24 - BATHROOM INCIDENT

24 - BATHROOM INCIDENT
DAMON’S POV

I could feel her absence before I even realized she was gone.

Even as I stood in the circle of dull conversation, listening to balding Williams tell a joke that was blatantly sexist if you actually thought about it, something about the air around me felt… off. Cheryl wasn’t here. Neither was that roommate of hers. My fingers tightened around my wine glass, forcing a tight-lipped smile as the men around me chuckled at the crude punchline.

Where the hell did she go?

I let my gaze flicker across the room, scanning through the sea of tuxedos and sequined gowns. Nothing. A slight frown creased my forehead. Cheryl wasn’t the type to just up and disappear without saying a word. Was she in the restroom? Outside getting air? The thought of her slipping away, vanishing into the night without so much as a goodbye, sent an unfamiliar irritation slithering through my chest.

A second later, I’d had enough. “Gentlemen, excuse me,” I said smoothly, stepping away from the group without waiting for a response.

I moved through the crowd with careful precision, my eyes hunting, searching—but there was no sign of her. She was just… gone. I resisted the urge to storm into the ladies’ room like some kind of lunatic. But how could she leave without telling me?

As I turned to head back into the party, a pair of hands slithered up my arm, red-painted nails dragging lightly against my sleeve. I turned, expecting Cheryl—hoping it was Cheryl—but instead, I found myself looking at her.

Fox Girl.

The sultry roommate’s date. What was her name again? Veronica? Vanessa? It didn’t matter.

“You look a little lonely,” she purred, tilting her head just so, her dark lashes fluttering. “How about I keep you company?”

I exhaled sharply, already annoyed. “I have a date.”

She let out a throaty chuckle. “Well, I don’t see her anywhere now, do I?” Her voice was thick with amusement, like she was savoring every syllable. Then, with a slow smirk, she leaned in closer. “Rumor has it she left in the arms of another man. Might hit the news tomorrow.”

Her words sank into me like claws.

Before I knew what I was doing, my hand shot out, catching her wrist in a firm grip. I pulled her in, close enough that she could feel the restrained anger rolling off me in waves.

Her smirk faltered.

“Who did she leave with?” My voice was low, sharp—dangerous.

For the first time, I saw a flicker of uncertainty in her fox-like eyes. She hadn’t expected this reaction. Good.

“I was only joking,” she said, a nervous edge creeping into her tone. “I don’t know who she left with, damn.”

I wasn’t convinced. My grip on her wrist didn’t loosen.

“Then where’s your date?” I asked coldly.

She blinked, looking around like she was just realizing for the first time that he was missing too. Her lips parted slightly, and then—

“Oh my God.” Her eyes widened. “You don’t think they left together—do you?” She let out a scandalized gasp, then scoffed, shaking her head with disgust. “That slimy fox. I always knew she pretended to be a good girl. She’s as rotten as they come.”

The words had barely left her mouth before my grip on her wrist tightened.

She let out a small gasp, her manicured fingers trembling against my sleeve. My voice was pure ice as I leaned in, so close she could probably feel the heat of my words against her skin.

“Don’t you ever speak about her like that in front of me again,” I murmured, my tone eerily calm, too calm. I dragged my gaze slowly over her, taking in the sudden nervous flicker in her eyes, the way she swallowed hard. “Or else you’ll be missing a tongue.” I tilted my head, my grip unrelenting. “And what’s the use of a pretty girl like you if she can’t speak?”

She went rigid.

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of the gala around us—the clinking of glasses, the muffled laughter, the music floating in the air. But between the two of us, there was only silence.

Then, just as slowly, I let go.

Fox Girl took a step back immediately, cradling her wrist as she shot me a wide-eyed look, somewhere between arousal and fear. I didn’t care.

I was already turning away, my mind fixed on one thing, and one thing only.

Where the hell was Cheryl? And who the fuck was she with?

CHERYL’S POV

I woke up to golden rays of sunlight slicing through the thin motel curtains, warming my face like a gentle reminder that, yes, I was still very much alive and in this place.

My eyelids fluttered open, adjusting to the light. For a split second, I forgot where I was, but then the musty scent of aged carpet, cheap air freshener, and an unidentifiable motel-cleaner-product hit me like a memory jolt. I sat up, rubbing my eyes, and glanced around.

Empty.

The other side of the bed was cold, the sheets slightly rumpled because I had spread out, but Aiden was nowhere in sight. My heart did an annoying little skip, but I ignored it. Where had he gone? And more importantly—how long did I have before he came back?

A perfect window of opportunity opened in my mind.

Shower.

I didn’t even hesitate. My body needed it after last night—after everything. Without wasting a second, I jumped out of bed and made a beeline for the bathroom.

Now, let me tell you something about motel bathrooms.

They’re like an abandoned gas station’s last dying wish. Cracked tiles, weak water pressure, a rusty mirror that made you question all your life choices, and, of course, the universal scent of old bleach mixed with despair. This one was no different. The showerhead looked like it might fall off if I breathed on it too hard, and the tiny soap bar provided was as brittle as my patience on a bad day.

Still, I wasn’t about to pass up the chance to wash away the night before.

I stepped under the lukewarm spray, scrubbing my hair with the pathetic excuse of a soap bar, feeling it dissolve in my hands like a tragic love story. Whatever. It worked. The water ran down my back, soothing, cleansing, resetting me, even if it was just for a moment.

But then—problem.

No. Freaking. Towel.

Panic set in. I froze mid-motion, my wet fingers hovering in the air. My towel was folded neatly outside, right where I’d left it—in the room. Where Aiden could walk in at any second.

Oh, for the love of—I am so dumb.

Alright, think, Cheryl.

I could stand here dripping until I became a human raisin. Or—I could make a break for it, grab the towel, and get back into the bathroom before Aiden came back. Fast. Easy. No big deal.

Right?

I inhaled deeply, steeling myself. The moment I opened that bathroom door, the cold air attacked me, slapping against my wet skin like a personal vendetta. Jesus. I shivered, my bare feet padding quickly against the floor as I locked eyes with the towel.

Target acquired.

One step. Two. I was almost there—

BAM.

The motel door flung open.

I froze.

Aiden stepped in, his tall frame blocking the doorway, a plastic bag dangling from one hand, his other casually running through his hair. His movements stalled instantly when his eyes landed on me.

Me.
Dripping.
Naked.
Mid-step.

Oh. Oh, no.

For a second, neither of us moved. The air thickened around us, charged, buzzing with something dangerous. My stomach plummeted.

His gaze dragged down my body, slow, hot, and absolutely lethal.

I couldn’t breathe.

Aiden’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, his knuckles going white around the plastic bag. His pupils dilated, his jaw clenched, and I swore his breathing came just a fraction heavier.

My heart slammed against my ribs.

Move, Cheryl. MOVE.

But my body betrayed me, locked in place as his gaze burned into my skin. I saw it—the second his eyes darkened, his hand twitched, the way his chest rose and fell like he was battling something dangerous inside him.

I should’ve run.
I should’ve screamed.
I should’ve grabbed the damn towel and bolted.

But I didn’t.

Because in that moment, standing there bare, vulnerable, and trapped in his gaze, I realized something terrifying.

I didn’t want to.