Comfort Zone

by Missy Johnson

I pound on the hotel room door, until it swings open. Becca stares at me, looking a little shocked as I burst past her.

  “What’s wrong?” she asks.

  “Grammy’s bags. Where are they?” I ask urgently.

  “Over there.”

  She points to the bed, but I’m already over there, zipping them open. The soft meow brings me more relief than I’ve felt in a long time. My heart races as I dig around in the bag and free a very dazed and angry, Andrew, who had been restrained in a pillow case. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry when I see that she’d cut a few holes in the pillowcase so he could breathe. Andrew hisses at me and then struggles out of my arms, making a run for the door.

  “Shut the door,” I order Becca.

  She springs into action and slams it closed just in time, locking Andrew inside.

  “Fuck,” she hisses. She winces and glances at Grammy. “Sorry.”

  I laugh, because her swearing in front of my grandmother is pretty low on the list of priorities at the moment.

  “So what do we do now?” Becca asks.

  I shake my head, because I have no idea.

  “I guess he stays here tonight and then we take them back to Mom’s in the morning.” I sigh. “So much for not backtracking.”

  I narrow my eyes at Grammy, who shrugs innocently.

  “When you love someone, you’ll do whatever you have to in order to be with them,” she says, defending her actions. “Wait until you two realize this,” she waves her hands at us, “is more than just sexual tension.”

  “Grammy.” I laugh, as poor Becca goes red.

  “What? You think I couldn’t see the looks you two kept sneaking each other? It nearly made me sick,” she mutters, shaking her head. “I have no idea how I’m going to put up with the two of you all the way to Jacquie’s. But I guess that won’t be a problem now.”

  “Why?” I ask suspiciously.

  She crosses her arms defiantly.

  “Because if Andrew can’t come, then I’m not going either.”

  “Fine.” I sigh, not seeing an alternative. “The cat can stay.”

  “Really?” Grammy gasps.

  “Really?” Becca echoes, glaring at me like I’ve lost the plot.

  I nod. “I’m sure it will be fine.”

  Why do I already regret saying that?

  Chapter Twelve

  Becca

  After leaving Liam and Grammy to get settled in, I head up to my own room. I swing open the door and my eyes widen. Oh hell yes. They’ve upgraded me. I take one look at the oversized king bed and nearly die. The other rooms are nice, but this is pure luxury.

  I take a running leap and dive onto the bed, sighing as I sink into the soft mattress. I run my hand over the soft, silk like sheets and groan, feeling giddy. This is what I’m talking about. I’m probably the only person in the world who would take a good night’s sleep over the best sex of my life—of course, that could just be because no guy has truly rocked my world yet. I could fall asleep like this. Hell, I could die right now and be happy. It’s too bad we’re only here for one night…

  No, Becca, it’s not too bad, it’s for the best.

  I’ve already made a fool of myself in front of Liam once, do I really want to do it again and with Grammy here? The problem with that question is the answer. Yes.

  Shit.

  I sit up, my heart pounding in my chest. What’s stopping me from growing some balls and asking him out? Now I know what happened, why can’t we just move forward, instead of tiptoeing around our obvious attraction to each other. It’s time I stopped hiding behind weak excuses that didn’t mean shit. He might be my professor but I’m a grown, goddam woman. Who the fuck cares? And being Jake’s cousin isn’t enough to stop me, so what the fuck is it? Jesus, Becca. I need to take my own advice and either do it or not.

  If I were Loz or Amy, I’d be telling me to man up and quit fucking around.

  I grab my phone, adrenaline pumping through my veins as I scroll down to his number. I don’t even doubt myself as I wait for him to answer, probably because I’m too busy trying to pat myself on the back for being so ballsy. I should’ve done this last week, after the party. No more of that indecisive bullshit from me.

  “Hey,” Liam answering takes me by surprise. “I wasn’t expecting to hear from you so soon. How’s your room?” he adds. “Is it as nice as mine?”

  “The only way you’d know that would be for you to come and see it for yourself…”

  He chuckles. “I might have to take you up on that.”

  “So, I was wondering…”

  Fuck. I totally blank out and forget what I called to ask him. It all comes back quickly enough, but the pause in conversation has really messed with my head. Where did all the confidence I had five minutes ago run off to?

  I breathe out, my lungs screaming for more air, so I breathe faster. When the room begins to spin, I know I’m fucked, and not in the way I was hoping for. I’m not used to whatever the fuck this is. Menopause, maybe? God, I wish it were menopause. At least then it’s not just me being a tool. I rub the knots out of the back of my neck.

  God, it’s hot in here.

  “You were wondering what, Becca?” he gently coaxes.

  I cringe at the amusement in his voice. He’s loving that I’m tongue tied.

  “Would you like to have a drink?” I blurt out.

  Fuck me, that was hard work.

  “With you?”

  “No. With George Clooney,” I snap. “Look, just forget about it.”

  “What? No. You can’t offer George up to me then revoke the offer. I guess I’ll have to have a drink with you, instead.”

  Huh?

  “There’s a bar right downstairs, just outside the elevators. Can we meet there? Grammy’s a heavy sleeper, but I’d still feel better if I had the main exit covered, at least.”

  “Uh, sure. I’ll meet you down there in half an hour.”

  I stare at the phone, confused. I don’t really understand what just happened, but hey, I’ll take it. I sprint into the bathroom, take a moment to appreciate the massive spa bath I’ll be splashing around in later, then I step into the shower.

  Holy shit, I asked him out. Actually, I completely fucked up asking him out, and then he asked me, but tomatoes, tomatas.

  I quickly dry myself off and then grab my bag, dumping the contents onto the bed. That’s the point where I remember I only packed the one dress. Why the fuck did I only pack one dress? And such an ugly one at that? I pick up the floral, neck to knee dress that would be better suited to Grammy and snort.

  There’s no way I’m meeting Liam tonight, in this. The problem is, I might not have a choice. I have sweatpants, and an old workout shirt, enough underwear to last a week, but nothing else that even passes as presentable—unless you count my good pair of sweat pants.

  It’s this dress, or it’s nothing.

  #

  Sitting down, I smile at the barman and order myself a wine. I’m not nervous, but I am feeling jittery and the only thing that will fix that is wine. I glance around and catch sight of my reflection in the mirror next to the bar. My eyes widen.

  Holy Jesus.

  I knew the dress was bad, but I didn’t think it was this bad. I look like a roll of carpet. And not nice carpet, either. No, I’m that tasteless, floral print you find in old cinemas and nursing homes. I’d been so focused on not wanting to look slutty for this stupid ceremony that I’d gone overboard with trying to be safe. The problem was I’d gone too safe. Sweatpants is a step up from this. I’m halfway out of my seat to go back and change, when I hear his voice. I park my ass back down and look up at him. He glances at my drink and raises his eyebrows.

  “You’ve started without me, I see.” His lips twitch. “Don’t tell me this is going to be a repeat of last weekend?”

  Damn it. I hate the way his eyes change color when he’s amused about something, because it makes it really hard to think up a witty comeback.

  “Fo
r that to happen we’d need a stripper pole and someone who’s familiar with ping-pong balls,” I joke.

  “That can be arranged,” he murmurs.

  I don’t have the nerve to ask which of my requests he’s referring to, so I keep my mouth shut.

  “Without sounding offensive,” he hesitates, his gaze wandering over my dress. “I think you’d blend in more in a rug warehouse than a strip club.”

  I groan. “It’s hideous, isn’t it?”

  “The dress, yes. But you’d look good wearing a cardboard box, so why would a floor rug be any different?” He grins as I narrow my eyes. I’m trying to decipher if that was a compliment or not. “How about I get a drink and we sit down? I could use something stiff.”

  So could I.

  I giggle to myself as he orders a whiskey, then we carry our drinks over to a vacant table. I sit down and wrap my hands around my glass, those pesky nerves I swore would never return, back with a vengeance.

  “No tequila tonight?” he says with an amused look. “It’s unforgiving, if you’re not used to it,” he adds.

  “I’m aware of that.” I sniff. “You’d be surprised to learn that wasn’t my first dance with tequila.”

  “Oh?”

  I narrow my eyes at his lopsided grin and then I nod.

  “Back in high school I was a bit of a wild child.”

  “I can’t even imagine,” he murmurs.

  “Yes, you’re lucky you weren’t teaching me back then,” I say, lifting my drink to my lips. “I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t have been able to handle me.”

  “Yes, there are laws about that,” he agrees, his eyes burning through me. “So, what happened?”

  “It was a Saturday night, my friend Laura was staying over while my parents were away at some retreat.” I pause. In hindsight, that retreat was probably a sex camp. I shudder. “Laura dared me to drink a whole bottle of tequila. So I did.”

  “Do you always do what you people ask you to do?”

  “I guess it depends how much I want to prove something to someone.” He raises his eyebrows at that, which makes me smile. “Or what I stand to get out of it.”

  “So, an entire bottle of tequila and no ill side effects? I’m impressed.” He grins.

  I blush. “Well, I did end up in the hospital with alcohol poisoning. My parents weren’t thrilled about having their weekend interrupted.”

  “So how long was it until you drank again?” he asks.

  “The following weekend?” I grin. “I went through a six-week phase where I wanted to be like the cool kids and drink every weekend. The rest of my teenage years I barely touched alcohol.”

  “What changed?” he asks.

  “I guess I grew up? I realized that being the same as everyone else was overrated. It’s much more fun being Becca.” I grin.

  “I bet it is.” He laughs. “You’re full of stories, aren’t you?”

  “Aren’t we all?” I shrug. “It’s just some are more interesting than others.”

  “I guess that’s true.”

  He reaches across the table for my hand, taking it in his. My body jolts at the feel of his touch and as his fingers circle my skin, I want more. I spread my fingers apart and entwine them with his, my eyes not leaving his. My heart races, because his touch is electric. If I feel this from a simple hand touch, how am I going to feel when he’s inside me? I swallow and clench my thighs together at the thought of his thick, stiff cock sliding into my pussy…

  I reach for my wine and gulp it down, while Liam watches with amusement.

  “Are you okay? You look a little…flushed.”

  “Must be the alcohol,” I say, laughing nervously.

  It certainly isn’t my dirty mind.

  “So, where do you think this story is headed?”

  “You mean us?” I ask.

  He nods. “There’s no denying we have an attraction, but do you feel something more?”

  “Why else would I be here?”

  I stare into his eyes, trying to work out what he’s thinking.

  “For Jake?” he queries.

  “If Jake were the only reason, then I’d have arranged Grammy an Uber and flown to Vegas.”

  “An expensive trip and the poor driver never worked again,” Liam jokes.

  He picks up his whiskey and swallowing it down while I watch, strangely turned on at the sight of his jaw twitching. When he’s done, he reaches for my hand, so he’s holding both of them.

  “I’m glad you asked me out,” he says softly. “I wanted to ask you, but I didn’t want you to feel like I was pressuring you.”

  “I don’t feel that at all.” I frown.

  I know there are rules about teachers fraternizing with students, but given my age, surely they would allow for exceptional circumstances or something? I’d only met the president of the university a handful of times, but he seemed reasonable enough, despite nearly all of those meetings taking place after I’d messed up in a fairly major way.

  “Maybe not now, but back then, when you were just my student, I wasn’t sure how you felt. I couldn’t risk being inappropriate with you.”

  “But now you can?” I tease.

  “No.” He turns serious. “Really, I can’t risk it, Becca. But for whatever reason, I’m starting to care less and less about the consequences.”

  “And what would the consequences be for this?” I stand up and extend my hand. He stares at me like he’s trying to work out what I’m thinking, but then he takes it.

  “To answer that question, I’d have to know what you’re planning on doing with me.”

  I look down and smile, then lift my eyes to meet his. “Or to you.”

  “Or that,” he agrees, coughing. “Come to my room? Have a drink with me.”

  “I should get back…”

  “Will it really matter if you’re gone another five minutes?”

  “Wow, you work fast.”

  I frown when he laughs, then widen my eyes. Fuck. I said that out loud?

  “Trust me. I don’t.”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “Yes, you did. But it’s okay, right? Since I don’t do anything for you. You said yourself you think you’re into girls.”

  I swallow, feeling hot for a moment.

  “I…never said that you don’t do it for me.”

  His eyes gleam. “Oh, so, I do then?”

  “I never said that either.”

  I lead him over to the elevator and press the button. His fingers entwine in mine as he stares at me while we wait, the tension building between us almost too much to handle. I take his hand and place it on my back, then press myself against him. He grunts as my stomach presses against his, and again when my thigh accidently grazes over his semi-erect cock. He lets out a laugh. I raise my eyebrows at him, wondering what’s so funny.

  “Sorry, I just thought to myself that I hope I’m not misreading this situation. And then I realized how stupid that sounded.”

  “Still, it can’t hurt for me to make it clearer,” I whisper in his ear.

  I run my hand firmly over his bulge and use my other hand to tilt his face to mine. My heart pounds as my lips inch closer to his. All I want is that connection, to feel his mouth against mine so I know that what I felt last time was real.

  He jerks forward, closing the gap between us. His warm lips press against mine as he kisses me roughly. I slide my hand out from his crotch and laugh as his face falls.

  “We are in public,” I remind him.

  He nods, his eyes twinkling. “That’s exactly why I’ve got my back against the wall. I’m onto you, Becca.”

  I laugh at that, and then I cradle his face in my hands, enjoying the feel of his stubble against the tips of my fingers.

  “Maybe you can come back to my room instead—”

  I stop when he suddenly backs away and stares at something behind me.

  “Grammy?”

  I turn around and scan the foyer. Liam shoots past me so I quickly follow h
im as he stalks past the service center, over to the entrance of the casino. My heart sinks when I see Grammy arguing loudly with two security guards, who have a tight hold on her arms.

  Oh no.

  “What did she do?” Liam asks when he reaches them.

  “Do you know this woman?”

  “She’s my grandmother,” he explains through clenched teeth.

  “Then maybe you should consider keeping a closer eye on her.”

  “What’s she done now?” Liam speaks quietly. His defeated expression a sign he’s been through this before.

  “She entered a private, high-stakes poker match with some very important people and tried to entice them into changing the game to strip poker.”

  I clasp my hand over my mouth and turn around, doing everything I can to keep myself from laughing. I know it’s not funny and I hate myself for finding humor in something so sad, but I can’t help it.

  I guess Liam was right. She does have a gambling problem.

  “Fuck. Not again.”

  My eyes widen. “Again?”

  “I’m sorry, but we’re going to have to ask her to leave the hotel,” the second guard says.

  “Is that really necessary?” Liam growls. “She’s a ninety-six-year-old woman, for God’s sake. Surely you can show some leniency?”

  “I’m sorry.” The security guard shrugs. “I sympathize with you, I really do, but we have a strict policy when it comes to disruption of other patrons.”

  “Please,” Liam pleads. “One night. That’s all we need. We will be gone tomorrow.” They exchange a look. “She has dementia,” he adds. “By morning, she won’t even remember this. Half the time she doesn’t even remember me.”

  And that’s what gets them. My heart aches for Liam, because the pain I see in his eyes is real. I can’t even imagine how hard that must be for him. For someone you love to not even recognize you? Now I feel even worse for laughing. The two officers exchange a look, and then the first one sighs.

  “Fine. Just keep an eye on her. And don’t let her out of your sight,” he warns.

  “Come on, Grammy. Let’s get you into bed.” Liam takes her by the arm and tries to lead her away, but she resists. Her brow furrows as she glances around, her expression a mix of frustration and anger.