Page 23 of Dear Roomie (Classic City Romance #1)

“No, baby, it’s not my dick. You can have that anytime you want it.” He pushes his erection into my hip and nips at the skin of my neck. “I got us a room here tonight,” he rasps into my ear and grabs my hand to lead us through the hotel, not stopping until we reach a room on the top floor.

“Open it,” he tells me, placing the key card in my hand.

The door swings open, revealing not just a room but a suite.

The large four-post bed in the center of the room immediately catches my eye.

It’s easily the largest bed I’ve ever seen, and it’s curtained with a canopy of sheer fabric, creating a romantic air.

The atmosphere is only heightened by the trail of rose petals leading toward the bed and a small sitting area directly across from it.

A chilled bottle of champagne and a bouquet of red roses sit in the center of a small table in front of a couch, and the whole room is lit with dozens of flameless candles.

My heart swells and tears prickle in my eyes. I cover my mouth with my hands, and I’m unable to do anything beyond choke out an emotion-filled “Tanner.”

“Surprise, baby.” He wraps his arms around my waist from behind and leads us into the room, kissing my neck the whole time.

“How? Why,” I stutter as I take it all in. He’s never done anything like this before. Hell, I had to buy my own corsage for prom. Twice.

“Because I’ve been an ass lately, and I’m sorry. I love you. So fucking much.”

My heart aches with how much I love this man. Words fail me, so I turn in his hold and mold my lips to his. It’s a soft kiss. Completely unhurried as I nip and suck on his bottom lip. Tanner grabs my ass and pulls me flush against him, and a low moan escapes from his throat.

“Wait.” He pulls away, and I let out a soft wine. “I wanted to wine and dine you first.”

“We already ate.” I pull his head back to mine and leave a trail of wet kisses along his neck.

“Fine. Wine and dessert, then.” He untangles himself from my hold and crouches in front of a small fridge, pulling out a black cardboard box.

“I got you chocolate-covered strawberries,” he says with a proud smile.

I’m powerless to do anything more than kiss him again. He guides me over to the sitting area and doesn’t take his lips from mine as he lowers me to the couch.

“Sit, eat.” He opens up the box and holds out a strawberry for me. I bite into it, letting the sweet juices spill down my face, and he has to bite his lip to hold back a groan.

“You’re killing me, Ophie.” He loosens his tie and pulls off his jacket as he stands to pour us champagne, then brings me a glass of bubbling liquid and sits beside me with one of his own .

His glass is empty before I have a chance to sip mine, and he pours himself another.

“So what are the plans for Frat Beach?”

Frat Beach?

What?

The abrupt tonal shift short-circuits my brain. How can he go from romancing me to travel plans with no transition?

“Frat Beach”—aka “the world’s largest outdoor cocktail party”—is the unofficial pregame event for the Georgia-Florida game.

Every year, the University of Georgia plays Florida at a neutral site near the border, and every year, college students flock to the beaches of St. Simon’s Island, regardless of whether they have tickets to the game or not.

It’s close enough to home that Tanner always joined me and the girls to party on the beach.

“There aren’t any plans yet,” I tell him, and his shoulders stiffen.

Fuck.

“It’s three weeks away. At least tell me you booked a hotel,” he demands, all of the playfulness replaced by a chilling rage.

A shiver of unease travels down my spine and pools in an icy block of fear in my gut. This isn’t like him. I inch away from him, moving closer to the edge of the couch. He only grows more tense as each second passes without a response.

“No,” I finally answer in the most even tone I can muster. “I didn’t get tickets to the game this year, and I wasn’t sure if you would be able to go with work. I can start looking—”

“Goddamnit, James!” The glass flies from his hand and explodes into a sparkling spray of glass shards and champagne as it hits the wall.

A scream rises in my throat, but I choke it down before it can pass my lips.

Screaming might set him off even worse. Fuck, I have no idea how to navigate this.

I’ve never seen Tanner display anything remotely close to this rage.

The man in front of me is a stranger—a hostile invader in my boyfriend’s body.

I shove myself into the furthest corner of the couch and try to keep my breathing even despite the frantic beating of my heart.

“There’s no way you’re getting a hotel three weeks out,” he rants and jumps to his feet. He paces back and forth in front of the table in short, rapid bursts. He doesn’t look at me, though, which is good. I don’t want his attention when he’s acting like this.

“I’ll talk to my dad’s assistant and see if she can find us something that wouldn’t normally be available,” he continues to ramble. “We need two rooms, right? Your girls coming too?” His manic gaze snaps back to me, and I curl even deeper into the couch.

“Yes,” I whisper. My eyes burn with pooling tears, but I refuse to let them fall.

“Hey, baby, what’s wrong?” His voice softens as he crouches at my feet with a frown. He reaches out to brush a strand of hair back from my face, and I recoil, which only causes his face to fall even more. “Don’t worry, Ophie. I’m gonna fix it, and we will have a great time.”

“Okay, Tanner.” I force a smile on my face, and he relaxes back onto his heels.

“What should we wear? I don’t want to do the whole group thing with your friends again this year.”

Costumes. Right. The game falls on Halloween weekend.

I rack my brain for ideas, but the only thing I can think of is Morgan. I wish he was here—actually, no, I don’t. Tanner would lose his shit if Morgan was here—I wish I was home with him. Morgan would never act like this. He would keep me safe.

“We could do a Ren Faire thing?” The words come out like a question, not a statement.

“That’s lame.” He brushes my idea to the side, then jumps back up to his feet and resumes pacing. “I’ve got it,” he says after a few moments, and a wide smile grows on his face. “We could do JFK and Marilyn Monroe.”

“Don’t you mean Jackie O?”

“No, Marilyn is way hotter. Let’s plan on that. ”

“Okay, Tanner.”

He freezes, studying my face for a moment before he sighs and drops back on the couch beside me. “I’m sorry I yelled.” He cups my face in his hand. “Do you forgive me, O?”

“Of course.” My voice shakes, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Good.” Discomfort slithers down my spine as he places a gentle kiss on my forehead. “I love you, Ophie.”

“I love you too,” I respond instinctively.

“Go shower,” he tells me, “I’ll join you in a bit.”

He doesn’t need to tell me twice. On autopilot, I flee to the safety of the bathroom, strip out of my dress, turn on the shower, and step under the freezing spray. Only then do I let the tears fall.