Page 30 of Hung Up (Shadow Ridge #1)
PALM DESERT
a tipping point
I slam my car door shut behind me, throwing my bag onto the seat before allowing my head to fall against the steering wheel.
The horn honks briefly at the contact, just a soft beep in the otherwise quiet parking lot.
Rides wrapped up about an hour ago, the arena clearing out rather quickly and the riders with them.
But I stayed back, needing some peace and quiet to try and get my shit under control before I risked running into anyone.
I had spent the entire time locked away in the media room, watching the rides on the television and ignoring every text, call, and knock from any male who wore chaps.
To say the universe had it out for me seemed to be a drastic understatement.
Firstly, Adam had been blowing up my phone all week.
He threatened to tell Alicia what happened and have me fired—even though I technically did nothing wrong—and then had the audacity to tell my father about the interaction instead.
Of course, my father then took it upon himself to take over, calling and texting me nonstop, telling me how disrespectful I was being and how I needed to treat Adam better and apologize.
Oh, and I needed to make ‘those hillbilly bull riders’ apologize to him, too.
Yeah, fat chance in hell.
Then, of course, everything finally came to a head last night when Alicia finally got wind of what had happened, which meant I had to tell her my side of the story.
Apparently, Rylie had gotten into it with Adam in the office once I told her—bless her heart, but she doesn’t know when to leave well enough alone—and Alicia overheard.
Thankfully—although I don’t have the slightest clue how—no photos or video had leaked of the incident, so no outlets were reporting on it.
Not that they would, anyway. It’s not like it’s football or hockey.
When I fell asleep after a very long and exhausting phone call, the one thing I knew I had to look forward to was the flowers and the note I’d inevitably wake up to this morning, whether it was waiting outside my door for me or sitting in the handle of my car door.
I lectured myself in the mirror, trying to remind myself I shouldn’t be looking forward to anything from him that wasn’t sex, but the flowers and handwritten notes from him have become a staple I’ve grown accustomed to, whether I like to admit that or not.
But there was no bouquet outside my door when I left. And there was nothing waiting for me in my car.
The disappointment that hit me only made me angry.
Angry at myself more than him. This was a purely physical transaction between us.
I knew that, and he knew that. I shouldn’t be expecting anything from him, and being upset at his lack of consistency or sweet gestures only made me more aware that I had been letting him under my skin.
The one thing I swore I wouldn’t do. He doesn’t owe me anything, and I don’t owe him.
And leaving me flowers and handwritten notes was too much of a ‘couple’ thing to do, and needed to stop.
Otherwise, I’ll find myself falling in a way my heart can’t handle.
Which is why I’m not sure what drove me to hide in the media room the entire evening.
Jesse needed to know that lines were to be drawn, that certain actions needed to stop, and boundaries needed to be created.
But when I caught a glimpse of him and the other boys in the hallway, that night in Louisville flashed through my mind.
My heart rate spiked, my breathing fell shallow, and I felt that familiar wave of heat wash over me, making my skin clammy, and I needed to hide. To be left alone.
After I left Jesse alone in my hotel room, I hadn’t talked to anyone.
Not Kai, not Wyatt, and certainly not Jesse.
I just couldn’t. It took everything within me to try and forget about that night, but no matter how hard I tried, I just kept seeing all those boys standing up for me, ready to fight for me.
And that overwhelmed me. No one had ever stood up for me like that, let alone that many people at once.
And instead of thanking them, rather than showing my gratitude, I had run out of that bar like a scared little girl who couldn’t grasp her feelings.
And then I continued to ignore them.
What the hell is wrong with me?
Pulling into the hotel's parking lot, I’m surprised to see a few familiar cars I recognize as some that the riders had been driving.
I guess some of them decided to skip out on the bars tonight.
Grabbing my bag, I make my way inside, the rush of warm air hitting me as the sliding glass doors open.
I’m about to head toward the elevators, ready to take a hot bath and break into the mini bar in my room, when the woman at the front desk calls my name.
“Faith Thompson?” I nod, my brows furrowing as I pivot and approach her.
Her smile looks forced and nervous, causing my warning bells to start going off.
I’m not going to like this. “I really hate that I’m the one who has to tell you this, but it appears we’ve had a problem with our schedule, and we only had you booked in that room for one night.
We tried to call you, but it never went through. ”
“What do you mean you only had me booked for one night?” I shake my head, letting my bag fall from my shoulder and land on the floor. “I’m here for two more nights.”
She gives me another strained smile. “I’m sorry.”
“Okay.” I sigh heavily, rolling my neck before calmly trying to handle this fucked up situation. “I’ll go grab my things and move rooms. Not a big deal, right?”
“Actually.” She hesitates, and it takes everything in my power not to panic when she says, “There’s no other rooms available, we’re all booked out for the rest of the weekend.”
I scoff before deranged laughter slips out of me, my head tipping back as I glance up at the ceiling. Could this week get any worse? “Alright, then point me in the direction of my things and the next nearest hotel.”
“I’ve been calling around, and unfortunately, every other place in the city is full, too.”
Apparently, it can get worse.
“Of fucking course they are. Why wouldn’t they be?” I mumble under my breath, running my hands over my face. “Fuck me then, I’ll sleep in my car. Where are my things?”
“In my room.”
I freeze, my breath hitching as I hear the unmistakable sound of cowboy boots on the tile floor. Taking a deep breath, I spin on my heel and gaze upon Jesse, who stands a few feet away with a sheepish yet cautious expression covering his stupidly and infuriatingly handsome face.
“Thank you for grabbing that for me, but I’ll be sleeping in my car.” I pick up my work bag and sling it over my shoulder before approaching him. “If you’d be so kind as to help me bring them down, that would be great.”
“You’re not sleeping in your car, Faith,” he chastises, giving me an incredulous look before he gestures with his head down the hall. “If you’re going to be that uptight and a prude about it all of a sudden, I’ll sleep on the couch.”
Trailing after him, I grip the straps of my bag tightly in one hand, fidgeting with my thumb ring with my other pointer finger. “Thank you for getting my things, but I don’t need your help. My car will do just fine.”
“Oh yeah?” He abruptly stops and turns, almost causing me to collide into his chest. “And where will you brush your teeth and shower in the morning? Where do you plan to change? How do you expect to charge your laptop so you can work tomorrow? Stop being so goddamn stubborn and just stay in my room. Wouldn’t be the first time. ”
He’s walking again before I can retort, stopping outside a door at the end of the hall.
To my surprise, he pulls out his key card and opens it.
So far, none of the riders had been placed on the first floor.
Wyatt told me some of them got too rowdy a few years ago and were banned from being on the main floor—he refused to tell me the entire story, though.
Jesse disappears inside, not waiting or looking back to see if I’m following.
I take three frantic, quick steps forward to catch the door before it falls shut, a huff slipping past my lips as I slip inside and kick it shut behind me.
Resting my bag on the floor near the door and kicking off my tennis shoes—yes, for the first time since covering the riders, I didn’t care too much about how I dressed—I step further into the room and look around.
Somehow, he got lucky with a king-sized bed, a corner booth near the window with a large round table, and a three-person couch on the opposite wall.
His television is mounted on the wall rather than sitting on the dresser, and his mini fridge isn’t your standard little one.
No, it’s got a full-on freezer with a microwave sitting on top.
His duffle bag rests on the couch, and I see my suitcase sitting beside his.
But then my gaze shifts back to the bed, and that’s when I see them: my pajamas folded neatly on the left side of the mattress, my red bonnet sitting on the pillow, my black robe at the foot of the bed, and my white slippers on the floor.
My phone charger is already plugged into the nightstand, and my lotion and picture frame are sitting beside it.
A lump forms in my throat and my eyes grow glassy, so I spin on my heel and make a beeline for the bathroom before he can see me.
But what I find there makes me even more emotional and confused.
The sink is covered with all my face products in the order I use them.
My hair brush and product are on the opposite side of the sink, my microfiber hair towel and shower cap beside them.
I grip my hands on either side of the sink as I try to get my emotions under control, but a sob slips out of me before I can stop it.