . what have I done?

I just need some time with my brothers.

I rub my fingers over my stubble as I stare out the window.

Go back.

Don’t fuck this up. She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you.

Go back.

“Can you just . . .”

The driver’s eyes flick up to meet mine in the rearview mirror.

“Never mind.” I correct myself. “Drop me off at the international terminal, please.”



I walk out of JFK Airport just at 7:00 p.m. The black limo is waiting by the curb for me.

Brandon, my driver, smiles warmly with a nod. “Good evening, Mr. Miles.”

I smile and shake his hand. “Hello, Brandon. It’s good to see you.”

He pops the trunk, and I put my backpack in and get into the back seat.

He pulls out into the traffic, and I look around my hometown in awe. It’s like I’m seeing it for the first time.

So busy.

Yellow cabs are everywhere, and I smile as I feel my equilibrium return.

“Are we picking anyone up, sir?” Brandon asks.

I frown. Do we normally pick people up? I guess we do.

“No, not tonight.”

I sit quietly in the back as we drive through New York. I glance at the time on my phone. It would be 1:00 a.m. in Spain.

I should call Hayden and tell her that I landed safely . . . and then say what?

I imagine how the conversation would go, and I exhale heavily.

I’m not in the mood for the third degree. I stuff my phone back in my pocket.

Fifteen minutes later we pull up in front of my building. “Home sweet home.” Brandon smiles.

“Yes.” I smile. “I’ve missed this place.”

“I’ll carry your bag up for you, sir,” he offers.

“No. I’ve got it, thanks.” I sling the huge backpack over my shoulder.

“What time will you be heading out, Mr. Miles?”

I frown. That’s right . . . I do go out every night when I’m here.

“I’m staying in tonight. Go home. Have the night off.”

Brandon’s eyebrows flick up as if he’s surprised.

“Thanks for coming to get me.”

He frowns.

I smile and make my way into the foyer.

The concierge staff all run when they see me with my heavy bag. “Mr. Miles, it’s good to see you, sir. Let us take that.”

“I’m fine,” I reply. Why are they all running?

I look around. Everything is marble and over-the-top luxurious. Huge bouquets of fresh flowers are everywhere, and the staff are all in black suits. The floor is so highly polished it looks like a mirror.

I frown. Was it always this luxurious? Did I just never notice it before?

Hmm . . .

I get into the elevator, and Harold, its operator, is standing quietly. “Hello, Mr. Miles.” He smiles.