The Trade(58)

No.

I mentally shake my head. We’re friends—if that—nothing more.

Nicholas is the perfect distraction, just what I need for tonight. And who knows, if I’m lucky, maybe he’ll take me back to his hotel room, because from the Rolex that’s staring back at me, I’m guessing Nicholas isn’t a broom closet guy.





Chapter Thirteen





CORY





Milly: Are you okay?

I stare at my phone, gripping it so tightly that I’m positive I might pop the front right off.

Reportedly, Potter is being paid to suck so the Bobbies have a better chance at staying Chicago’s better team.

The article I read when I got back to the hotel room was the icing on top of the shit cake tonight. But oddly, it’s not the reason I’m about to crush my phone in the palm of my hand.

No, it’s the girl with the caramel-colored hair, gorgeous smile, and perfect ass.

It’s ten o’clock, Natalie left the bar two hours ago, and has yet to let anyone know where she is. Yeah, I’ve been keeping track. Why?

Because the minute I saw her in the siren-red dress, I knew there was going to be trouble tonight . . . trouble for me.

She looked so goddamn beautiful that I felt my heart stutter stop when I caught sight of her. My breath escaped my lungs, and all I could think about was the red of her lipstick sliding over my aching cock . . . over and over and over again.

It’s why I chose to sit opposite her at the bar, why I didn’t talk to her, because I knew if I did, I would have said something I’d regret later. But funnily enough, I’m regretting not saying anything to her now, not sitting next to her, not asking if she wants to go sit in a private corner, share an appetizer with me, and just fucking talk.

There’s so much more I want to know about her, so many things I want to find out like how she takes her coffee in the morning, does she prefer deep-dish, what was her favorite childhood memory? I want to know anything and everything about her and instead of taking the opportunity to do so, I balked, hid, and now she’s off with some other guy doing who knows what. No. Not who knows what. I saw him. I saw him approach her, watched as his eyes traveled up and down her delicious body. He wasn’t the only guy; he was just the first guy who made it to her. Who stole her attention. So I know exactly what that douche would be doing with Natalie. Because she’s so fucking sexy, so fucking gorgeous.

“Fuck,” I yell, pulling on my hair for the thousandth time. Wearing only a pair of shorts, I’ve been pacing our hotel room for the past hour, trying to figure out how to handle these catastrophic emotions. I catch a glimpse of my hair in the mirror and if I wasn’t so distraught and nauseous, I’d laugh at the guy in the reflection. Hair twisted and pulled in all different directions, I look like a defeated male, ready to do anything to get the girl.

Funnily enough, that’s how I feel too.

I type back a response to Milly.

Cory: I’m wearing out the rug of the hotel room.

Thankfully she texts back right away.

Milly: Do you want to come to our room?

Cory: No. I don’t want you two to have to deal with my shitty attitude. Who knows what I might do or say?

Milly: Still haven’t heard anything from her?

Cory: Why would I? It’s not like we’re holding each other accountable, or need to check in. We’re just sharing a hotel room. But hell, Milly, I swear to fuck if she doesn’t come back tonight, I don’t know what I’ll do.

Milly: I thought you were trying to avoid her.

Cory: It’s not working. I want her . . . bad. I’m losing my damn mind over here while she’s out with Mr. Suave. Fuck, Milly, I really think I might punch my hand through the wall.

Milly: I’m coming over.

Cory: No, don’t. Please. Just stay with Carson. I’ll be fine.

Milly: I’m worried about you.

Cory: I know you are.

Just then, a rustling sound falls on the other side of the door followed by a softly spoken “fuck.” My heart plummets in my chest, banging against my ribs, sending me into a full-blown panic.

She’s here.

I type as fast as I can.

Cory: I think she’s back.

Just as I hit send, the door opens and I look over my shoulder to see her stop in the doorway when she spots me.

Hand to her chest, she chuckles and says, “Oh, you startled me. I thought you’d be in bed or something.”

Her words are wasted on my ears as I take her in, analyze her appearance. Dress isn’t wrinkled, hair is as smooth as it was when I first saw her, maybe wilted a little from the humidity, and her lipstick, untouched.

Fucking hell . . . maybe she didn’t do anything with the bastard.

“Are you okay?” she asks, setting her key and phone on the countertop of the small kitchenette. “Your hair looks crazy.”

I try to steady my breathing and the swift rise and fall of my bare chest.

I try to tamp down my racing pulse, which is causing my heart to beat so rapidly that I think it might climb out of me.

And I try to draw my eyes off her. But I can’t look away, not when she looks so goddamn beautiful, eyes wide, question in her brow, a blush to her cheek.

Swallowing down the nerves bubbling at the base of my throat, I ask, “Good night?”