WEEK 72: I can’t survive this way

Prompted by: Tracey Rice

The crazy author says: OMG, it’s finally done…

I can’t sleep.

I had gone directly to my hotel and taken a cold shower, followed by a hot shower, followed by two Advil. Then crawled into bed with my hair still damp and pulled the covers over my head.

Now I can’t sleep.

Part of me is worried he’ll come barrelling into the room. The other part is wishing he would.

You do the math.

Tired, hungry, and frustrated, I sit up and switch on the lamp. A quick scan has me zeroing in on the complimentary bottle of champagne. Not a good idea to mix alcohol and ibuprofen, but I didn’t have Tylenol and it was too late anyway. I mean, sure, I could always try vomiting the Advil out of my system.

But that’s beyond gross.

So I gather a robe and the ice bucket, and mosey down the hall. A few sips of bubbly won’t kill me.

What I find lurking around the corner damn near does though.

“Jesus,” I gasp. “You scared me half to death.”

Trace seems as shocked to see me as I am to see him.

No idea why. I’m a registered guest and he’s the creepy stalker. “What are you doing here?”

“D-don’t be mad,” he stammers. “I wasn’t going to bother you. I swear, I wasn’t. I’m just not ready to…I couldn’t…”

“Shut up.”

Eight weeks is an eternity. Eight weeks and a day? That’s insanity.

“I can’t survive this way, Trace.”

His gaze drops to the floor. “With me,” he mumbles.

For an absurdly smart guy, he can be such a moron. Not to mention, he’s blocking the ice machine. I roll my eyes and give him a shove. Then calmly fill my bucket to max capacity before correcting him, “Without you.”

“Gia…”

“Come on,” I say, spinning on my heel. “Let’s go put some ice on that hand.”

“Wait.”

I start walking because it’s my turn to ignore demands and do whatever I want. Trace follows me because it’s his turn to surrender control and do whatever the hell I want.

When I attempt to insert the key card, he grabs my wrist. “Wait.” Guess he’s struggling with this brand new concept.

Tough luck. I’m done waiting. “You in or you out?”

His entire body tenses. “What are we doing?”

“Is that a rhetorical question?”

“No.”

“We’re taking a look at your hand.”

He expects more from me.

I volunteer nothing else.

“And?”

“Hmm, adult stuff.”

Silence.

Painful, gut-wrenching silence.

I know what the dumbass is thinking. I know what’s been eating away at him. I know exactly what he needs to hear, “The eye patch looks totally badass, by the way.”

Except he’s no pirate. With a savage growl, he pins me to the door from behind and goes full-on-bloodsucking-vampire until my toes curl.

Well, shit. That’s definitely gonna leave a mark. I refuse to lose my cool. “In or out, Trace?”

Dislodging his fangs, he presses a tender kiss to my neck. “Marry me.”

“No.” I’ll say yes in the morning. After my future husband serves me breakfast in bed. Tonight, he’s earned the right to suffer a bit. “In or out?”

“I love you.”

“That’s sweet. In or…”

In.”

The key card is ripped from my fingertips. We’re stumbling through the door a second later.

“All in, Gia. All fucking in.”

THE END

What’s the prompt for next week, guys? 

Make suggestions below. 7 words or less.

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