Page 18

The main area of the suite is still abandoned, the television droning from some remote corner. It’s like I never left it. I could probably leave and come back a hundred times and Luke wouldn’t know.

My fingers tighten around the edge of the island countertop. It hurts to think this is what my gifted, once-vibrant friend does all day. If not for his breakfasts with Callie, he probably wouldn’t have any break from the isolation.

It makes me wonder what made him go to that café in the first place. Why come to the city that broke you, if all you’re going to do is hide from it?

I head to the guest room and strip off my clothes for a shower. For some reason, this room has two of them—a regular shower in the attached bathroom, then some custom deal in the bedroom itself. Lined with a spa’s worth of jets, its slate tiles stretch across the entire wall that backs up to the real bathroom. For a guy accustomed to every luxury this world has to offer, I’ve never seen anything like it. Clearly, someone with too much money and a kink for group bathing arranged for this.

Bet that girl Callie would love to make fun of the absurd contraption. Shit like this is exactly the kind of indulgence she was teasing us about.

The thought brings a smile to my face as I opt for the cozy stall shower in the neighboring bathroom.

I’m still thinking about her when I dry off, wondering what happened with her and Luke after I left. I wasn’t waiting at thehotel long before he showed up, so he must have bailed soon after I did.

The thought doesn’t sit well with me. We just left her there. Two moody divas stalking off to nurse our wounds while she… what? Waited? Cursed us out? Is she pissed? Sad? Scared?

As I run a towel over my hair and return to the bedroom, I have an overwhelming urge to ask Luke if he has her number. He must if they coordinate meeting for breakfast every day.

Then again, maybe it would freak her out if I messaged her. There were times it seemed like she was flirting with me. Other times, I don’t know. She’s probably just one of those people who’s nice to everyone.

Doesn’t matter. I’d only be sending a quick text to make sure she’s okay and understands all that bullshit had nothing to do with her. I doubt Luke took the time to reassure her before he skulked away.

I throw on some sweats and make my way down the hall toward Luke’s room. His door is closed so I knock and wait. After several long seconds, I hear, “Yeah?”

Well, he’s alive at least.

I poke my head in and suppress a cringe. The room reeks of alcohol. Bottles and glasses line every surface of the furniture. He must not allow housekeeping back here very often, because this space is the opposite of the pristine condition of the rest of the suite. Except for the empty glasses, you’d never know someone was living in suite 403.

Until this room.

“What is it?” he asks, impatient. Guess I’m interrupting the “nothing” he’s been doing all morning.

“You talk to that girl from the diner since we left?”

His expression pinches into confusion. “Callie? No. Why would I?”

“I don’t know, because we acted like assholes?”

His eyes shift like maybe he agrees, but he only shrugs. “Sorry, man. I don’t even have her number.”

The irritation spreads into frustration, and I step into the room. He returns a cold look.

“So how do you meet her for breakfast every day? How do you know when—if—she’ll show?”

He shrugs again and turns his attention to the TV like he actually cares about whatever reality garbage is polluting the screen.

“She just does,” he says finally.

“So she magically appears each morning, even though she has no idea if you will?”

“I guess.”

“And how long has this been going on?”

“I don’t know. A couple weeks. Why does it matter?”

His indifference is really pissing me off. I march forward to block his view of the screen.

“What the fuck?” he grunts.