2 years ago
One year. I'd been working the reception desk at The Heartbreak Hotel for a year. Melissa Carter had been my best friend for a year. I'd been referring to Jay Carter as my "brother-in-law" for a year. And for a whole year, I'd been listening to Lucas Johnson's increasingly terrible jokes.
Damn. Time really flew.
Today didn't start any differently than the rest—except that I no longer took the bus or walked to work. Instead, the beloved jerk drove me every single day in his brand-new, ridiculously modern Range Rover. The day he bought it, he offered to drive me around. I politely declined.
The next morning, he was parked outside my apartment building.
With hot chocolate.
I couldn't say no.
Even though we'd spent three hundred and sixty-five days teasing the life out of each other—and never once dropped the nicknames—we'd somehow become real friends. And I was incredibly grateful for that. After all, who wants to work with someone they can't stand?
"Ready, princess?" he called through the half-open window as he pulled up to the curb.
His dimples appeared as he flashed that boyish smile at me, blue eyes sparkling. Honestly, how is anyone supposed to resist that?
"Ready, jerk," I replied, opening the passenger door and sliding inside.
Lucas handed me my usual morning hot chocolate, winked, and pressed the gas pedal.
⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚
The rest of the day passed fairly uneventfully. Despite the hotel being fully booked, not a single soul called the reception desk. Lucas and Jay kept wandering through the lobby, occasionally stealing candy from the glass bowl meant for guests. Melissa popped out of her office now and then to chat. And that was about it.
Now that both Lucas and I worked there full-time, Melissa could finally tackle the mountain of paperwork, and Jay had more time for maintenance. Lucas had become the head bellhop, while I handled reception—and housekeeping, though Melissa and I split that. When the hotel was packed, all four of us worked nonstop. On slower days, two of us were enough. But most of the time, it was all hands on deck.
"Lucas!" Melissa's sharp voice pulled me from my thoughts.
Judging by his annoyed expression from the armchair in the lobby, she'd just interrupted a perfectly peaceful moment.
He sauntered over—okay, sauntered is generous. He moved like a sloth.
"'Move it, princess!'" I shot at him, referencing the day he almost ran me over.
Lucas grimaced dramatically while Melissa burst out laughing.
"If you can't come up with something new, maybe don't speak at all," he sighed, holding up a hand. His eyes, however, were clearly amused.
I was about to fire back when Melissa intervened.
Probably for the best. We might've caused a bloodbath in the lobby.
"Save that kind of energy for the bedroom."
Lucas and I both stared at her. What the—
"Oh please," she rolled her eyes. "Instead of constantly picking on each other, you could be doing... other things." She waved a hand dismissively. "Anyway—back to the point. Jay and I are inviting you both to dinner Saturday night. A thank-you-for-saving-our-lives kind of dinner. Don't make plans."
And just like that, she disappeared into her office, leaving Lucas and me alone.
"Don't even dream about it, princess," he broke the minute-long silence as we stared at each other.
Not that the thought hadn't crossed my mind. But I wouldn't have slept with him for all the money in the world. Especially not after everything I'd heard about him.
"You're delusional if you think you even have a chance with me," I tossed back casually, shuffling through papers on the desk.
"You don't know what you're missing," he laughed, tapping the marble counter before walking off.
⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚
As the weekend approached, the hotel gradually emptied. And I seriously considered calling in sick to skip the dinner.
Don't get me wrong—I adore them. We've had countless dinners and hangouts over the past year. But this felt different. Not just dinner with your best friends.
It felt like something was about to change.
And honestly? Maybe it would be better not to find out.
⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚
Getting out of bed on Saturday felt physically painful. I'd hoped the to-do list I wrote the night before would magically fill my entire day so I could "accidentally" forget about dinner. But when I saw the three-item list in my phone notes, I nearly cried.
Since Melissa was covering my shift, I decided to be productive and deep-clean my apartment.
The problem? It was already clean.
Still, I dragged myself out from under my warm blanket and headed to the bathroom. After washing up, I threw on old sweatpants and a worn tank top, tied my hair into a loose ponytail, and began my "deep clean."
Bathroom. Bedroom. Hallway. Kitchen. Living room.
There was barely any mess. Barely any dust.
Just to be safe—and to make absolutely sure I'd run out of time—I wiped everything down twice. Maybe three times. Even the surfaces that were already sparkling.
If I still had time to get dressed and look nice, I'd just claim I was exhausted and hurting in places the sun doesn't shine.
Naive me.
Four hours later, it was barely noon.
Yes, I was sore—but not in a convincing, cancel-dinner kind of way.
So I sat down on my freshly dusted couch, turned on the TV, found some mindless show... and "accidentally" fell asleep.
There was just one thing I hadn't accounted for.
If Melissa Carter plans something, she makes it happen.
⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚
A few hours later, I found myself sitting in a private booth with my three favorite people, waiting for our food.
The man responsible for all of this sat across from me, deep in conversation with Jay and Lucas.
Five hours after I'd passed out on my leather couch, I woke up to Melissa aggressively ringing my doorbell like her life depended on it. Since it was already getting dark and my lights were still on, I couldn't exactly pretend I wasn't home.
By the time she stormed into my apartment, I was somewhat awake—but I honestly hadn't realized I'd slept that long. I felt like I'd traveled to another dimension.
Melissa took one look at my zombie state, dragged me to my bedroom, planted me in front of my vanity, and thirty minutes later declared me presentable. And just like that, I was attending dinner.
I didn't want to disappoint her. Or Jay.
Lucas? Different story.
"Creamed corn rice with grilled chicken?" the young waiter's voice pulled me back to reality.
"That's mine," I smiled, thanking him politely before wishing everyone bon appétit and digging in.
⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚
The evening turned out far more pleasant than expected. Lucas was, as always, in top form. Melissa and Jay were half lost in each other when they weren't listening to him. Thankfully, I wasn't the topic of discussion tonight.
I've never been the type to casually spill my personal life. I've always been the quiet observer. The guys never pried. And when I did speak, they listened—because they knew how rare it was.
At the end of dinner, despite Lucas and me protesting, the Carters paid the bill. Melissa and I finished the remaining wine, and we stepped outside.
The heat was still intense, though slightly more bearable with the sun down.
"We'll take you home," Jay offered, and they were already saying goodbye to Lucas when he spoke up.
"You guys go ahead. I'll drop her off."
I raised an eyebrow at him. If he was so eager to chauffeur me, he could've driven us here too. But the look on his face made it clear—this wasn't up for debate.
"We won't kill each other. Promise," I laughed when Melissa shot us a worried look.
"Take care of her," she told Lucas. Which was odd—this wasn't the first time he'd driven me home. "See you Monday. Enjoy your day off!"
"We will!" Lucas and I chanted in unison before getting into the car.
⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚
"Do you want to come up?"
I had no idea where that question came from. I heard my own voice say it, but my mouth seemed to have detached from my brain.
Lucas Johnson was a playboy. At least, according to everything I'd heard. And after a year of listening to his stories—most of which involved very little clothing and very many girls—it didn't exactly improve his case.
"Just if you feel like talking more," I rushed to add. "Because I know if you go home, you won't sleep, and—"
"Okay," he cut in immediately.
I didn't even mind that he interrupted me, because honestly, I wanted to knock myself out.
"I don't want you to think this is, like, an invitation for... you know—"
"Ashley," he laughed softly, "I said okay. It's not the first time I've been upstairs, remember?"
I laughed too, remembering the night months ago when I'd helped them with a leak and ended up drenched. He'd driven me home then too.
⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚
"Was your door always purple?" he asked later.
We were sitting at my kitchen counter, sipping hot chocolate, when he broke the almost-awkward silence.
"Yes," I smiled. "And that yellow frame around the peephole has always been there."
"Friends fan, huh?" he nodded.
I shrugged.
"I used to watch it sometimes. Well, kind of. My sister loved it. Chandler was her favorite—and eventually she turned into him. There's not a single family gathering where she doesn't crack jokes. Annoying as hell. But we love her."
"You do realize you're constantly joking too, right?"
He rolled his eyes.
"At least Chandler is funny. You just... try. I bet your sister's hilarious."
"I'm going to pretend you didn't just bruise my ego," he said, taking another sip.
"That was absolutely the goal."
We both laughed.
"I should go," he said eventually, glancing at the clock. 11:15 PM.
"Oh. Okay." I stood too, placing our empty mugs in the sink. "Thanks for staying."
"Thanks for inviting me."
He stepped closer.
Too close.
His hand lifted slowly, fingertips brushing my chin as if he were afraid of moving too fast. I closed my eyes for a second at his touch. Then his arm slid around my waist, and I melted into him.
It wasn't unusual.
And yet—it was different.
I could feel the warmth of his body through our clothes. His breath was hot against my skin as he inhaled deeply. The spicy scent of his cologne wrapped around me.
Maybe it was the four glasses of wine.
Maybe it was the moment.
But I let my hand glide down his back—deliberate. Unmistakable. More than friendly.
He buried his chin in my hair and took another slow breath, like he wanted to memorize this.
When we pulled apart—just slightly—we instinctively leaned back in. I don't know who started it. Our faces were so close that if one of us didn't retreat immediately...
Only the two of us existed in that dim light.
His gaze dropped to my lips, and somehow that alone felt like a kiss—a soft, silent prelude. My heart hammered in my throat, but I wasn't afraid. There was no fear left in this moment. Only anticipation. That slow, spreading heat under my skin.
The distance disappeared.
His lips met mine—not suddenly, not demanding—but gently. Exploring. Like touching something you've wanted for a long time but only now dare to believe could be yours.
The kiss was hesitant at first. Careful. Like a first step into unknown territory.
But our world wasn't the same anymore.
My fingers slid to his neck, gripping his shirt like I was afraid this was a dream that might vanish with a single breeze. His hand stayed at my waist, thumb tracing slow circles through the thin fabric.
The kiss deepened—no more questions, only answers. The apartment faded into quiet background noise. Time itself seemed to blur.
It was just us.
When we finally pulled apart, we got lost in each other's eyes. And for once, my mind was silent. No commentary. No sarcastic subconscious. Just stillness.
No words were needed.
The kiss had already said everything.
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