Promises & Pen Names (The Riley Siblings #1)

3. Sidney

Chapter Three

SIDNEY

T oday keeps getting better and better.

“Can you check again? Please?” I beg the receptionist at the counter.

The young girl barely refrains from rolling her eyes but starts tapping away on the keyboard. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but there aren’t any reservations listed under any of the names you’ve given me.”

Shit .

“Not even Harper King?”

“No, not even that one for the second time.”

Sarcastic little bitch.

Totally defeated and fighting tears of anger, I sigh. “Well, I’d like to book a room for the week then. I’ll take whatever is available as long as I don’t need to check out until Tuesday morning.”

God, this is embarrassing.

First, that old moth-ball-cheese man copped a feel multiple times during my flight because, yeah, Blake was right, and he turned out to be my overly handsy seatmate. Even accidentally grabbed my ass while we were exiting the plane.

Then I got to baggage claim and watched the bags on the conveyor for damn near twenty minutes but never caught a glimpse of my suitcase. My suitcase that I panicked about losing before I even left, which became a harsh reality when I went to the desk and they said my suitcase had been scanned in at O’Hare Airport in Chicago.

Fucking Chicago. How does that even happen?

They fed me a bunch of shit about spring break, crazy busy, blah blah bologna, and promised they could have my bag sent to me in Orlando by the 25th... which is two days after I’m leaving Florida.

And because I’m apparently a glutton for punishment, I called Jordan to let him know I landed, to let him know what was going on and ask if it was ok for my suitcase to get sent to his house since it’ll be quicker that way, but I regretted the call immediately. He used my stress as an opportunity to rip into me over my poor choices, said I should take it as a sign that I never should have left Atlanta, and reminded me that writing my lady porn is just a pipe dream at best.

I started to cry then.

Not because of his words, not really, but honestly, I cried because he was picking me apart the same way I do and it became abundantly clear that the negative, derogatory, self-deprecating voice in my head belongs to my ex. I wasn’t enough to keep him happy, wasn’t enough to keep him from gambling away every penny we had in the bank, and I wasn’t enough to keep him faithful.

If that’s what happened with someone who was such an important role for fourteen years of my life, then why would I think I’d be enough for someone new? And how the hell am I supposed to make it as a romance author when I don’t even believe in true love, or myself ?

Oh, but then I lifted my head and saw the hottest man I have ever seen in my entire life leaning against a Prius while wearing a pair of bright red Chuck Taylor high tops, and my inner turmoil was instantly replaced by excitement, hope, and butterflies the size of the plane I just exited flapping in my empty gut.

Until I realized that was Blake Riley .

I knew immediately it was Blake, no doubt in my mind. Sure, the tattoos were new, he didn’t have those when we were younger, and he was wearing his glasses instead of contacts, but aside from that, he looked exactly the same as the last time I saw him.

Beautiful .

Blake has always been beautiful.

Chocolate brown hair cut longer on top with low fade on the sides, the longer pieces messy and in his eyes. Whiskey colored eyes with long thick lashes behind super-hot Buddy Holly specs he refused to wear because he thought it made him look nerdy. A tight, very neat beard, almost a dusting of dark scruff under his perfect cheekbones and on his chiseled jaw. And hell, I know Blake is now vegetarian and runs with his dogs, but he never mentioned that his body looks like he’s been playing rugby since he learned to walk.

God, had I known how incredibly sexy Blake Morgan is… well, had I known he was actually my only other ex, Blake Riley, I would have, and I would’ve prepared myself by packing extra panties in my backpack or something. Because it clearly doesn’t matter how much time passed, the reason for it, or my age—that man still makes my lady bits clench.

Rolling my eyes at how stupid that is, I can’t help the way my mind wanders to all the time that has passed since I last saw Blake.

Decades. So many years and all the events that come with them. Graduations and a wedding. I’m a mom three times over. I can’t be anything like the girl my first boyfriend remembers, from the way pushing forty is written all over my face, to the body that has obviously carried multiple babies. He may have put the pieces together on his own but I doubt this version of Sidney Porter is the one he expected to see, and that’s exactly why I want to coast through this trip without bringing up anything from our shared past. It won’t do either of us any good, not really, and diving into why the beautiful asshole ghosted me when we were kids isn’t worth my time.

Doesn’t mean I’m still not a little giddy over seeing him, though.

And when I was brave—or crazy—enough to hug him, shit, I almost died from his smell alone, but you throw in how amazing it felt to actually hug him, how good it was to have someone of the opposite sex show me a little affection? Let’s just say that hug took the number one spot on my list of hugs from anyone other than my kids.

But of course, even the most anticipated and insane meeting had to get ruined somehow and that came courtesy, once again, by my ex husband when he answered Sloane’s phone. I won’t lie though, despite the way I wanted to crawl through my cell and smack Jordan, I loved the way Blake put him in his place a bit. I swear I even detected a hint of protectiveness in his tone when Blake reiterated that I was going to be fine while I’m here, but that’s something else I should definitely not read into.

Too bad I’m a romance writer and it’s basically my job to read into shit like that.

Doesn’t really help that we have a history, either. One that came rushing to the surface with one simple realization but has to be buried while I’m here. If I ask the questions I've had for years and dig into a past that’s better left where it is… I can’t do that to myself right now .

After I hung up the phone out of embarrassment, Blake razzed me for what Sloane said and how my teenage daughter has great taste , and before I knew it, we had settled back into our comfortable banter with the bonus of sharing space. I know we have two years of a new friendship along with whatever old shit there might still be under our belts, but that car ride was so normal, so right, that it felt like Blake has never been absent from my life at all.

And that’s dangerous.

But once again, all good things came to an end because as soon as he dropped me off at the front of the hotel to park, a sinking feeling took hold in the pit of my stomach. One that brings me to my current predicament.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” the bitchy young brunette says as she snaps her gum. “We’re all booked up. Between the convention and spring break, we don’t have another room available for at least a week. Would you like me to book a room then?”

I sigh and shake my head. “I’m here from Atlanta for the convention. I need a room now.”

“There’s nothing I can do, I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” a gravelly voice asks from behind me.

Tears.

Fucking tears spring to my eyes just from the sound of his voice and right now I’d pay money to turn around, bury my face in Blake’s super firm chest, and cry my eyes out over this disaster of a trip.

But I won’t do that.

I can’t do that.

I’m strong.

Independent.

I can figure this out without losing my shit.

Worst case, I go home without working on our book or going to the signing. We can still finish the book and launch on schedule over the phone, and so what if I don’t get to sign a couple books? It’s not like I have millions of fans that will be disappointed they didn’t get to see me. I can do another signing one day when I’m more established. It’s fine.

Everything is fine.

I plaster on a fake smile and turn to face him. “It’s fine.”

“What’s fine?” Blake frowns and damnit if that isn’t hot too. “Are you crying?”

“No.” Shit . I keep forgetting he can read me like a book. “Everything is fine.”

“You keep saying that but somehow I get the impression everything is not fine.” Those whiskey pools shift from my face to the receptionist. “Is there a problem with Ms. Porter’s reservation?”

“It’s fine, Blake. Apparently I’m not on the register and they don’t have a room. No big deal. I’ll find somewhere else?—”

“Did you look under Sidney Kinison? Or Harper King?” Now he’s scowling the prettiest scowl I’ve ever seen, a scowl I used to kiss so many years ago. “There has to be some kind of mistake on your end if you aren't finding her reservation. The room has been booked for over a month.”

The young bitch blinks several times before she picks her jaw up off the counter. “I can check again but I’m really sorry, sir. We have no record of anyone under those names making a... oh wait.” Hope flares briefly before the girl frowns. “There was a reservation for Sidney Porter, but it looks like it was canceled.”

Funny how helpful she became once a hotter than sin man shows up.

“Canceled?” What the hell? Sure, I freaked out many times since agreeing to do this, but I never canceled my reservation, not even after threatening to do it about a million times. “Does it say when it was canceled? ”

She scans her screen. “A few hours ago. Just barely made the deadline for a refund.”

“Who canceled it? Does it say why?”

“Let me see...” A few more keystrokes have my gears turning and the sinking feeling in my gut growing to full blown dread. “A Mr. J. Kinison canceled. Said it was an unknown charge, so the company froze the credit card and refunded the cost while they investigated.”

“Goddamnit.” Fucking Jordan. I must have used his credit card by accident.

We don’t have any joint accounts anymore but he gave me an emergency card in case I ever needed it for the kids. And now that I’m thinking about it, I’m pretty sure I booked my room when Blake and I were playing our drinking game, the one we made up to play while we watched The Office.

You take a shot every time Jim goes to Pam’s desk or when he looks at the camera and makes a face. It’s super fun, but depending on the season, you can get wasted and if that’s when I booked my room then there’s a good chance I accidentally used his card.

Asshole should have known though, since Jordan has known I was going to Orlando since I decided to do it. It’s not like it was a super foreign charge, totally an accident and I would have paid him back, but it’s probably a small victory in his eyes because without a room I’ll probably have to go home. Won’t waste any more money on this silly pipe dream.

“Do you have anything else available?” Blake asks, his hand now on the small of my back as he steps next to me. “Anything at all for the next week?”

“They’re booked solid.” I sigh and ignore the sparks that are scorching my skin through my shirt from his touch. “Nothing for?—”

“There’s a couple set to check out in two days,” the bitch offers out of nowhere. I guess I should have just had Blake do this from the beginning. Must be nice having people fall all over you because you’re hot as fuck.

I arch a brow. “I thought you said nothing was available for at least a week?”

She clears her throat. “I just saw this. They were scheduled to stay longer but?—”

“Don’t bother,” Blake grunts. “Ms. Porter can find other accommodations for her stay. Thanks for your time.” Then he spins me away from the counter so fast I almost forget my wallet.

“Hey!” I giggle as my short legs struggle to keep up with his much longer ones. “Slow down, big guy.”

He does as we reach the door that Blake holds open for me. “Sorry, Shortcake. I just wanted to get the hell out of there.”

“No kidding.” I frown. “If that chick stared at you any harder your clothes would have caught fire.”

We walk to the parking lot in silence, not uncomfortable, but weird because Blake seems mad. Not necessarily mad at me, but he’s less than thrilled and I don’t know why. The silence continues until we’re both back in his car and when Blake grabs the steering wheel and stares out the window, I can’t take it anymore.

“I’ll see if there’s another hotel or something?—”

“Did he do it on purpose?”

I lift my eyes from my phone. “What?”

Blake twists the wheel. “Jordan. Did he cancel your room on purpose?”

“Um... well... I don’t really know.”

“You guys still have a shared account?”

I arch a brow as I face him. “No. Why does that even matter? We’ve been divorced for three years and the only thing I still share with Jordan is our kids. I even went back to my maiden name.”

“So, how’d he cancel?”

“I have an emergency card from him for the kids and must have used that by accident. Why does any of this matter?”

Blake scowls out the window. “You think he’d cancel on purpose, so you’d have to go home?”

Maybe, but I don’t say that. Obviously, the thought crossed my mind, but Blake is clearly peeved about this shit already and I don’t need to add fuel to the fire.

“It’s no big deal, I’ll just find another hotel to stay in. A motel if I need to. Doesn’t even have to be in Orlando. Everything is fine, just a few bumps in the road. I?—”

“Don’t.” Another grunt cuts me off. “Don’t bother looking for another place to stay. You won’t find anything at this point.”

“Okay... so should I start searching for flights or...”

Blake sighs and shakes his head. “You’re staying with me. I might not be in Orlando, but I was going to be back and forth every day while you were here anyway. You can just stay at my house for the week, it’ll make everything easier on both of us.”

But I’m already shaking my head. “I appreciate that, but I don’t want to impose. It doesn’t seem right to crash at your bachelor pad for a week. I’m already going to take up most of your time between our book and the signing, I don’t want to invade your space too.” Except I really, really do want to invade his space. Like, so super bad, I just feel guilty about putting him out.

“Bachelor pad?” Blake smirks as he finally looks at me. “Did you really just refer to my house like that?”

“Oh, come on, Blake. I’m not stupid.” I shrug. “You’re a sexy single romance author. I’m sure you don’t want your hot mess of an ex imploding at your house. Total cock-block.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I blush right down to my toes.

Why the fuck did I say that?

“ Hot mess of an ex? Total cock-block ? Jesus, Sid, is that what you really think of me?”

I chance a look at Blake, worried my epic foot-in-mouth is going to ruin my trip—and possibly our friendship—further, but he’s grinning. I don’t know why he’s grinning, but he is, and that makes me feel a little better.

So, I lift a shoulder. “No, but I am your… ex, and you are single. Just because I don’t know how to date or do the unattached thing doesn’t mean everyone else doesn’t. And somehow I think me being at your place is red flag city for a potentially interested party.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Blake laughs.

“Nothing. Let’s just go.” I bite my lip, bite it hard, and look out the windshield. “I can look for another hotel while we’re at dinner.”

“Sidney.”

God, I am such a mess. My emotions are all over the map and the stress of losing my luggage and my room must be getting to me. I haven’t even been in Florida for more than a few hours and I’ve cried, or almost cried, more than I have since my divorce. This is ridiculous and I should probably take it as a sign that this was a stupid idea I never should have entertained.

“Sid, look at me. Please.”

So, I do, and when Blake smiles softly, one single tear rolls down my cheek.

“Oh, Shortcake.” He reaches out and catches another. “Honey, the only reason I haven’t offered to have you stay with me before now is because I knew you’d fight me on it. It actually makes the most sense and not just because of the travel time it saves me. We can work on our book at my place way easier, we’ll be able to hang out in our spare time without having to worry about timeframes, and honestly, I wanted you to stay at my house the second you agreed to come down here.” Blake sighs as he smooths his thumb over the apple of my cheek. “You aren’t cock-blocking anything because my house is so far from a bachelor pad it’s practically a monastery.”

I snort unattractively and roll my eyes. “I’m sure.”

“Hand to god,” he says while lifting the hand that was on my cheek. “I’m almost forty, Sid. How much action do you really think I’m chasing? I’m too old for it and my house is decorated like every nerd’s wet dream.”

“Whatever.”

“I guess I’ll just have to prove it to you. The only action my house sees is in the form of the sex scenes I write or COD. I want you at my house, ok?”

I search his eyes, those warm whiskey-colored orbs practically glowing from the sincerity of his words. Blake may be fucking hot, but the fact that he’s also super genuine is why I nod. “Ok. But you have to let me make it up to you somehow. Cooking, cleaning, walking the boys. You have to let me do something so it feels like I’m not freeloading.”

Blake’s expression darkens a bit. “I’m sure I can come up with something.” He licks his ultra-kissable lips, his gaze dipping just a fraction to my mouth before connecting with mine again. “But you aren’t here to be my personal chef or maid. We have business to handle and hangouts to enjoy, so don’t worry about making anything up to me, ok?”

With a breathless nod I relent. “Gotcha.”

This trip is going to be a disaster for sure, but not the way I originally thought. If Blake keeps looking at me the way he was, saying the things he is, I will definitely be leveling up from a crush on my ex-boyfriend into a new world I can’t afford to get lost in. Getting lost in Blake Riley a second time is even more reckless than coming to Florida in the first place.