Page 13

Eight

A s they pulled into the hotel, Carson tapped his knees.

The drive back had been ticking-time-bomb tense.

His one-sided attempts at small talk went nowhere.

He got the sense if he turned on the radio, Julia’d snap off his finger.

This was the Julia who kept him on task when he was working on his essays for English, the one he was low-key afraid of, and… the one he’d been hot for.

She cut the engine, then wordlessly slid from the minivan.

He hustled to reach her bags first. “Can I get those for you?”

“I’m capable,” she said.

“Never said you weren’t, but I like to help.”

“Don’t need it.” She stomped toward the hotel, sparks practically flying from her enormous suitcase’s wheels.

The plate-glass doors swooped open, blasting them with that sweet air-conditioned chill.

Julia marched toward the front desk. She obviously wanted nothing to do with him, but he didn’t trust her to call him if this didn’t work out.

She’d probably try something ridiculous like sleeping in the lobby. He opted to lurk near the front desk.

“May I help you, miss?” the clerk asked.

“I’d like a room, please.”

She sucked her teeth. “That may be a challenge. There’s a music festival in town, and I believe we’re full. Please wait as I check.”

As the clerk typed, Julia rubbed the diamond tattoo inside her forearm. “Anything?”

He kept meaning to ask about those. Visible tattoos didn’t match her vibe. She wanted to work at a five-star resort and was so worried about other people’s opinions, he was surprised at her blatant ink.

“I’m searching,” the clerk said.

The solution was obvious. “Julia, why don’t you—”

“Ah, here we go,” the clerk said. “We won’t have availability for three days. However, our sister hotel—the Joys Costera—has a beachfront villa available.”

The rubbing stopped. “How much is that?”

“That’ll be fifteen hundred dollars US per night, plus room fees and taxes.”

“Oh. Are you sure there’s nothing else? I’ll take anything. Broom closet? Bunkbed in a youth hostel? Haunted room?”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, I don’t have access to all hotels in Azul Caye.” She gestured toward the lobby. “You’re welcome to use our lounge area to search for alternative accommodations.”

Julia nodded. “Yes, thanks. I’ll do that.”

She made no sense. The clerk said there was a vacancy. Why didn’t she— Whoops, she was already gone. Carson followed and sat next to her on the couch.

“Why didn’t you take the villa? My dad’ll pick up the tab.”

“I hate spending money without good reason.” Her tablet lit up her face as she scanned lodging options.

Annoyance fizzed through him. Sometimes she was her own worst enemy. That had been true in high school, too. Like she believed the hardest, most difficult solution was the right one, even though something easy was staring her in the face.

“Not having a bed seems like a good reason.”

“You heard your dad. Whatever we don’t spend is our bonus. It might not mean much for you, but I could use the money.”

“You’re stubborn, aren’t you?” It’d be infuriating if it wasn’t kinda sexy.

“I prefer determined . It’s fine. I’ll sneak into a beach cabana. The weather’s lovely.”

Yep, stubborn. Come hell or high water, she was taking his spare bed. The lone hitch was he’d need to squelch his urge to flirt with her. He could do that.

Probably.

“Do you smoke?” he asked.

“No.” She poked dates into a hotel search engine. The search came up empty.

“Do you snore?”

“No.” She wrinkled her brow. “At least, I don’t think so.”

“Then take the other bed in my room.”

She laughed. In his face.

“Stay with you ?” She shook her head and laughed more. “No.”

“Julia, the hotel won’t allow vagrants to sleep in their cabanas.”

“I’m not a vagrant. I’m a pre-guest.”

“That’s not a thing.” He ran his hand through his hair. “If you’re worried, I don’t snore.”

“ That is not what I’m worried about.”

“Then what?”

“You’re so very…” She circled her palm at him. “Carson.”

She said that like it was an adjective. “What does that mean?”

“You, um, you fill a room. You’re impossible to ignore. If you’re not talking, you’re throwing a ball…or flirting.” She twisted her ponytail and avoided his gaze. “I like to rest at the end of the day.”

She was a hundred percent correct, but he could dial that down.

Like right now, every cell in his body was screaming at him to sit next to her, lean close, and ask her if she was sure the flirting bothered her that much.

He’d seen how she’d looked at him in the room earlier.

But because he was a master of restraint, he stayed put.

“I get that, but my dad would be pissed if I didn’t look out for family. I promise I’ll chill and give you headspace.”

She returned to angrily poking at her tablet. “You can’t. You’re such an…an extrovert.”

He grinned. Couldn’t help it. “You say that like it’s a dirty word.”

“It isn’t. The world needs extroverts. I, however, need to quietly recharge, and I’d bet a dollar you start asking philosophical life-and-death questions at midnight.”

Guilty. Did she ever get tired of being right?

“Are you hungry?” he asked. “You seem cranky.”

“Gasp.” She narrowed her deep brown gaze at him. “Are you wondering if I’m on my period, too? This situation is legitimately annoying.”

He tried not to laugh that she’d said gasp . “No, I—”

“Listen, Carson Miller.” She shoved her tablet into her bag. “I’ll take your extra bed because I don’t have a choice. Thank you. But I’d like to work right now, so if you could give me a key and leave me be, I’d appreciate it.”

“Duly noted. Here.” He fumbled in his shorts pocket for the keys, then handed her the extra. “The number is—”

“612. I remember. We were there three hours ago.”

Prickly. And, he still contended, hungry. Not that he’d say that out loud. He’d give her the space she wanted and use the time to find food.

“While you settle in,” he said, “I’ll do a little shoe-leather research.”

As he pivoted away, he caught her murmuring, “Shoe leather?”