The moment he says it, my stomach begins to turn. I can’t face Hunter, not after our fight. This is exactly why Eric said never to mix business with pleasure. I mixed it, and now it’s a whole damn mess.
All because of stupid feelings.
Beau grabs my arm, but his simple touch hurts. I glance down to get a look at why. It’s where I knocked myself on the door. My stupid implant moved and is now barely beneath the surface of my skin. I begin to pick at it to remove it since a new one needs to be inserted properly.
“What are you doing?”
“Got a knife?”
“A knife?” Beau rummages in his jeans, producing a small pocketknife.
“Oh my god, why do you have a knife?”
“New York City, baby,” he simply says, then rolls his eyes. “I only take it with me at night.”
Inside my hand, I quickly flick the knife part open and slice the small piece of skin on my arm.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Alexa!” Beau grabs it off me. “Are you crazy?”
“Can you take it out?” I beg of him, scowling in pain. “Let’s count to three.”
I start to count, shutting my eyes until Beau rips it out, and I yell out loud, stomping my foot on the ground to shake it off.
“I think you need medical attention.” He cringes while moving in to examine it. “There’s a lot of blood.”
Removing some tissues from my purse, I place them on my arm to stop the bleeding. It doesn’t take long for the tissues to soak, so this time I grab a whole stack of napkins from the table to apply pressure. The majority of the pain begins to subside but is still a dull throb.
“I’m fine. The tequila made me numb.”
“Look, I’m taking you back to the hotel, okay?”
“Aye, Aye, captain.” I nod, then salute him.
Beau laughs. “Fuck, you’re wasted.”
We take a cab ride back to the hotel, but I spend most of it laughing at Beau and reminiscing about the time his underwear got caught in our cubby house, and my cousin Andy had to cut them to get him out.
“They were my favorite ones too,” Beau complains with a pout. “Toy Story with Rex all over them.”
“I can’t believe you remember what was on them!”
The driver pulls up to the hotel, so we pay and get out. As Beau follows me inside, I fumble in my purse for the room key. The hotel staff in the lobby greet us, to which we both wave and try to act sober.
When we reach the floor, I glance at the room numbers, but they appear blurry.
“I think this is me.”
“Are you sure? Didn’t you say eight-thirty-one?”
“Yeah?”
“This is eight-fourteen,” he drags.
“Oh, my bad.”
We walk in the opposite direction until we’re standing in front of the right room.
“Thanks for tonight. I had fun.”