“You’re beautiful.” Is there really anything else to say? But the more honest part of my brain whispers that there’s so much more. I want you. I need you. I’ve fucking missed you.

She looks down and swallows. “Better, huh?”

My stomach knots. I hate that she never saw herself the way I saw her. “You’ve always been beautiful. I’ve told you that before.”

Her lips part as she blows out a breath. “I’ll never look like your Scarlett Lashenta.”

The words are a kick in the nuts. They’re a reminder that my decisions shackled this girl—this woman—with insecurities. “I’m glad for that.” My wife’s name floats in the room, a reminder that I’m entangled in a different world than Shay, a more vicious one, a reminder that we can’t be seen together without that world taking a swing at her. “Shay . . .”

She gives a small, sad smile and turns her back to me, striding toward the bed.

I close my eyes and count my breaths. In. Out. In. Out. I know why she’s here now—I understand exactly what she wants from me. And I want it too—holy shit, do I want it. I want to give her what she came here for tonight, provide the comfort I know she needs. More than that, I want her. But my life is a fucking mess, and I can’t drag her into that. Scarlett may have moved out, but our lives are still entwined. I have to work out my shit so I can give Shay more than another night of pleasure.

When I finally lock on to my resolve, I follow her into the room and find her crouched in front of the minibar, digging through it. The sight of Shay in her underwear, frowning at a bottle of tequila, makes me grin.

She holds it up. “Not much here, but do you mind?”

“Help yourself.”

She unscrews the lid and takes a sip, grimacing. “Shit.”

When she offers it to me, I shake my head. I don’t drink much during the season, but even if I did, I don’t trust myself to drink tonight. I already only have a tenuous hold on my self-control, and even a drop of alcohol might obliterate that.

She shrugs. “Suit yourself.” She takes another sip as she scans the room. “I really expected you to be in a fancy suite or something. This is . . . almost a normal-person hotel room.”

I chuckle and sink into a chair on the opposite side of the minibar, crossing my feet at the ankles as I sit back. “When I was a rookie, I had to have a roommate. I definitely prefer this.”