“Great,” I say, dumbfounded. The idea of sharing a room with him feels foreign. Bryce and I have never spent a night together. Sex, yes. Waking up together, no. After having just slept and cuddled with Sam, the idea of sleeping with Bryce seems . . . off.
When we’re almost to the revolving door entrance, Sam yells from behind us, “Hey, Peyton!”
I turn halfway around, giving him a questioning glare.
“You’re still coming out with us tonight, right?” His gaze is a mix of persuasive and threat.
Not wanting to know what he plans to do or say if I refuse, I nod curtly and then turn back around.
As we enter the hotel, Bryce says, “I wanted to take you to a romantic dinner.” I detect a whine in his voice.
“We can go to dinner, but I already made plans for later.” More like I was coerced into plans. “If I would have known you were coming, of course I wouldn’t have made them.”
I smile reassuringly while he takes a minute to pout. “Guess if we’re together, that’s all that matters.”
“Keep that thought in mind. I do have to work tomorrow night,” I say as we move through the huge lobby.
“Maybe the surprise thing wasn’t the best idea,” he murmurs as he hits the up button for the elevator.
We step onto an elevator—and standing across from him, I’m shocked all over again, but it’s good to see him. He reminds me of home. “I still can’t believe you’re here. Did you fly in?”
“Yeah, got here at eight,” he says, and pushes the button for the tenth floor. “Took the first morning flight.”
I blink at him. “When did you decide this? When did you get a ticket? A room reservation?”
“About a week ago. I’d been thinking about it since you told me about the guys’ girlfriends showing up in New Orleans. When our tournament got canceled for this weekend, I decided to do it.”
“Huh, that’s pretty amazing,” I say, recalling all the times we texted over the past week and the few times we talked. “I can’t believe you never slipped up.”
He grins, and I’m reminded of how cute he is. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”
The elevator doors open, and I step out into the hall saying, “A lovely thought, but being on the road so long has kind of worn me out.”
He shrugs. “No biggie. I know how it is.”
I suppose, because he’s on a college baseball team, he does.
“Isn’t this hotel a bit expensive?” I ask, taking in the hallway that screams swank, with its fancy textured wallpaper and lush carpet.
“Over three hundred dollars a night,” he says, then smiles down at me. “But you’re worth it.”
I smile weakly. Bryce works off-season in the school store, and I know his parents send him money to help out each month, but for a college student this hotel is really expensive.
Once in our room, we set my bags down and Bryce glances toward the bed. “What do you want to do?”
I unzip my suitcase. “I need to take a shower.”
He stares at me, his dark brown eyes gleaming. “Shower sounds good.”
I can’t help the irritated look that crosses my face. Really? I’m going to get off a bus, then fuck his brains out? We have never showered together, but suddenly we’re a domesticated couple?
Obviously reading the look on my face, he reaches for the remote. “I’ll watch TV while you shower.”
I dig through my suitcase, trying to get a grip on my irritation. “Then maybe lunch?” I say lightly.
“Lunch would be good,” he says flatly, settling onto the chair by the bed.
“After that I need to do laundry.”
“Laundry?” he asks, his tone even more dull than before.
I keep digging for something clean to wear. “Yeah, we’ve been on the road for six days straight.”
“Okay,” he says, looking disappointed. “Lunch then laundry.”
I grab my cosmetic bag and march to the bathroom. Why am I getting the feeling that Bryce made this trip to get laid? It’s like he imagined coming for a three-day sexathon. It’s as if my boyfriend thinks he has free rein with my body.
I turn on the shower and lean against the sink counter.
Bryce and I have always worked. Both of us are busy, but for the past year, I’ve thought going out once or twice a week with him was fun. He was patient with me when it came to the sex. At least he worked at helping me get more comfortable, and it’s been getting good. I’m not sure if it’s my body image issues, but when it comes to sex, I can be too self-conscious to enjoy it. Besides losing my virginity to Sam, and being with Bryce, the only other experience I’ve had was one short, fast, and awkward relationship sophomore year with a guy in my journalism classes. The one thing I will say is that since I’ve noticed how my body responds to Sam, I’m realizing that maybe the good between Bryce and me could be better.
Now that he’s here visiting, acting like we have some deep, committed relationship, I’m realizing that what we have feels like convenience. At the moment, a three-hundred-dollars-a-night convenience. Am I worth the three hundred dollars a night? Or is the sex?
It’s not even 10:00 p.m. and we’re already at our third bar of the evening. I still can’t believe I agreed to hit the town with Gabe and Sam—and Bryce.
“Six more shots of vodka,” Sam tells the waitress. I give him a dirty look since one round of vodka is more than enough for me. “Make it four,” he says, then glances at Bryce’s beer. “And another Budweiser.”
I sip my beer, trying to ignore the huge deer head on the wall above our tiny table. After a nice dinner in the hotel, Bryce and I had met Sam and Gabe in the lobby. Though this bar doesn’t have loud, roaring music like the last one, where we couldn’t talk, the brick walls are adorned with dead animals. Bears, raccoons, and owls stare at us. Very odd.
Bryce sits next to me with his hand on my cotton-clad thigh. We’re a bit dressed up from dinner. Bryce is in khaki pants and a polo shirt, and I’m wearing white capris and a flowery top. Sam and Gabe are dressed sloppy in shorts, T-shirts, and flip-flops. We make an odd-looking group.
Curling his lip at Bryce’s hand movement on my thigh, Sam tosses back a shot. I did one at the last bar. I’m not doing another. At least Gabe has moved to the bar to talk to a group of women. I want to throw my beer at him for the knowing smirk he has worn all night.
We entered the bar through a telephone booth in a hot dog place after Sam called the concert manager because, apparently, this tiny taxidermy haven of a bar requires reservations. When the phone booth magically opened after Sam’s call, Bryce was impressed with Sam’s connections. I rolled my eyes. The bar is kind of neat, but this entire night is annoying me. It’s like I’m tagging along on a guys’ night out.
“So, baseball, right?” Sam asks Bryce, who nods though we already covered this in the taxi ride over. Sam taps his full beer on the table. “You hoping to go professional?”
Bryce pulls his hand from my lap to twist the class ring around his finger. “Always hoping, but we’re not a major college nor do we have the best record to attract scouts. Yet I might try out, even for a farm team.”
Stunned, I stare at Bryce as he finishes off his beer. He has never told me this. He’s getting a degree in physical therapy. I’d always assumed he’d pursue that career once he graduated. Not that I care what he does, but it seems odd that this is the first I’ve ever heard of his future plans, given that we’ve been together for the past seven months.
Sam leans over the table and gives Bryce a conspiratorial look. “You ever use steroids?”
“Um . . . no,” Bryce says, pushing his empty beer bottle to the edge of the table.
“Never?” Sam says with raised eyebrows.
The waitress appears with the beer and shots. Sam shoves a shot and the Budweiser at Bryce, then pays. He’s been paying all night, and unfortunately, I don’t think it has anything to do with goodwill. To me it looks like he’s out to get bombed and take Bryce along for the ride.