He scoffs. “Stop with that Coach Torres shit. I’m only Coach Torres at school. Just say Torres…or Joaquin. I don’t know.”
“So, this is Joaquin Torres? He sits at a bar drinking whiskey and sulks.”
“What? How am I sulking? I was enjoying my drink until you popped up…which I still find weird as shit. Are you following me or something?”
“I live in Raleigh. I don’t think it’s that strange for me to be around. And I’m not kidding. You look a little mopey right now.”
“Mopey?” He cracks a smile. “You love making shit up, don’t you, Lakes?”
I roll my eyes. Talking to him is like talking to a six-year-old right now.
“Why are you even out?” he asks. “How did you even know I was in here—and don’t tell me it’s coincidence because I don’t believe in that shit.”
“I was driving by, saw you leaving the club to come to this hotel, and thought I was crazy. Sure enough, it’s definitely you I saw.”
“Thought you were crazy, huh? Why do you say that?” As he sips, there’s a smirk riding his lips.
I lower my gaze. I’m not about to tell him that my heart sped up several notches when I saw a man who looked like him—that I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me because I was most definitely thinking about him and hoping that deep down, I would cross Torres for no apparent reason other than luck.
I shrug. Nothing more.
He unleashes a throaty chuckle. “Go home, Amber.”
I don’t move. I let the static linger.
He sips. I fidget.
“Do you still think about it?” I blurt out. I run my sweaty palms over my jeans.
“About what?” He side-eyes me, wary this time.
“The kiss. On the boat. Do you still think about it?”
He’s silent.
“Because I do. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since it happened.”
“Don’t you have your little boy toy now?” He’s deflecting. Screw that.
“He’s not my boy toy. We aren’t even together. I just flirted around with him to get to you, but I see that clearly didn’t work.”
“You think it didn’t work?” He breaks out in a laugh, then his head shakes. “You are seriously something else, Amber Lakes. So naïve. It’s almost comical. Almost.” He drains the rest of his whiskey, then digs into his back pocket. After pulling out a twenty, he slams it on the counter and then pushes off his stool. “Go home, Lakes.”
I frown and climb off my stool as he leaves the bar. A part of me is screaming to just leave—go home where it’s safe and warm and rid of all things Torres. Forget about him and ignore the feelings causing a stir inside me.
But another part of me wants him again. It wants him so damn bad that it is physically hurting my heart right now.
And that silly, naïve part of me follows him.
He jams a thumb into the elevator button just as I step to his side.
He sighs when he notices me. “I’m not letting you in my room.”
“Yes, you will.”
He turns to face me. “Seriously, Amber. Go. Home. I cannot do this with you.”
“Then tell me the truth,” I demand. “Tell me you still think about it.”
We’re nose-to-nose. I can smell the whiskey on his breath and I want to suck the flavor off his tongue. I’ve never had whiskey before. It’d be nice to taste it that way.
The elevator chimes when it reaches the lobby, but he doesn’t let up. He holds my gaze, his brows dipped, face lax.
The doors shoot open and he finally snatches himself away to walk in. I follow him and stand at his side. Maybe I should just go home. Where is following him around in a hotel going to lead me?
The doors slide closed and I let out a shaky breath. Torres inhales deeply before exhaling and pressing the button for the sixth floor.
We ride up in silence. I glance down at my hand and his is close to mine. If I moved just and inch, the back of mine would be rubbing against his. I lift my head again, ignoring the impulse.
The doors shoot open to floor six and Torres walks right out. I sigh, ready to press the button to go back down to the lobby and go home—stop being a desperate bitch—but just as the doors start to close, a hand shoots between them to stop them.
I gasp and look up as the silver doors roll away from the tan hand. Torres stands at the opening, his brown eyes trained on mine. “Get out of the elevator.”
I gulp, but I don’t hesitate. I step off the elevator and he takes my hand immediately, leading the way to one of the rooms. He swipes a key card through it and shoves the door open, and as soon as I take that first step inside, he slings me around to face him, pressing my back to the closing door.