Yesterday's call with Yasmin—and the somewhat awkward encounter with Axel—had reminded me of one thing: I was here to relax and take a break from my pretty much constant anxiety. That meant no more worrying about a certain celebrity and his whereabouts.

From here on out, I won't waste another thought on him, I think to myself as I lay out my clothes for the day. Hazard leaps onto the bed beside me, licking the last of his breakfast from his lips. I hear his squeaky purr before he even approaches.

"You're such a goof," I murmur to him, rubbing the cat's furry cheeks as he plops down onto the pile of clothes. "Do you mind? I'm trying to get ready."

Hazard doesn't seem to mind at all. He just settles down with a sigh, tucking his front paws into his fluffy breast. I watch as he yawns with a blink of his eyes. I roll my own, stroking his head.

"What am I supposed to do?" I croon. "It's almost nine-thirty, breakfast ends at ten, and I haven't even gotten dressed yet. You're not being very helpful, mister."

When the cat still doesn't move, I reluctantly sit down on the edge of the bed beside him, running a hand across his back in gentle strokes. My mind drifts back to yesterday afternoon, to Axel's wide-eyed expression when I'd turned around to face him. I would have thought the boy was stalking me by the way he seemed to turn up everywhere. First at the pool, then at the cafe... I can only hope the rest of my vacation is relatively Axel-free.

Still, I can't help but think back on the boy's expression when he overheard me talking about him. His eyes blown wide, his lips pressed close together. It was almost as if he was actually hurt by my words, as if I was the one to have treated him badly instead of the other way around. A part of me feels somewhat satisfied to have gotten that reaction out of him. Another—albeit smaller—part can't help but feel guilty. I didn't mean to be a jerk. I didn't even think he was there to hear me. If I knew he was there... I don't know what I would have done. Would I have said those things to his face? I'm not sure that I would have had the guts.

Hazard must have gotten bored of my presence, because the cat leaps down from the bed, pausing to stretch after he lands on the floor below. I chuckle as I gather up my clothes. "Thanks, bud."

With that, I get dressed, tugging on my binder as I change into a pair of cargo shorts and a simple blue shirt. After some paranoid examination in the mirror, I pull my hooded sweatshirt over top. There we are. 

Dressed and ready with Hazard now curled up on the floor, I collect the book Yasmin recommended from my bag and head downstairs.

When I reach the breakfast area a few minutes later, I pause in the doorway to take a peek inside. Round wooden tables are set up at even intervals around the room—which is mostly empty, save for a middle-aged man reading a newspaper in the corner and a woman dragging her screaming toddler away from the buffet table. She shoots me an apologetic look as she succeeds in wrangling the red-faced child and hurries out of the room.

I wander toward the long, narrow buffet table lining the wall to the right. The layout is nothing too out of the ordinary for a hotel breakfast: the dregs of scrambled eggs, lukewarm and watery; sausage links; bagels and slices of wheat bread, set beside a pair of toasters; and several half-empty containers of cereals, ranging from corn flakes to brightly-colored rice crisps. A small refrigerator offers containers of yogurt—reduced to just the peach variety, I note as I step closer—and milk. Apples and bananas sit in a basket on the other end of the counter, while a waffle maker lies in wait nearby.

Overwhelmed by the choices—though far fewer than I would have had if I'd arrived earlier, no thanks to Hazard—I collect a plate from the dishwasher-warmed stack. I grab a relatively bruise-free apple, biting into it as I pour a cup of batter into the waffle maker. When the timer on the machine indicates that my waffle is cooked, I use a plastic fork to get it out and onto my plate, where I then spread some butter and syrup on top.

With my food in hand, I wander over to an empty table and begin to cut the waffle into bite-size pieces, holding the apple in my teeth all the while. I pop one of the chunks into my mouth as I set my book on the table beside my plate, resuming my place in the novel. 

Mallory was in love. Somehow, she knew that above all else. The girl was in love—beyond love—with Ridge Parker. Standing before him now, staring into his brilliant ice-blue eyes, her gaze couldn't help but dip lower to rest on his lips.

She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. What was one supposed to say when they were in love? What could she possibly say to reflect the swell of emotion she now recognized as longing, a longing for the man in front of her to—

I slip my bookmark between the pages and set it aside, silently groaning to myself. Yasmin is insane if this is the kind of book she usually reads. What kind of delusional nonsense is this? Mallory met this guy a week ago, and she's already in love? She's already thinking about... Doing that with someone she just met? I don't know. Maybe I'm too gay to appreciate this kind of stuff. I roll my eyes, reluctantly opening the book back up to continue.

—take her close in his arms, to whisper sweet nothings in her ear, to press his lips to hers. 

"Something wrong, Mal?" Ridge asked, and Mallory lifted her gaze to meet his eyes once more. His eyebrows were furrowed with concern. "Do you need something?"

"You." She whispered without thinking, and let herself move forward.

I shut the book again, staring down at the table with wide eyes as I reflect on what I just read. I rest my case. Wow. Chuckling to myself, I finish up the last of my waffle and stand to put my now-empty plate away.

I exit the breakfast area just as the hotel staff arrives to clean up. I haven't even thought about what to do with the rest of my day, I think after a moment, slowing just outside the doorway. I let my eyes skirt around the neighboring signs in the hall, finally resting on one advertising the hotel's game room. Not my usual scene, but I'm sure that would be fun. That's what I'm staying here for, after all. I smile, following the arrow on the sign.

The game room is just around the corner—and far larger than I expected, I find when I open the frosted glass door. It's also entirely empty, with not a person to be seen. Lacking overhead lights, the room is mainly lit by the glow of the arcade games lining the walls. I spot a couple of pool tables at the far side of the room, as well as televisions hanging on the wall; one displays an animated show I don't recognize, while the other offers a sports match that's equally unfamiliar. I wander the outskirts of the room, taking it all in with wide eyes. I'm just as indecisive now as I was at breakfast, wondering where to begin with the flashing, dinging machines.

Racing games... Can't imagine I'd be great at those. Not the dance game either; I've got two left feet. I glance toward a slots machine. Nor do I have money I feel like gambling on a game of chance.

I cross my arms as I wander around. My brown-eyed gaze eventually rests on an air hockey table. Hey... I haven't played this in forever. I step closer, grabbing one of the white mallets and turning on the machine. It greets me with an excited buzz, the table's blue surface flickering to life. I grab a puck from the slit at the table's side, bumping it across with the mallet. It slides across partway, tapping gently against the opposite side. I guess this is more fun when it's not just one person.

I take a step back, prepared to admit defeat and find something else to entertain myself with, but freeze when I hear a voice. "Can I play?"

I pivot around, locking eyes with the last person I wanted to find today. "Axel."

"Hey, you remember my name! And don't think I've forgotten yours, Nikolas Hoffman." He replies, sweeping some of his hair out of his face. His grin doesn't quite meet his eyes as he approaches. "But, um, yeah. You need another person?" He nods toward the air hockey table.

"Oh." I let my gaze move between him and the awaiting game. The surface of the table is cool against my hand. I have no interest in being anywhere near the celebrity, but... It's just air hockey. "Um, sure. It's a public place. I guess I can't stop you."

Axel's smile widens as he steps closer, taking up the second mallet on the opposite side of the table. "Cool. It's been a while since I've played this, so don't kill me if I suck."

I've had plenty of other reasons to kill you, so I doubt I'll start now, I think to myself as I adjust my stance. "Go on, then. You can start it off."

With a nod, Axel knocks the puck across the table, beginning the match. I lash out with my own mallet, making it slide back toward him. He blocks it just in time, sending it my way again. I don't manage to stop the puck in time, and it slips into the goal opening on my end of the table. The table lets out a melodic ding as the digital numbers on the side change to reflect Axel's win. 1-0.

Across the table, he whoops excitedly. "Hell yeah. Guess I haven't lost my talent after all."

I narrow my eyes. "Lucky shot."

"Yeah? I'll prove it to you. C'mon, it's your turn."

I snort, collecting the puck and bumping it toward Axel. He swings his hand out and sends the puck back at me. I manage to block it, the puck bumping against the side of the table before sliding back to Axel's side. He manages an almost comically large lunge, succeeding in hitting the puck my way. It whips across the table before I can block it, slipping into the slit on my end. Ding. 2-0.

"Told you so."

I open my mouth with a scoff, my jaw flapping helplessly for a moment as I gather my thoughts. "You're in for it now, asshole."

"Hey, this is a PG establishment. Better watch your mouth before some angry mom tattles on you," Axel laughs in response. "Had that happen to me the other day, actually."

"The room's empty. You'd have to tattle on me yourself."

The boy barks out another laugh. "What is this, elementary school? Going to throw a tantrum for losing, huh?"

I feel my face flush with heat. "I'm not going to throw a tantrum."

Axel raises an eyebrow. I frown, shaking my head as I focus on the game at hand. I shoot the puck his way, beginning the next round without warning. Axel doesn't react in time. The resulting ding feels much more satisfying than before. 2-1.

"That wasn't fair," Axel snorts, his eyes flitting between me and the updated score. "I wasn't ready."

"Word of warning: you'd better stay on your toes if you want to beat me, Mister One Hit Wonder."

"Resorting to name calling is pretty low, even for you..." He grins. "Nerd."

I snort. "Y'know, for a supposedly famous songwriter, you're not great with words." 

"Shut up."

"I think you just proved my point."

The next several rounds follow much of the same pattern. Swish. Clink. Swish. Ding. Swish. Swish. Ding. Swish. Clink. Ding. After lots of back-and-forth strikes and an equal amount of back-and-forth teasing, we're left with a score of 6-5. 

"One more point, and I win," Axel boasts with a chuckle, nodding to me. "Well played, nerd."

"Game's not over yet. If I score next, we're tied."

"And then I'll win after that?"

"I let you play with me for the game, not because I wanted to chat," I remind him, raising an eyebrow. "You do realize that, right? Or is your ego so big it's blinding you?"

"Ouch. You wound me." Axel clutches a hand to his chest.

I roll my eyes. "I believe it's your turn."

Rolling his eyes right back, Axel places the puck on the table, releasing a breath. He sets it off with a surprisingly gentle tap, which I block with ease and send sailing right back. The puck dances back and forth across the table, both of us moving our mallets as if our lives depend on it. Swish. Swish. Clink. Swish. After what feels like hours of panicked swinging, the machine lets out a triumphant ding. I whip my head toward the score.

7-5. Disappointment sinks into my stomach. He won.

"Good game, nerd."

I glance back up. Axel has his arm stretched across the table's length, his hand offered out to me. When he raises his eyebrows expectantly, I hesitantly bring my own up. His hand is firm around mine as he gives it a shake, a smirk resting on his lips when he releases it.

For a moment, I can almost imagine the two of us back in high school together. I can almost imagine us playing this game at the local arcade back home, passing banter and fond looks back and forth in equal measure. 

But it's not high school, I can't help but remind myself. It will never be the way it was. Axel is not the friend he was then. I'm stupid if I let myself believe otherwise. I'll just get hurt like I did last time.

"I'd be willing to offer you a rematch, if you want to try and beat me again. Can't guarantee it, though. I'm more of a master at this game than I remembered."

His words bring me back to the present and I shake my head as I back away from the air hockey table. Raising a hand in a hurried goodbye, I weave my way through the brightly lit machines to the game room's exit, mentally chiding myself all the while. Stupid, stupid. Stupid Nikolas. Stupid wishful thinking.