6. Fallon

As the dark-haired stranger and I approach the hotel’s entrance—which is thankfully within walking distance from the bar—nerves spill into my consciousness. They quickly twine with guilt over the fact that I just left Lexie alone in a town neither of us is familiar with to have sex with a stranger.

I’ve lost my mind.

The lobby is cool, causing me to shiver, and the fact that we don’t have a suitcase between us likely makes our plans blatant. Still, his hand remains around mine, warm and perfectly callused, somehow stabilizing my emotions.

“Hang on.” He glances at his phone which directed us here and hits a few keys. “A nicer hotel is just a few miles away. We could get a car?”

I’m worried my will is already too thin to follow through with anything at this point, it definitely will if we wait for a car to pick us up. “This place is fine.”

His caramel-colored eyes linger on my expression. “Are you nervous?”

“That I’m leading a complete stranger into a hotel for solicited sex? No. Not at all. Why would that make me nervous?”

He grins.

“Do you think they’ll rent us a room?” I ask, glancing toward the front desk and ignoring his question. “They might be booked.”

He flips his phone so I can read the confirmation message on the screen. He already booked a room.

Butterflies take flight and skitter through my veins. “I just need to text my cousin to make sure she got back with the rest of our group.”

“That girl who was with you is your cousin?”

I nod, realizing I just broke my own anonymity rule.

It’s okay, I reason. In fact, it’s for the better. This guy might be the hottest person I’ve ever seen, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t dangerous.

Fear thrums in my veins as I question why this seemed like a good idea ten minutes ago. “Yeah. I’m going to let her know I’ll meet her back at the house in an hour.”

I slip my hand from his, but rather than gain any space, he leans closer. The spicy, rich scent of his cologne has my breath stuttering. “If you fuck like you kiss, tell her it will be closer to two.” He turns and, with graceful strides, walks toward the front desk.

My heart is thundering so loud and fast I hear it in my ears and feel it in my fingertips as I stare at my phone, forgetting what I meant to do and how to breathe as his words repeat in my head.

My phone dings with a notification, and I open it to discover a text from Lexie.

Lexie: Be safe and have fun. It’s okay to do this. I promise.

Me: Is it????

Lexie: Yes!!! Make sure you’re clear about limits and that he wears a condom, then text me when you’re done.

Limits.

What are my limits?

I realize I’m in way over my head as I consider possible kinks that could lead to me being chained to a hotel bed.

Lexie: Be that brazen bitch who takes the field every game. You’ve got this.

I snort.

Lexie is referring to what she and my family call my alter ego, the side of me that comes out for every soccer game and makes me feel untouchable and certain I’ll win. But once I leave the field, that side of me becomes dormant, and I once again care too much about what others think and feel and how I can manage the peace.

Like I did when Chrissy showed up, and again later when someone pointed out I used to date Tobias.

I blow out a breath and strive to be that alternative version of me who gives zero fucks. Alternative me would be bold and sexy, not skittish. And she’d take control and ensure this night didn’t turn out like some underfunded porn produced for young, inexperienced guys where pleasure is a one-way street entirely directed for men.

That’s the energy I want to channel.

That’s the version of myself I want to be tonight.

I text Lexie the name of our hotel, make sure she takes a Lyft back to the bar where Adelaide and the others are, and focus on being this alternate Fallon for at least the next hour—maybe two.

The dark-haired stranger catches my attention as he walks toward me, his fingers curved around a hotel key card.

I’ve got this.

He stops when there’s a foot of dull beige tiles between us. “We’re on the second floor.”

I think he’s giving me an out.

I nod. “Let’s go.”

We walk a short distance to the elevator, and when the doors close, we’re on opposite sides of the car. It smells like mildew and fast food, but those thoughts barely take form before the doors open.

He waves a hand for me to go first.

The hallway is empty. It’s late, and I imagine most of the guests here being exhausted from a day on the beach. We stop at room two-twenty-nine. My interest piques. I’ve never been one to believe in kismet or fate like Lexie, but twenty-nine has been my soccer number for the past decade. My lucky number.

Pretend you’re on the field.I tell myself as I tip my chin up a little higher.

He flashes the key in front of the lock, and the green light blazes. He opens the door, and I leave nervous, overthinking, people-pleasing Fallon in the hall and lead him into the room.

Or… I try to.

The room is chilled. The air conditioner whirs loudly in the corner, and the space smells like dirty socks masked by cheap vanilla air freshener. I follow him farther inside, eyeing the bed that takes up most of the room. It’s laden with an outdated floral comforter, dull from multiple washes. A mountain of assorted throw pillows look as uncomfortable as they do dirty.

Humor prickles at my cheeks. I want to laugh at this hideous room—a space Tobias wouldn’t be caught dead in.

The stranger clears his throat. “It’s…”

“Perfect,” I say aloud.

His brows arch and then flatten. “Perfect?”

My laughter spills out as I shake my head. “I mean, it’s kind of disgusting, and I’m a little worried there are bed bugs or something worse, but…” I shrug, sobering faster than I mean to. “I’m glad it’s not perfect. I’m sick and tired of perfect.”

His light brown gaze dances over my face. “You don’t have a husband or a serious boyfriend you’re trying to get even with, right?”

A clarifying answer is on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow it and reach for that alternate side of me—brazen, flirtatious, coy Fallon. What would she say? Would she clarify the terms of our tryst again? Would she assure him there’s no other guy? Or would she pretend like she was in a relationship so this would feel even more scandalous?

“I’m not trying to pry, but...” He slides a hand to the back of his neck and measures the distance to the door with his eyes like he’s second-guessing this arrangement. “But I don’t want to be some kind of pawn or…”

I quickly shake my head, shocked that regret and fear are even more potent at the idea of him leaving and this ending so soon. “No. There’s no other guy. I don’t even know anyone in this town aside from my cousin and a few people in our party.”

His relief is visible as his chest lifts with a tight breath, and then his expansive shoulders steal my attention as he turns toward me. “You really aren’t going to tell me your name?”

I swallow. It seems so silly and inconsequential not to, but I feel like I’m barely holding any cards right now in this game, and the last thing my heart needs is attachment. Something about this man makes me forget that. It’s why I kissed him—why I’m here.

It’s a huge, messy contradiction, and I try to fight that awareness as soon as it blinds me.

No. This is about sex.

A release.

A good time.

That’s all this is. People hook up all the damn time.

I shake my head. No. I’m not going to tell him my name.

His gaze slowly slides between mine as he takes a step closer—close enough that I feel the warmth of his body.

He reaches forward and runs his fingers down my bare forearm, and it takes everything inside of me not to shiver. His eyes remain locked on mine, seeking a reaction or permission—I’m not certain.

I don’t think I even care.

All I want to do is kiss him again to test if that mind-melting kiss at the bar was from the high of endorphins brought on by dark lights, the thrill of the night, and my escape with Lexie.

I lean forward without warning or hesitation, and unlike the last time, I manage finesse and grace as I seal my mouth over his.

He kisses me back with a force that has lust shooting through my veins, hot and demanding as I work to match his pace.

He groans. It’s a deep and throaty sound that makes me want to preen, emboldening me to stretch a hand across his chest and feel him through the thin layer of cotton. The hard wall of muscles constricts under my touch, so firm and broad it sends a shiver down my spine. Everything about him is so virile.

I sigh into his mouth, and before I can finish marveling at the expanse of his chest, his hand falls flat against my lower back, urging me closer as his tongue parts my lips. He tastes of mint and something sweet that I try to place as he invades my mouth, my senses—my every thought.

The ugly room, my nerves, and everything else, including this decision, fade, disappearing into bliss as my body heats and coils, striving to be closer, wanting to touch him—wanting him to touch me.

Needing to be close to him no longer feels like an option or choice but a necessity.

Pleasure pulses through me, strong and heady, and he’s barely touched me.

Yet.