The way it looked, he'd gotten himself a suite.
I glanced toward the interior, taking all of it in – the nice sofa, the small kitchenette, and the door to the bedroom beyond. "Just how long have you been staying here?"
"Why?" he asked. "Jealous?"
Hell, yeah. I was jealous.To think, the fucker had putmeup in some kind of dumpster while he was living it up on Main Street.
In the back of my mind, I couldn't help but wonder…if I'd been staying someplace nicer, would've the thing with Maisie gone down any different?
Probably not.
Still, it would've been nice to blame what happened on anything else.Not me. Not her.And not the guy sitting next to me, who'd started the ball rolling.
That fucking bet.
But of course, if it weren't for the bet, I never would've met Maisie at all. I shoved a hand through my hair and tried not to think about it.
Except it wasallI could think about.
She'd been gone barely an hour, and I felt strangely hollow, like someone had reached in and yanked out my heart.
Next to me, Ryder said, "If you want, I'll order room service."
I gave him a funny look. "It's almost eleven."
"Yeah, so?"
Below us, the street and sidewalks were nearly empty, with most of the businesses closed for the night. "So their kitchen's still open?"
"They don'thavea kitchen," he said with a laugh. "But with enough money, you can get almost anything."
"Not Maisie," I said, mostly to myself.
Ryder gave me a long, sideways look. "Say what?"
I slumped in my seat. "She hates that I'm rich."
He turned to face me head-on and then openly gawked, like I was some kind of animal in a zoo. And hekeptgawking, as if waiting for me to start doing tricks.
I felt ready to snap. "What are you looking at?"
"Me?" He let out a low scoff. "The way it sounds, I'm looking at a dumbass."
My jaw clenched.Why had I come here, anyway?
But I knew why.I'd been on the verge of losing it.Before calling Ryder, I'd been ready to pack up and leave the island entirely – not by ferry, but by private jet.
Screw the bet.With a simple phone call, I could be home in just a couple of hours. Sure, I'd get some ribbing and a shit-ton of"I told you sos."But I'd also get all the luxuries of home – a bed that felt like a cloud, a chef's kitchen stocked with everything I liked, and a killer view of the Chicago skyline in all its glory.
There was only one problem.
For reasons I didn't want to dwell on, the place in Chicago wasn't sounding like home at all.
Fuck.
I held Ryder's gaze, refusing to flinch. Tonight had already sucked. And now, my friend was calling me a dumbass.
Judging from his expression – smug with a dash of pity – he wasn't about to take it back.
