Just Don't Fall (Sweater Weather, #1; Appies, #1)

by Emma St. Clair

in minutes, I’m passing the stadium and pulling into the hotel parking lot. The place isn’t huge, and my suite is pretty basic, but it’s easy. Close. And if I don’t plan to stay long, it will do just fine. No need to look at apartments with distracting neighbors. “Welcome back, Mr. Barnes.” The woman behind the front desk smiles a little too eagerly as soon as the automatic doors whoosh closed behind me. “Can I interest you in a turn-down service?” The glint in her eyes promises more than just a turn-down service. “No, thanks.” I’m pretty sure this is the same woman who fell all over herself this morning when I picked up an extra key to replace the one I somehow already lost. She’s not in her work uniform now, something I only notice as she—oh, jeez—steps out from behind the desk in some kind of minidress. I pull out my phone—always a good distraction. Appear busy. Disinterested. Don’t make eye contact. Usually, women take the hint. Or not. Her heels click behind me as I make my way to the bank of elevators. “Or maybe a drink?” she offers, her voice low. “I’m good.” “Good? I could make you better.” I don’t give her the satisfaction of a glance. Instead, I push through the door to the stairwell and start up at a jog. She won’t follow me, but she might beat me up if she’s persistent enough to take the elevator. And sadly, I know from experience, some of these kinds of fans are. I move into a sprint, stopping at the next floor to push the elevator button, which might slow her...