Just a Touch_A Heartthrob Hotel Novella

by Tabatha Kiss

  Jen yanks the door open, slapping me in the back and I jolt out of place as she throws it wide.

  I point behind her into the room. “Okay, but can I get my shirt first—”

  “Out.”

  “Jenny, come on—”

  “I said, get the fuck out.”

  She places her palms on my chest and shoves me hard through the open door. I stumble out into the hallway, nearly losing my balance as she slams the door in my face.

  “Jenny…” I say.

  I right myself, rolling a fist to knock on the door.

  “Jenny! Come on…”

  She doesn’t answer. I bang harder, rattling the DO NOT DISTURB sign still hanging on the knob.

  “Jenny!”

  A throat clears behind me.

  I glance over my shoulder to see my brother, Ira, standing in the doorway across the hall, wearing nothing but a pair of red boxer shorts and a Semper Fi tattoo on his chiseled chest. His half-shaven, cream-covered face pokes out of the doorframe with a wide, cocky smile as he looks me up and down.

  “So…” he quips, “is this a new Jenny or the old one?”

  I scratch my chin. “Hey, Ira.”

  “Rough morning?”

  “Something like that.”

  The door swings open behind me and Jen emerges. I rear up to speak but she shoves my suitcase into my gut, knocking the wind out of me before I can even get a word out.

  “Jen—” I cough as she flings my shirt at my head. “Hold up.”

  She slams the door and continues on toward the elevators with a white-knuckle grip on her purse.

  Ira smiles. “Oh, hey, Jen!” he greets, giving her a wave.

  Jen doesn’t turn around. “Hi, Ira.”

  “You look nice.”

  “Thank you.”

  I glare at him and he shrugs.

  “What?” He runs a hand through his trim, brown hair. “She does.”

  I drop my suitcase, intending to chase her down as she stomps onto the elevator. “Jen, wait—!”

  “Bro,” Ira says quickly, pointing his razor at me. “Take the next one down,” he warns. “Trust me.”

  I yield, placing a hand on the wall as I catch my breath. The elevator dings and the doors slowly close, making the decision for me.

  I stare down the empty corridor as a fresh spark takes hold of my chest.

  Jen wants to play hardball, huh?

  I’m game.

  Ira clears his throat again. “You wanna talk about it?” he asks.

  I bend over to grab my suitcase. “You ever have sex so good your entire future flashes in front of your eyes?”

  His brow rises. “You know what?” He waves his razor. “Never mind. I’m not qualified for this. Try Jonah.”

  I nod. “Thanks anyway, man.”

  He slinks back into his room and shuts the door.

  Ten

  Graham

  I drag my suitcase down the hall and pause in front of Hayden’s room. With my free hand, I search my pockets for my wallet, which I somehow managed to keep in my back pocket all night.

  I find the room keycard inside and slide it through the reader, turning the light from red to green.

  As I walk in, Hayden sits up on the chaotic bed with nothing but a sheet draped across his groin. He notes my lack of shirt with curious eyes but he doesn’t ask. Yet.

  “Oh, hi,” he says, turning his attention back to the baseball game on the television. “Come on in.”

  I set my suitcase down by the door as I nudge it closed. “Mind if I hang for a bit?” I ask.

  He blows out. “Are you gonna snap at me over some stupid shit I did ten years ago?”

  I unfurl my shirt and slide it on, flicking two buttons on to hold it closed. “Wasn’t planning on it,” I answer.

  “Then, take a seat, mon frere. Watch the game.”

  I walk to the armchair by the window, grabbing his pants off the cushion and draping them over the arm instead. “Sorry about last night,” I say as I sit down.

  He nods. “You guys work it out?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Sure sounded like it.”

  I look at him and he smirks. “You heard us?” I ask.

  “No, but Ira told me she kicked your ass out.” He eyes my loose shirt. “Half-nekkid.”

  I furrow my brow. “When did he tell you?” I ask. “That literally just happened.”

  He holds up his phone. “And Ira’s a gossipy bitch,” he says, laughing.

  I deflate and turn back toward the game-in-progress. “We just... wanted some closure, that’s all.”

  “Don’t need to justify it to me,” he says, tossing his phone back down. “I, for one, deeply understand the importance of the one-last-time bone. Clears the pipes. Soothes the mind.”

  “Exactly.”

  “But... you know... usually ends with a handshake,” he quips. “Kiss on the cheek, maximum. You’re not supposed to turn the motor on another fight.”

  “I know.”

  He shakes his head in amused disappointment. “Now you have to bang her for the last time all over again.”

  “Yeah, but what if I don’t want it to end with a handshake?” I ask. “What if I want more than a maximum kiss on the cheek?”

  His eyes stay on the television. “Not really my area of expertise, brother,” he says. “Try Jonah.”

  I laugh. “Thanks anyway.”

  The toilet flushes behind the bathroom door. I drop my smile and turn to stare at Hayden as his face creases. Not with shame, obviously. He’s more than a little proud of himself.

  The bathroom door slides open and Scarlet steps out in the same dress she was wearing at the bar last night. Her eyes bounce from Hayden to me and she smiles wide.

  “Hello, boys!” she says.

  “Hey, Scarlet,” we reply, him far more enthusiastic than me.

  She pauses in front of the mirror by the door and brushes her short, blonde bangs to one side. “Whatcha talking about?”

  “Baseball,” Hayden answers.

  Her eyes roll. “Well, I’m bored already, so I’m gonna scoot,” she says.

  “Okay.”

  Scarlet walks toward the bed and leans over him, snatching hold of his chin as she leaves a deep red lipstick mark on his cheek. “Thanks again, big guy,” she says.

  He smirks. “Hey. If you’re still single in ten years, come right on back,” he says. “I’m bound to have some new moves by then.”

  She cackles and releases his face as she stands. “See you around, boys.”

  I flick a few fingers, partially waving goodbye and staying silent until the door closes behind her.

  “Really?” I ask, glaring at my brother.

  “Eh. What can I say?” He shrugs. “I’m a dick.”

  “You really are.”

  “Did it in my own room this time. Gotta give me props for that.”

  “I really don’t.”

  He chuckles to himself. “Seriously, though. You okay?”

  I stare at the TV. “Fuck whoever you want, Hayden. I don’t care.”

  “I don’t mean... her,” he says. “I mean you. And Jen. I’m getting some serious flashbacks to darker times here.”

  “I’ll be all right.” I rest my steepled fingers along my chin. “Just need a plan.”

  “A forget about her plan? Or a win her back plan?”

  I squint in thought. The latter feels so right but the former is far more logical. Jen and I are practically strangers now. Strangers with a gigantic history together but... strangers.

  Maybe I should stop pretending otherwise.

  Maybe I should just let her go so both of us can move on with our lives.

  It was just one night. That’s what we agreed on, right?

  My fingertips tingle at the memory of her skin. My ears perk to the sound of her moans. My groin aches to feel her again, inside and out.

  Just one night? No, fuck that very much.

  I’ll take the win her
back plan.

  I shoot off the chair. “I’m gonna take a shower,” I say.

  Hayden nods. “That’s the spirit,” he says. “Wash it all off. Forget it ever hap—”

  “And then I’m going to go find Jen and force her to love me.”

  He frowns. “That’s not... what I expected. But okay.”

  I pause, my chest squeezing. “She’s all I’ve ever wanted, Hayden,” I say. “What else am I supposed to do?”

  His scowl fades and he nods. “Strangely, I get it.”

  “You do?”

  “There’s gotta be something out there driving all of this,” he says, his eyes on the TV. “You two bumping uglies again might just be the universe kicking your asses into high gear.”

  “You believe in fate?” I ask.

  “Sure.”

  I raise a brow. “You?”

  He gestures at the TV. “You remember my buddy, Hunter?”

  I glance at the player strolling out of the dugout toward home plate with Novak sprawled along the back of his jersey.

  “Yeah,” I say.

  “He once hit a home run into a crowd of people,” Hayden continues. “That ball knocked a woman out cold and she woke up in the hospital a few hours later pregnant with his kid.”

  “Yeah, I remember that story,” I say. “They hooked up a few weeks beforehand, though…”

  “But what are the odds that his home run just happened to fly right into her section and bump her on the noggin? I’m just saying...” He holds up his hands. “I’ve seen some shit before. Shit I can’t explain.”

  “And you think me running into my ex-wife at her little sister’s wedding, in our hometown, at our hotel, is comparable to a woman getting knocked-up by a magic baseball?”

  “Dude,” he turns up his hands, “do you want me on your side or not?”

  I nod. “Gonna shower now.”

  He raises a fist. “You got this, brother.”

  “Thanks.”

  I slide the door closed behind me and pause as I take in my reflection. The last time Jen and I were together like this, I looked different. A decade makes a difference. I’ve grown up. She’s grown up. But that twinge in the depths of my gut is still very, very familiar.

  I’ve forgotten how good it felt to be near Jen Parker and I definitely forgot how exhilarating it felt to fight with Jen Parker. Her quick wit. Her liberal use of the word fuck. Her angry squint and that adorable crinkle in her brow.

  I crack an involuntary smile as I slide my shirt back off and toss it to the floor. Another spark takes over my chest, firing adrenaline throughout my veins.

  I’m going to get Jen back.

  Tonight.

  Eleven

  Jen

  Game?

  What game?

  If anyone is playing a game, it’s Graham.

  I knew — I knew — that last night would come back to bite me in the ass and not in the wicked hot way he did.

  Just one night, my bitten ass.

  It’s never just one night with Graham Botsford and the only reason why that’s an indisputable fact is because I let it be one.

  So, no.

  No.

  I’m saying no.

  I’m standing up on behalf of women everywhere and saying no to Graham friggin’ Botsford.

  No. No. No. No.

  “Jennifer.”

  “No.”

  I flinch out of my trance and look across the table in the hotel dining room. My parents stare back at me from the other side while Clara offers nothing but a cutesy smirk from behind her phone.

  “No what, honey?” my mother asks, squinting.

  “Nothing,” I say quickly.

  “Well, you can stop stabbing your egg,” she says as she reaches for her orange juice. “I think it’s already dead.”

  I look at my plate. The bright yellow yoke has spilled out like a massive pool of blood, coating everything from my toast to my bacon.

  “Oh.” I set my fork down and reach for my own orange juice. “Sorry.”

  Clara glances up from her phone and shoves a forkful of scrambled eggs into her mouth. “Not hungry?” she asks, chewing.

  I chuckle. “I’m surprised you can even eat after how much you drank last night.”

  She shrugs and swallows. Oh, sweet youth.

  “I’m getting a little old for Vegas benders, I think,” I say, setting my glass down.

  My father exhales hard. “Well, at least you have a breakfast to stab.” He glances from his empty place setting to his wristwatch. “I’m still waiting for mine...”

  “Jensen...” my mother warns.

  “Claire, if I’m paying twenty-three dollars for a damn omelet, I should get it quickly.” He lets out a grumpy scoff. “Damn Botsfords. All the money in the world and they can’t hire decent staff to run these places?”

  My mother pats my hand. “Present company excluded. You were a wonderful employee in your time.”

  “Yes, of course, Jennifer was lovely,” he spits. “Though, I’m sure if she had spent more time actually working on the clock than hanging around with that boy then maybe I would have gotten my omelet at a decent time.”

  “Jensen,” my mother warns again.

  I blink twice, furrowing my brow. “What the fuck kind of logic is that?” I ask.

  “Jennifer, watch your mouth.” She glances at us and lowers her voice. “It’s been ten years. Can we give it a rest, please?”

  My father sulks. “And now I’m back here again, paying for yet another wedding, putting my hard-earned dollars in the Botsford family coffers.”

  I stare him down. “Actually, Graham paid for that first wedding but don’t let facts ruin your little rant, Daddy.”

  Clara’s lips curl to one side as she silently chews on the edge of her toast.

  “You’re defending him now?” he asks. “Last I remember, you couldn’t even mention his name without crying.”

  “I’m not defending anyone,” I say. “I just don’t see the point in raking him when he didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “Oh, so now he didn’t ever do anything wrong?”

  “I’m pretty sure I didn’t say that.”

  “Because I would argue that coercing my teenage daughter into some hormone-fueled disaster of a wedding before anyone could knock some sense into her was wrong.”

  I roll my eyes. Here we go again. “No one coerced me into anything!”

  “Completely ruined your reputation — and mine!”

  “Well, I’m deeply sorry the boys down at the country club didn’t look twice at your damaged goods of a daughter anymore, Daddy. That must have been very hard for you.”

  “Jensen. Jennifer.” My mother forces a smile. “Please. You’re making a scene.”

  “Yeah, guys,” Clara says. “It’s my wedding. Chill the fuck out.”

  “Language, Clara...”

  I look away from my father and nod. “Sorry, Clara.”

  She shrugs, not really caring. She benefits more than anyone from mine and Daddy’s frequent arguments. It just makes her look better, thus guaranteeing she always gets what she wants.

  My father sneers. “And I still don’t have my omelet.”

  My mother raises her glass, carefully obscuring the annoyed look in her eyes as she takes a sip.

  He gathers his cloth napkin from his lap and slaps in on the table as he stands. “I’m going to go talk to the cook.”

  “Jensen, honey.” She doesn’t move at all to stop him. “Must you...?”

  But he’s already gone, marching across the dining room toward the kitchen.

  Clara breaks the silence with a laugh. “Wow, he’s extra cranky today.”

  My mother sighs and leans over to pat my hand again. “Don’t worry about it, honey. It was never about an omelet.”

  I share a look with Clara, who raises her brow. “What’s it about then?” I ask.

  “Yeah,” Clara says. “What’s his deal with the Botsfords anyway?”

>   “Oh...” my mother says. “That rivalry goes back years and years...”

  “Rivalry?” I ask.

  “Him and Kingston.”

  I lean forward. “Daddy knows Kingston?”

  “We went to Stanford with him,” she answers, glancing between us. “Did I never tell you this?”

  “No,” Clara and I answer together.

  “Kingston and your dad were in the same class,” she says. “Same major, same minor, same circle of classmates and associates, but Kingston was always one step ahead of him. Always. Jensen would get an amazing idea only to find out that Kingston thought of it first. He was a pain in his ass for years until one day...” Her voice drops in hesitation.

  “One day what?” I ask.

  She exhales slowly. “Your father had his eyes on a girl... come to find out that Kingston was already wooing her right out from under him.”

  I breathe a laugh. I never spent a lot of time with Kingston (neither as his employee or my brief stint as his daughter-in-law) but what my mother says rings some truth. He was a known charmer when I worked for him. I can only imagine what he was like as a young man.

  “What happened?” Clara asks.

  “Jensen wasn’t about to let Kingston take yet another thing he wanted so he threw on his best suit, bought the biggest bouquet of flowers he could find, and he marched across campus to the girl’s dorm room.”

  I gawk at her, unable to picture it. The idea of my father doing anything so blatantly romantic was foreign to me. Kingston, I can see it. But Jensen Parker?

  No way.

  My mother chuckles at our disbelief. “He pounded on her door, waited for her to answer... well, her roommate answered and then he waited there for three hours for her to come back from class, and then he introduced himself. My name is Jensen Parker and I’m in love with you.”

  Clara laughs, looking as doubtful as I am. “No, he didn’t.”

  “What did she do?” I ask.

  My mother shrugs. “I slammed the door in his face.”

  Our jaws drop.

  “It was you?” Clara asks.

  “Of course it was.” My mother brushes a bit of nothing off her sleeve. “Where did you think you girls got it from?”

  “Wait.” I blink. “You dated Kingston Botsford?”