Page 3 of Balance

I mumbled a response that Matthew took for a yes. I mean, what choice did I have? None. I was lucky they were even letting me fly at all after the scene I’d caused.

“If you gentlemen want to book a room at one of the hotels in or near the airport, you’ll want to act fast. Several flights have been cancelled because of inclement weather.”

I was not built for airport floors, so I pulled my phone out before she even finished talking and reserve a room at the hotel in the airport. It was pricey as hell, but it would be worth every penny. I could sleep. And bathe. And get the stench of airport off me. And best of all, I could forget all about Matthew.

CHAPTER 2

MATTHEW

Troye was the kind of guy who could’ve benefitted from a good spanking. Jesus, the guy was a brat. Not on purpose, I didn’t think. His bratting wasn’t some sort of calculated thing to get a rise out of me but was more the result of his heightened emotions. He was basically crack to me.

Or he would’ve been if he hadn’t gotten me thrown off a flight. As it stood, I was closer to chucking Troye out a second story window than I was to taking him in hand. Usually, I loved a guy who was a little rough around the edges. A little imperfect. A little impulsive. But I’d just been through four hellish days of meetings. I’d wanted my aisle seat, a six-hour nap, and then my nice warm bed.

Now I'd have to settle for a hotel room… except everything near the airport was booked.

My heart sank as I thought about stretching out on the airport floor and trying to sleep or trying my luck in the chairs. I wasn’t sure which was worse. I tried to get a room at the airport hotel, but before I could pay for it, it clicked over to no vacancy.

“Fuck.” I voiced my frustration out loud and Troye side-eyed me.

“What’s the matter? Didn’t get a room? Oh, well. Floor for you, bed for me. See you never, I hope.” Troye started to walk away, his backpack casually slung over his shoulder.

I didn’t know what possessed me. Maybe a demon, maybe travel fatigue, but I grabbed my bag off the floor and legged it after him. Though I had a few inches on him, his legs moved remarkably fast, and I had to work to catch up.

When I finally stepped up beside him, he nearly jumped out of his skin.

“Are you following me?” Troye asked, sounding offended and perplexed.

“Yes, actually, I am. See, you got the last room at the inn, and I’m dead on my feet. If it weren’t for you, I’d be on my flight right now, and I could’ve slept there. Instead, I’m delayed overnight, and most of tomorrow as the airline plays musical chairs with our flights, thanks to you.”

Troye stopped in his tracks, causing a bunch of people to jostle us as they moved around him. Even when he wasn’t doing anything, he still managed to be a fucking menace.

“You are not coming to my room.”

“Our room.”

“I paid for it.”

Troye’s indignation made him red-faced—which shouldn’t have been cute. It should have been irritating to watch someone get so worked up over self-inflicted problems. But Troye had this brown hair that flopped in his face, looking all soft, a direct contradiction to the hard line of his mouth. His pouty mouth. His bottom lip was practically biteable.

“And you got me thrown off my flight. If you’d have calmed down and talked to the flight attendant, they’d probably have found you a seat. It was their fault, after all, for overbooking the plane.”

Troye narrowed the eyes shooting daggers at me. Maybe he thought he was being intimidating, or he was waiting for me to get tired of being stared at, but I quietly waited. Now that I had him pegged as the brat he was, I knew exactly how to deal with him.

To his credit, he held out longer than I thought he would until finally, with a heavy sigh and a drooping of his shoulders, he relented.

“Fine,” he said, seeming to deflate more as he spoke. “You can share my room.”

Troye didn’t wait for a response; he just turned and started power-walking through the airport. The man moved like he could medal in walking if there was a contest for that. And not that speed-walking they do at the Olympics. No, Troye was too graceful for that. His strides were quick and even, and I secretly wondered if he was trying to kill me. If I suffered a heart attack, he wouldn’t have to share his hotel room with me.

He didn’t manage to lose me, though, and I waited at the desk with him as he changed his booking to two people. We were given keys to the room, and Troye didn’t seem as dedicated to his impressive pace on the way to the room. It was a good thing I didn’t require conversation to keep me entertained because he was clearly giving me the silent treatment. Or maybe he was worn out from traveling.

When he opened the door to the room and didn’t say a word before vanishing into the bathroom, I knew he wasn’t just tired. He was angry, so the silent treatment it was.

The hotel was nice, in a basic kind of way. It wasn’t going to win any awards for style or comfort. It was painfully beige with hints of blue, like the comforter that was folded up at the foot of the bed. The one that matched the chair in the corner. The only chair. The only place to sit that wasn’t the bed. The singular bed.

Oh, Troye was going to be so pissed. I dragged my suitcase to what I had declared to be my side of the bed. I laid it on the floor and opened it up. Grabbing a pair of pajama pants and a clean t-shirt, I quickly changed. I left my baseball cap on my suitcase and ran my fingers through my hair to try and give my hat-hair some life again.

In the bathroom, I heard the shower turn on. Clearly Troye planned to be a while. As I waited, I got comfortable on my side of the bed and started looking for places I could order dinner and have it delivered. If Troye managed to leave the bathroom in time, I’d even ask him what he wanted. But after ten minutes, it became obvious that Troye wasn’t ending his shower anytime soon.