One True Pairing: A Geek Girl Rom Com (Fandom Hearts) Page 3

  “And you can use it,” she said. “I’m feeling generous.”

  “Really?” It sounded perfect. “That would be awesome,” he said, with feeling. Then he cleared his throat. Just because she was sharing her room, it didn’t mean she was giving him an open invitation to her bed—or other things. “I can, um, sleep on a cot. Or the couch.”

  She shook her head. “I live just down the hill,” she said. “I don’t need to use the room at all.”

  He frowned. “But . . . you got the hotel room for you, right?”

  “I get a night every month,” she said, shrugging. “Don’t worry. I’ll cancel my plans.”

  Now that he realized he was getting the room rather than her, and putting her out, he felt like a total jackass. “I don’t want you to go through the trouble,” he said. “Really, it’s no big deal. I can figure this out.”

  “Do you want to go searching around for a no-tell motel for a while, or fight traffic and go into Seattle itself . . . or do you want to take me up on a nice room, in a casino with great restaurants, that’s maybe fifteen minutes away?”

  “When you put it that way,” he conceded, but still felt a twinge of guilt. “Are they important plans, though?”

  She shrugged. “Nah. It’s not a big deal, really.”

  “Well then,” he said, feeling overwhelmingly relieved, if disappointed, “I’ll definitely take you up on it. Thanks.”

  She turned the car around and they started speeding toward the highway, like a large blue-gray shark. That roared.

  “So, why do you rent a room once a month?” he asked, curious. “Just a little staycation? Spa day?”

  She quirked her lips into a little smirk. “Something like that.”

  A mystery. Suddenly, he wanted to know everything about this girl. She worked two jobs. She looked like Rosie the Riveter in a street gang.

  Who was this Hailey woman?

  “What’s ‘something like that,’ exactly?” he found himself asking instead.

  She glanced at him, her violet eyes sparkling.

  “If you must know,” she said, sighing, “I was going to get laid.”

  Chapter 2

  No good deed goes unpunished.

  Hailey walked Jake to the hotel room. It wasn’t anything fancy—not like the suites, or anything—but he got to be largely incognito. The people who crowded the noisy casino were more interested in pai gow and poker than sci-fi series actors.

  As she walked Jake in and got her key from the front desk, she texted and canceled her plans for the evening with a tiny twinge of remorse. She enjoyed sex, the variety, the adrenaline rush. Most of all, the relaxation. She’d just worked from seven that morning to one in the afternoon at the coffee shop—now, she was closing in on her two o’clock start at the casino. At least it was a short shift, letting her out at eight or so, but still, it was going to be a long damned day. Especially since she no longer had a recreational “bounce” to look forward to.

  Still, the grateful look on Jake’s face had made it worth it. Besides, the whole “I rescued Jake Reese” tale would be a blast to tell Cressida, Rachel, and the book club.

  She handed him the key card. “Okay. You’re all set. It’s room six-oh-four.”

  “I can’t thank you enough,” he said, dimples in full effect, and she squelched a soft sigh. Damn, the guy was gorgeous. He glanced at the card, and then at her. “If you’ve got a minute, maybe you could show me where the room is?” She raised an eyebrow at him, giggling when he gave her a look of exaggerated innocence. “What? I get lost easily.”

  She glanced at her watch—she had a few minutes to spare. “Sure. Why not?” She walked him to the bank of elevators, then down the hallway, noticing her pace slowed down a little. He was fun. Cute. She wished she could spend a little more time with him.

  Hell, she wished she could do more than that.

  They finally made it to the room. She cleared her throat. “Well, it’s been great,” she said. “But I’ve got to . . .”

  “Please. Let me reimburse you for the room, at least,” he said, turning a little red. “I mean, I’ve almost made you late for your shift, and you’re, er, giving up a lot for me.”

  He looked so uncomfortable, she grinned. She’d stunned him to silence with her admission in the car. It was fun to watch.

  The thing was, even though she was tight on money, she felt weird taking money from him. She’d felt genuinely good helping him out, and she didn’t want to tarnish that by acting like she was using him to turn a profit.

  Still, guilt wasn’t going to pay the bills. “Sure,” she said, shrugging. At that moment, her phone started ringing, blasting Drake’s “Hotline Bling.” She sighed. “Sorry, excuse me a sec.”

  She walked over to the door, holding it up. “Hey, Duke.”

  “Hey, Hellcat,” he said, his voice a rough, only slightly affected growl. “What’s with the text?”

  “Lost the room tonight,” she said. “Gotta raincheck.”

  “Damn. Seriously?” He sounded as disappointed as she felt. “After last time, I came back to town specifically to hit that, you know.”

  She rolled her eyes. This was Duke’s way of being charming, unfortunately. Perhaps I set the bar a bit low.

  “Yeah, well, the ride’s closed, buddy,” she said. Which was a pity. She’d only slept with Duke once before, and she’d probably want to shoot herself if she had to spend more than, say, forty-eight hours with him. But he was big where it counted, and had a few moves that she could work with. She knew he wasn’t clingy. Even better, he had the stamina of a steam engine. Guy could go all night, which she appreciated.

  “Well, shit.” He sounded disgruntled. “We could get another room . . .”

  “You paying?” she said.

  “How about your place?” he quickly amended. That was another strike against the guy. He was a mooch.

  “I never bring guys over to the house,” she said sternly.

  “Well, shit,” he repeated, but she could hear the resignation in his tone. He’d accepted the situation, albeit not gracefully. “I, uh, guess I’ll call back when I’m in town.”

  “Sure,” she said, and hung up on him, deciding at that point that Duke wasn’t going to make the playlist again. Tacky, she thought. She could do better, even for one-night stands.

  She turned back to Jake, only to see him staring at her, wide eyed. Suddenly, she realized . . . he’d heard her say, “You paying?”

  And he knew she was talking about sex.

  Oh, crap.

  “No, no, no,” she said quickly. “The thing about paying—that was about another hotel room. Not sex. Trust me, I like men, I love sex, but I’m not, er, a pro. Just a dedicated amateur.”

  She tilted her head up, with a little challenge, when he still stared at her. The guy had probably bedded starlets like it was an Olympic sport. Let him try to slut shame her.

  “No judgment,” he said quickly, hands up. “I just feel badly. I mean, you went through all this trouble, and now you can’t, erm . . .”

  “Get laid?” she said, just to watch his cheeks heat a little. “Nah. He wasn’t all that great, anyway, honestly.”

  But Duke was good enough, and best of all, he wasn’t usually around. Duke never got any ideas about “permanent.” Duke barely did “temporary.”

  Jake handed over a few hundred dollar bills. “Hey, this is too much!”

  “You rescued me, you’ve driven me around, you stood up to a manager for me. This is the least I can do,” Jake said, his eyes meeting hers. He looked so damned sincere. “Anything else I can do to make it up to you?”

  The guy was a sweetheart, she realized. He’d probably be a beautiful mark—just enough naiveté, especially for Hollywood. Chivalry, nobility. The guy was a soft touch.

  She couldn’t help it. Her grinned curved wider, and she looked at him suggestively. “Have anything particular in mind?”

  “What? Oh! No. That’s not what I meant,” he stammered.
But she saw his pulse racing in the thick muscles of his neck, and the way his pupils dilated.

  Might not be what he meant, but he was thinking about it.

  And damn it, now so am I.

  “Why not?” she teased, pitching her voice as if she were hurt that he wouldn’t consider it, just to watch him squirm. And squirm he did.

  “No. I mean, I’d love to, don’t get me wrong. You are . . .” His gaze now swept over her, and she felt it like a chinchilla mitten, all soft and sensual and something you just wanted to rub up against. “Unbelievable. But I don’t want you to think that I’m just taking advantage of the situation, or anything. I mean, I don’t expect you to have sex with me.”

  “Relax, Boy Scout. I’m just messing with you,” she said, laughing and patting his cheek. “Really, it’s cool. Maybe score me a one-day pass to the Con? My sister’s a big fan, she’d love to get some video of it.” Since Cressida couldn’t leave the house, video would be the next best thing to attending in person.

  “Just because I don’t expect anything,” he said quietly, “doesn’t mean I don’t want anything, Hailey.”

  She blinked. Her heart started to rhumba in her chest. God. Sex with Jake Reese?

  He was messing with her, she chastised herself. He had to be.

  She started to take a step away from him. She had to get out of here, before she started getting ideas—reckless, stupid ideas.

  Before she could pull away, he grasped her wrist—gently, but inexorably. He kept it against his cheek, then turned his face, letting her fingertips rub against the stubble before placing a hot kiss in the center of her palm.

  Just like that, her lady parts tingled in anticipation.

  “Oh, my,” she whispered.

  “I’d like to take you to dinner,” he said, his voice low, those blue, blue eyes mesmerizing. He’d lost his stammer, and he’d somehow switched from awkward suitor to hell-yeah, hot-fudge-sinful man. “Tonight. When do you get off work?”

  Wow. Zero to turned on in three-point-two seconds. That had to be some sort of record.

  She swallowed hard.

  This is a bad idea.

  “I guess I could have dinner.” Her voice came out breathy, and she cleared her throat, getting more businesslike. “I mean, I’ll be hungry. Gotta eat, right?”

  From his grin, she knew she was suddenly rambling. She frowned. Men did not make her nervous. She made men nervous.

  She had to get a grip.

  “Sure,” she said briskly. “I get off work at eight o’clock.”

  He released her, smiling a bit smugly. “Then I’ll take you to dinner,” he said, dimples in full effect. “And then I’ll . . . thank you properly.”

  Ohhhh, he was good, she thought. She’d thrown him off balance. Now, he was trying to get some semblance of himself together, and do the same to her.

  She stepped up to him, close, showing she wasn’t intimidated.

  He leaned down, getting even closer . . . waiting.

  She waited, too. Her shift downstairs at the blackjack table be damned. This was her pride at stake.

  He moved in, slowly, giving her plenty of time to pull away. She stood like a statue. She felt his lips brush hers . . . hot, firm lips, yet smooth as silk. Feathery strokes, gently exploring. Teasing.

  She felt her knees buckle, just a little, when he moved in a little more seriously, his mouth caressing hers like an erotic whisper.

  He finally pulled away.

  “Till eight, then,” he said. “And we’ll see if maybe there isn’t anything else I can do for you.”

  Sexy, she thought. And smug.

  This man does not know who he is dealing with. And there was no better time than the present to educate him.

  She let out a small sigh. Paused a long moment. Let him think he had the upper hand.

  Then she gathered up his shirt in her right fist, and tugged him to her.

  She knew she was a hell of a kisser. His sweet, sensual thing might work on the tender-hearted fangirls out there, but there was a world of difference between wooing and what she was capable of.

  She ravished his lips with hers, working his mouth like a virtuoso. Her mouth parted his lips, her tongue tracing the soft inner rim of his smile, before he opened his mouth wider, pressing his own tongue forward, obviously trying to become the aggressor . . . trying to regain control. She took advantage, her tongue darting past, tangling with his. She felt him rub against her instinctively with the rest of his body, mimicking their meshed mouth play.

  She tangled her fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, doing a full body press, molding herself to him. Feeling his hands on her hips, his fingers digging in, tugging her pelvis against his now rock-hard erection.

  And it wasn’t an inconsiderable hardness. Nice. She could definitely work with that.

  She pulled away. His body was tense all over, firm as concrete, tense as iron cable. His breathing was ragged. His pupils were dilated. And his hands were still reaching for her, obviously itching to do more than one hot kiss.

  “Sweetheart,” she rasped, with some smugness of her own, “you couldn’t handle me. But I’ll let you buy me dinner.”

  With that, she turned and headed out, down the hallway. Before she did something truly stupid, and missed her shift altogether.

  * * *

  Jake had spent the next six hours in a fog of lust and confusion, in roughly equal parts. He’d talked to Susie, who promised to chew out the handler, the convention staff, and the hotel. She also said she’d play it all up to the producers when she discussed contract negotiation, which they still hadn’t finalized.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything,” Susie had promised. “Just try to relax tonight, okay?”

  He was ready to do a lot tonight, but he wasn’t sure if “relaxing” was quite the right term.

  Actually, what the hell are you doing tonight, Jake?

  He wasn’t sure. He wasn’t the sort of guy who did one-night stands, and as an actor, he certainly wasn’t the type to mix it up with groupies. Not that Hailey was a groupie, necessarily, even if she was a fan of Mystics.

  So what was he doing?

  I’m not going to sleep with her.

  He was quite clear about that. He didn’t do one-night stands anymore. There were too many crazies out there, which made the idea of getting intimate with no background check dangerous bordering on stupid. Still, he hadn’t been out on a date with someone for months. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d asked a woman out to dinner that he’d had this kind of spark with, either. There was just something about Hailey that revved his engine. Not just sex, although, God, the woman was a walking, talking, breathing seduction. But she was funny, and challenging, and just . . .

  He shook his head. At this rate, he’d start writing sonnets.

  I’m just going out to dinner. Simple as that.

  Still, his body was at least half aroused when she knocked on the hotel door. She looked tired, he thought, and felt a wave of concern.

  “This still all right?”

  She shot a smirk at him. “You weaseling out, Reese?”

  “No, ma’am.” He felt like putting an arm around her, but felt it was maybe too soon. “Want to eat in one of the restaurants here?”

  “Nah. I work here, don’t want the hassle,” she said. “There’s a place down the road a ways, though. They’re open, and the food’s good.” She grinned, quicksilver and devilish. “I’ll drive.”

  So he found himself in her small town, Snoqualmie, at a restaurant called the Black Dog. It was a funky place, more like a café from the looks of it. The walls were covered with artwork, obviously from a local artist, all swirls and designs that turned into recognizable items: crows, mushrooms. The tables didn’t match the chairs or each other. There was a decent-sized crowd, but nobody was paying attention to him, which was a nice change. Instead, they all greeted Hailey warmly, with hugs and fist bumps and waves. She was like a local celebrity.
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  There was a trio playing jazzy blues up on the small stage in the back, forcing the two of them to sit side by side to hear each other. Feeling her thigh pressed lightly against his wasn’t a hardship though, and having her lean close, feeling her breath against his neck, wasn’t a hardship, either. Well, other than the fact that some parts of his anatomy were starting to get hard as a result.

  “You live around here, then?” he asked, wanting to know more about her.

  She shrugged. “Grew up here. . . . Well, since I was around fifteen or so.”

  “Where did you live before then?”

  “L.A.”

  He waited for more explanation, but she didn’t say anything. So he pressed a little. “Really? Where in L.A.? I grew up there, too.”

  She grinned at him. “I know.”

  “You do?”

  “I’m a Mystics fan, remember?” Her dark blue eyes gleamed. “We know everything about you guys.”

  He winced.

  “Don’t worry. I’m not a psycho stalker or crazed clothes-ripper-offer,” she said, humor liberally lacing her voice. “I’m a fan, not a nutcase. I know where to draw the line.”

  “Having had someone write in lipstick on my hotel room mirror and my home broken into, I appreciate that,” he said, but his laugh fell flat. He wasn’t joking. The thought sobered him.

  You’re just having dinner. And there was a reason for that, he reminded himself.

  “Which do you prefer: Los Angeles or New York?” she asked him, tactfully changing the subject as a waitress brought them their food: locally sourced burgers with pasilla peppers and homemade buns. “Seeing as you’ve lived on both coasts.”

  “There are good things about both,” he hedged. “I could go hike upstate, when I was living in New York, even though it was kind of a pain in the ass. And in Los Angeles, I could go up to the mountains or go surfing.”

  “Nature boy, huh?”

  “How about you?” he said, trying to get the conversation back on track. He wanted to find out about her, not the other way around. “What do you prefer: Snoqualmie or Los Angeles?”

  “Snoqualmie. Absolutely no question,” she said, with a touch of forcefulness. “I love it here.”