Sam. He’s a piece of work, a total pain in the ass, and I’m dreading going back to that room.
“We don’t have much in common, unfortunately,” I said, knowing that if I unleashed all of my complaints about Dev, Sam would be running for the hills. I’d save it for Maren.
“Want to wander the hotel with me a bit? See what there is to do around here?”
“I’d love that.” I grabbed Dev’s pancake box. “I just need to drop this off first. Meet in the lobby in ten?”
“You got it.”
Chapter 5
Dev
I was pissed—so pissed that I stormed back to the room, slamming the door behind me and knocking the pile of brochures onto the floor before retreating into my room, slamming that door behind me as well.
Fucking Lyra.
Since the day I’d met her, she’d been nothing but a pain in my ass and a thorn in my side. I was bending over backward for her trying to be agreeable, trying to be nice. But it was never enough for her. She knew Trupti didn’t come with me to the resort; she knew it would be a sore spot when she brought it up. And I couldn’t understand why—for the first time maybe ever, we were actually having a decent conversation, and she had to go and ruin it.
Three more days of this? How am I going to survive?
My phone pinged—it was a text from Trupti, but I was in no mood to deal with her. I tossed my phone on the bed, laying down beside it, not even bothering to read the entire thing. I was too preoccupied, too angry, to focus my attention on her.
Quickly, I grabbed my earbuds and popped them into my phone, searching through my playlists for one that would calm me down. I settled on my Harry Nilsson playlist. Nilsson was my dad’s favorite. Midnight Cowboy was one of the first movies he saw when he moved to the States, and Nilsson’s song, “Everybody’s Talkin’” captivated him. Ever since I was a boy, he played Nilsson records. He always said Nilsson and I were kindred spirits—quirky yet classic, odd but polished and refined.
I clicked on my playlist, and Spotify asked if I wanted to add his version of “Over the Rainbow” to my list.
“Hell no,” I grumbled, deleting the option. “Fuck you, Spotify.”
Settling into “I Guess the Lord Must Be in New York City,” the first song on the playlist, I took a long and deep breath, trying to purge that woman from my brain. My stomach growled, and I was reminded of the pancakes I’d left behind, wishing I’d been smart enough to grab the damn plate and bring them back here. I was still hungry, but there was no way I was going back to that restaurant—at least not until Lyra came back to the room.
That would be my new plan—when she was here, I’d find somewhere else to be, even if it meant hanging out in the gift shop or wandering the damn halls. Anything not to be confined with her. Hell, I’d set up shop at the bar downstairs, bring my laptop down, and stay there until they forced me out.
My phone pinged again.
-You’re snowed in. How busy can you possibly be?
I rolled my eyes at Trupti’s latest text, took a deep breath, and replied. If I didn’t, I’d never hear the end of it.
-I thought you were working, why do you have so much time to text me?
-Stop it, Dev. I feel bad about our fight, let’s talk about it.
-Not in the mood. Sorry.
-Dev!
-What do you want from me, Trup?
-I don’t know.
-Exactly.
My phone’s definitely going to ring.
3…2….
I let it ring four times before finally answering. I didn’t even bother to say hello—I knew she’d start right in.
And she didn’t skip a beat. “So, what? You’re not going to talk to me the whole time you’re gone?”
“Hey,” I shrugged, looking up at the crisp white ceiling, “you chose not to come. If you were here, I’d be talking.”
“Don’t be like this.”
“Like what?”
“It’s like you don’t even care that we’re fighting.”
“Well, maybe I just don’t have the energy for it.”
“Nice.”
“Look, I’m stuck here with Lyra. It’s been less than twenty-four hours and she’s already pissing me off. The last thing I need is to fight with you too.”
“What happened?”
I sighed. “I really don’t want to talk about it, especially not with you.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
I bit down on my lower lip, trying not to lose my shit on Trupti. The