Page 50 of Trip Me Up
20
NIALL
After knockingon Sam’s door, I shoved my hands in my pockets. I wanted to rub away the clench that twisted my stomach when I remembered the look of betrayal on her face. I’d been the one to bring up boundaries last night. I’d promised her I wouldn’t overstep them. I’d backed away from the kiss when all I’d wanted to do was pull her against me and take her petal-soft lips.
And then what had I done? I’d barreled right into her personal space. I had her phone number now. I could’ve called her to tell her the dog was barking and ask if I could get him out. But, no, I’d wanted to solve the problem for her. And maybe, in the back of my mind, I’d wanted her to have to come to my room. To come see me.
What was it about this woman that drove me from the peaks of excitement to the troughs of humiliation? I was going to get the bends from my mood swings around her.
Gabi thought I was nuts. She thought Sam had overreacted. But she didn’t know what had almost happened last night. I had a lot more to apologize for than stealing her dog.
After I apologized, I needed to hightail it back to my room so I wouldn’t be tempted—again—to kiss her.
But when she opened the door, her lips turned down and her eyes shimmering, I forgot every one of my good intentions.
“Did you even check the peephole?” I could’ve been an ax murderer, and now her door was open. Even Gabi’s cousin’s extra locks wouldn’t protect her from her own lack of caution.
She scowled.
Back off, Niall.My gut response was exactly why I needed to apologize. I kept my voice low. No need for everyone on the floor to hear me grovel. Thank God Gabi had already caught the elevator down. “I’m sorry. I can be kind of overprotective. I’m used to taking care of my family. Not that that’s an excuse. I understand you don’t like it. I’ll try not to do it to you again.”
The line between her eyebrows smoothed out, and she blinked up at me. Did that mean I was forgiven? Or that I’d just gotten started?
I rolled my shoulders back and flexed my hands to relieve the tension. “All right?”
She wrinkled her nose, the way she did when she was thinking. “Want some tea?” She opened the door wider. Then, as I took a step forward, she half-shut it again. “Wait, is Gabriela still here? I don’t want to…”
“No. She went home. She’s coming to the signing tomorrow. Can I still come in?”
“Yeah.” She stepped away from the door, went to the credenza under the TV, and started opening cabinets. I’d found the coffee in my room that morning, so I knew where the hotel kept it, but I remained silent. Gave her plenty of space. Let her find it on her own.
Sam’s room was the same as mine, only flipped. Yet somehow it seemed smaller. Maybe it was just the crackling tension that made it feel crowded. Ignoring the unmade bed—I had to ignore the bed—I had two seating options: the desk chair or the armchair by the bed. Sam’s computer bag lay on the desk, and her open laptop had a crushed-in corner. The screen was black.
Off or not, I didn’t want to give her the impression I was snooping. So I crossed the room to the chair in the corner and shoved my hands into my pockets to avoid touching the rumpled white duvet.
Bilbo Baggins sat at my feet, gazing at me with adoration. When I bent to scratch him between the ears, he wiggled with full-body joy.
“Earl Grey or English Breakfast?”
I wasn’t a fan of tea at all, but this was about détente. “You pick, and I’ll take whatever’s left. Mind if I sit here?”
“Go ahead. Do you take anything in it?”
“No, thanks.” I eased into the chair. What was going on in that razor-sharp brain of hers? She was processing something. Maybe she was still stewing about how I’d broken into her room.I scrambled for something to break the tension. “C. S. Lewis said, ‘You can never get a cup of tea large enough or a book long enough to suit me.’ Right?” I raised my eyebrows, hoping for at least a smile.
“Tea goes cold if your mug is too big, and in my opinion, plenty of books could be shorter.” She handed me the steaming mug of tea.“Ulysses,for example. Even the cheaters’ guide was too long.”
Crap. My books were too long. That was why she hadn’t finishedSecretsyet. She was bored. I wrapped my hands around the mug. The herbal scent of the tea tickled my nose. It reminded me of Mom’s flower garden, which wasn’t something I wanted to drink.
Standing in front of me, she blew on her tea. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have blown up at you like that. You were trying to help. I’m just having some…feelings today. It’s got to be the tour. Did your last tour make you act out of character?”
Not like this one had. Of course, my first “tour” had been me driving my car from the farm to Columbus, to Cincinnati, to Cleveland, to Indianapolis. Never farther away than Chicago, never anywhere I had to stay overnight. Happy Troll was a small publisher, and I was a debut author. There had been no three-week slogs through airports and bookstores, day after day. That had come later, as my book had crept up the charts, as it had garnered attention from bloggers, from the media, and eventually from Hollywood.
I’d never tried to kiss someone I’d met on tour or broken into their room. Not before this.
“This tour is a lot. I understand how it makes you feel off-kilter.”
She touched her lips to the mug but didn’t drink. “Yes. Anyway, I’ve been on edge and that makes me easier to set off. It’s not an excuse, and I’m sorry.”
