Page 107 of Candy Hearts, Vol. 2

CHAPTER 2

LOU YATES

“Open up, Beau,” comes a deep voice from the hallway. It takes my groggy mind more than a few minutes to realize that whoever the man is outside, he’s knocking on my door.

After the day I’ve had, after the week I’ve had, I seriously can’t believe that this is my life. That on what’s supposed to be a kind of vacation, I get woken up at—I reach over to the nightstand and check the time on my phone—at four in the fudging morning by a stranger looking for their beau .

I throw the covers away and stalk to the door, yanking it open only to be frozen in place when two almost-black eyes land on me.

The man looks like an Italian god, like the model who’s in all those cologne ads. His thin lips tip up slowly in a smile that I imagine he wants to be seductive—and dammit, it works—and his eyes trail down my pajama-clad frame, setting my body on fire.

“C-can I help you?” I hate myself for the tiny stutter, but I need to stand my ground. I can’t let myself be swept away by another pretty face like I have too many damn times before.

The Italian god opens his mouth only to slap a hand over it the next second. His eyes open in panic and he’s shoving the door and running into my bathroom like his ass is on fire.

The bathroom door bangs behind him and I see the light come on from the slit under the door. I stand there, frozen once more, and without a clue what the hell just happened.

Then, the awful sound of retching comes from the other side and I sigh. It figures that with my distaste for intoxicated people, fate would drop one right on my doorstep and now in my bathroom.

What the hell am I supposed to do now?

He could be a murderer, no matter how hot he is. Hot people can be killers too. And fuck, he’s probably going to leave the bathroom a mess.

I close the door to the room and walk over to my tiny sitting room. Well, right now all I can do is wait and see what happens I guess.

I take one of the water bottles I bought the other day—because I’m not paying for the insanely expensive bottles in the mini fridge—and put it right outside the bathroom on the floor.

“I put some water outside so you can take it when you’re done,” I call out through the door. I’m hoping that will not only incentivize the stranger to clean up, but also get him to get a move on. I stand there for a moment longer, trying to hear what’s happening, but step back when the sound of the man puking rings out once more.

I walk quickly to the bed and take my phone from its charger, press zero, but don’t hit the call button yet. This way, if I need help, I’ll be able to call down to the lobby quickly.

Isn’t this fitting?

It’s exactly the way I should’ve known this week would go.

When I was first told about this trip, I was actually excited. Not only was I invited to one of my favorite conferences for the very first time, to represent my company, but I was asked to be part of a panel on design innovation.

As the VP of design of a smallish company, it was huge for me, so of course I agreed, even before I finished reading the email.

Then I saw that it was the week of Valentine’s Day and I regretted saying yes for a second. Then I thought better of it... Who knew? Maybe spending Valentine’s Day away from any romantic bullshit was the best way to do it? And then I saw the location.

I’m not a fan of debauchery. I’m not a fan of people partying like there’s no tomorrow. I’m a fan of order.

That’s why working for Clarice Wells is good for me. It’s a company that manufactures organizers, planners, containers of all sizes, and basically anything a person with even mild OCD could ever need. I live for that shit.

Clarice herself, now a retired woman in her mid seventies, asked me to come here, so of course I said yes again, and again, and again.

But being surrounded by people who love the science of design as much as I do all week didn’t help with the pit of dread in my stomach at the knowledge that I would spend another Valentine’s Day alone.

Even when I was in a relationship—those two miserable relationships—I spent Valentine’s alone. And well... Right now it’s not Valentine’s Day anymore, so I guess I did end up spending it alone.

The flush of the toilet sounds like the universe making fun of me.

Not completely alone, I suppose .

This is bordering on pathetic, something has to give. I can’t keep going on like this.

There’s silence for a while, and my tired eyes have me considering going to sleep and leaving my fate in the hands of the drunk stranger in my bathroom. I shake my head at that thought, though. There’s no way I could let that happen.

Instead, I sit and wait.

At least ten more minutes pass where I hear the toilet flush three more times and then the faucet of the sink. I wonder if maybe he is getting everything cleaned up. That would be miraculous—a man with manners.

Not that I care if he has some manners, but he just barged in here and?—

The bathroom door opens and he staggers out. He doesn’t give the water bottle a second glance. I open my mouth to say... something, but he beats me to it.

“Where’s Beau?” he asks, his words slurring, then looks at me like he’s confused by my presence. Again, he speaks before I can correct him. “You know what, I don’t care.” He waves a hand carelessly in a circle and walks over to the other side of the bed. “I need to sleep before I start thinking you’re real and do crazy shit. Then tomorrow...” He goes on as he turns down the bed on the empty side of the king-sized mattress, then gets in. “Tomorrow Beau will laugh at me, and that will make him feel better. He’ll realize happiness is possible in this world and this... will... all...” He trails off.

I’m pretty sure he falls asleep before he’s done with the sentence.

I’m totally frozen in place. I know I should’ve talked over him and kicked him out of the room. It doesn’t matter how much taller than me he is, I have strong words that will discourage any man... and I still have the phone in my hand.

God, this is such a mess.

And what’s more pathetic than anything? I don’t want to kick him out of my room. Not only because he’s so fucking handsome but because I don’t feel alone with him here.

Without beating myself up over it any more, I just accept that the stranger is sleeping here for the rest of the night. I stand, grab my pillow, and then get the spare duvet I saw in the closet when I checked in on Monday.

I go to the couch, and yeah, it’s big enough to be comfortable for someone who’s five-nine. I’ll sleep well enough in it, and this time, hopefully without interruptions.