Four years after our breakup, my ex shows up at the hotel with a woman, and here I am, the unfortunate front desk receptionist stuck checking them in. The guy has these sharp, chiseled features, his dark eyes like black holes, staring with that unmistakably predatory look. His brows arch as he speaks, his voice a low, intimate rumble. “Got any protection in the room?” I hold a polite smile, keeping my tone smooth. “Apologies, sir, but we don’t stock extra-small in this hotel.” Content Hidden behind the counter, I slip off my heels, feeling instant relief as my feet press down on the cool floor. After standing for hours, there are just ten minutes left until the end of my shift. A few minutes of peace, I think—but of course, footsteps sound through the hotel lobby. I instinctively rise to my toes and paste on a smile. He’s wearing a dark shirt, mature and built, his features striking and severe. Draped over his arm is a suit jacket, swinging as he walks my way. As he approaches, I’m caught off guard by a sudden wave of déjà vu. Caleb Hawthorne. My ex from college. Three years together, and nothing since we broke up. Four years and not a single word. His youthful recklessness is gone, his face now edged with a steady, controlled confidence. Time has refined him. Made him look every bit the part. And there beside him stands a woman, pale and delicate, with a gentle look that practically demands sympathy. Ah, life—always serving up these awkward little moments. Ex-boyfriend shows up with a new woman, and I’m here, the front desk minion. Thankfully, I’m one of three people on shift. Come on, don’t notice me. Don’t notice me. But before I can finish the thought, Caleb’s gaze cuts right past the other two receptionists, landing directly on me. Oh, hell. His dark eyes are as deep and intense as ever, staring me down with that familiar hunger, now even sharper. If the old Caleb was like a wolf, then today he’s the king of the pack, here to hunt down some runaway prize. Judging by his expression, you’d think I was the one who’d run off with some rich sugar daddy. As I recall, though, wasn’t it you who asked for a breakup? Seconds tick by as he stares without a word, oblivious to the woman’s curious glance at his side. Finally, Caleb looks away, pulling out a credit card and placing it on the counter, his voice low and steady. “One room with a king bed.” With a professional smile, I check them in, sliding over the key card. Caleb slings his suit jacket over the woman’s shoulders, his movement brisk and practiced. My hands work on autopilot, but my mind drifts—Caleb never used to let anyone near his stuff, had a thing about his personal space that only I got to ignore. That was four years ago, though. People change. In college, Caleb wouldn’t even wear a suit, but there was one time I managed to coax him into it after an entire day of cajoling and bargaining. “Could I see your ID, please?” He hands me his card, and I can’t help brushing my thumb over the back. The scratches and the photo are the same as I remember from college, the one we got together. I pass him the key. “Room 1087. The elevators are to your right. Have a nice stay.” He takes the key and hands it to the woman, who heads for the elevator. But Caleb stays put, brow arching, a smile playing on his lips, his gaze intense. “Got any protection in the room?” I nearly break character trying not to laugh. After four years, I thought he’d changed, but no, he’s still the same charming jerk. Keeping my tone polite, I respond, “Sorry, sir, we don’t stock extra-small in this hotel.” Caleb’s brows draw together slightly, but his smile widens. Oh, so he’s got a little attitude about it, huh? He leans in closer, voice low and heavy. “If there isn’t any, how will I enjoy my stay, Ms. Winters?” I don’t care whether you enjoy it or not. Caleb takes a step away, like he’s about to leave, but turns back, tapping the counter with his finger. “Ms. Winters, as I recall, you used to be quite attached to my ‘extra-small.’” I feel a sudden, overwhelming urge to slap the smirk off his face but remember my job, my paycheck, and manage to hold it in. “Sir, my shift’s over,” I say with a sweet smile and step into the break room.
“What? You ran into Caleb yesterday?” I shut the door behind me and answer with a sigh. “Yeah.” “And? How did it go?” Switching my phone to my other hand, I press the elevator button. “How did it go? He brought a woman to get a room. How do you think it went?” It’s been four years since the breakup. Any remaining thrill or spark has long since faded. Mara tries to say something, but a baby’s wail cuts her off. “Hold on, Bella just woke up. I’ll call you later.” I chuckle, shaking my head as I hang up. It only takes half an hour to get from my place to the hotel, but it takes me all morning to psych myself up for the job. After pasting on a fake smile for wave after wave of guests, I’m ready to quit for the hundredth time. Just as I’m reaching for my water bottle, the front desk phone rings. I pick it up, muttering a few choice words under my breath. “Hello, Crescent Hotel front desk. How can I assist you?” There’s only silence on the other end, but I already know who it is. After a long pause, the voice on the other end finally speaks. “It’s me.” I roll my eyes, staying silent. Go on, Caleb. What now? An invitation to your wedding? Maybe a baby announcement? He waits a beat before asking, his voice playful. “I have a question.” Oh, this should be good. “Your king beds—do you have anything bigger? The last one was so small I couldn’t even move.” Oh, please. I force a customer-service smile he can’t see and adopt a sugary voice. “Sorry, sir. All our bed sizes are fixed. Although…” His breath is close to the phone, and I swear I can almost feel it. “Just five hundred feet to the left of the hotel, there’s a couples’ hotel. The beds there are massive—I’ve tried them myself. You can roll three times with someone in your arms.” I hear his breathing hitch. Satisfied, I hang up with a benevolent smile. As expected, the phone rings again within seconds. I ignore it, but my coworker glances over. “Lena, aren’t you going to pick up?” I give a casual shrug. “Ex.” She nods knowingly, offering a sympathetic glance. When the phone rings a third time, I finally answer. “Hello?” His voice is low, dripping with irritation. “Lena Winters.” Oh, what’s wrong, Caleb? You’re allowed to book a room, but I can’t have some fun too? “Oh, by the way, I forgot to mention, Mr. Hawthorne—I’d strongly recommend the ‘Underwater Paradise Suite.’ Soft water bed and ceiling mirrors…” This time, he’s the one who hangs up. Smirking, I put down the receiver, feeling a little more refreshed.
I met Caleb Hawthorne in the spring of my freshman year. I was at a club event, decked out in a cheerleader’s outfit, dancing with my squad on the basketball court. Caleb strolled by, surrounded by a crowd of guys. Just as he put out his cigarette, he looked up—and his eyes locked on me. The look he gave me was scorching, hotter than any summer sun, searing right through me. When I finished dancing, Caleb had drifted closer, blocking my path. “Caleb Hawthorne.” As I tied up my hair, I glanced at him sideways. “Let’s be friends,” he said, half-lidded eyes glinting in the sunlight, like a wolf stalking its prey, no shame in his gaze. I casually looked away. “The smoke’s suffocating me.” He stubbed out the cigarette with his thumb. “Fine. I’ll quit.” I almost laughed—what a shameless, bold move. But a month later, maybe because of his persistence, or maybe because I found his ‘lone wolf’ act oddly charming, I agreed to be ‘friends.’ The kind who kiss. And we kissed for three years. Until he suddenly broke it off.
On a weekend off, I head to the mall, browsing through everything from snacks to lingerie. Even if I don’t buy, it doesn’t hurt to look. I’m holding up a purple bra when I catch the scent of a faint cologne—familiar in the worst way. A long-fingered hand picks up a black bra, placing it front and center on the rack. “Black suits you,” he murmurs, completely unfazed. Turns out, people are right when they say your ex is like a ghost—never quite gone. I don’t bother turning around. “Thanks, but my boyfriend prefers purple.” Only then do I look over, catching Caleb’s stormy gaze. Caleb’s eyes are intense, his face set in stern lines, almost menacing, but I don’t let it bother me. Smiling sweetly, I wander over to the men’s section and hold up a pair of boxers, beckoning him over with a smile. Caleb’s face darkens as he approaches, looking like he’s ready to kill someone. “These your size?” I ask, holding them up. He raises a brow, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Oh? Why?” “Just checking. If these are yours, I’ll go a size up—my boyfriend’s a bit bigger.” Watching Caleb’s composure crumble, his mature demeanor slipping, I leave the store, satisfied. As I check out, Caleb appears beside me, pulling out his card. “I’ll pay for these.” I study him, amused. The hot-headed college guy now a cool, collected professional? The contrast is a bit much. But still, something sparks in me, and I glance up with a smirk. “Wow, Mr. Hawthorne, so generous. How about throwing in those boxers for my boyfriend, too?” Caleb’s expression hardens again. “In your dreams.”
Not wanting to make a scene, I didn’t actually push Caleb into buying the boxers. Instead, I had him pay for my two sets, calling it a small “harassment fee” for all his recent antics. But I didn’t expect to see him again the next day at the gym. Seriously. This guy is like bad karma. Part of me wondered if he’d planned it, though he hadn’t crossed any lines and even footed the bill yesterday, so I let it go. Caleb wore a black T-shirt, hair damp with sweat, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he tipped his head back to drink from his water bottle. His whole look screamed “testosterone overload.” Still black, even after four years. I scanned my card at the entrance and walked in. Caleb wiped his face, the sweat rolling down his chiseled nose, his profile all strong lines and angles. He grabbed the hem of his shirt and lifted it off, showing off the contours of his muscles and the rise and fall of his abs as he breathed. Leaning an elbow on one machine, he wiped down with his shirt, revealing a black ink tattoo of bamboo winding down his right shoulder, sleek and snakelike. Beneath the ink, I noticed a twisted scar—a new addition since our breakup. Shirtless in the gym wasn’t exactly classy, but no one complained. A few women cast glances, and a few phones even came out to snap a shot. Was Caleb the kind of guy to strip down for no reason? Definitely not. Snickering to myself, I headed into the locker room. Ever since college, I’ve always been into fitness, but usually stuck with a T-shirt and leggings. Today, though, I pulled my hair up and stepped out in a sports bra and leggings, showing off a trim waist and a well-rounded shape. Caleb had noticed me back in college, and I didn’t get this front desk job after a single interview for no reason. As soon as I walked out, I could feel eyes on me, but only one gaze burned with intensity. Ignoring it, I made my way to the squat rack. With one foot planted on the platform, I lowered myself slowly, my leggings tight, highlighting every curve. I could almost feel the heat of his gaze, my own smirk forming as I sank into another squat. Then suddenly—a shirt landed on my head. Pulling it off, I turned to see Caleb’s tense jaw and his narrowed eyes, muscles flexed. “You win, Lena Winters,” he growled. The shirt smelled clean, with a faint trace of laundry detergent. I raised an eyebrow and slipped it on, unbothered. His gaze dropped to my legs. “Change the pants too,” he said. Caleb’s not the kind of guy who imposes on what people wear. Today, though, he was fuming, a look that only made him more intense. “This is the only pair I have,” I said, lying with the straightest face. Caleb gave me a look, muttering “Wait here” before grabbing his stuff and leaving. Sure, I’d “wait.” I picked up my bag and left too, deciding my perfect body deserved a break.
The next morning, I dragged myself back to work. There was a company dinner that night, one of those events I couldn’t weasel out of. My boss and another slightly sleazy manager sat together, both looking a bit worse for wear. I sat nearby, sipping my wine quietly. The place was lively, but then I heard my name being called. Glancing over, I saw my boss waving me over. With a polite smile, I took my purse and joined them. After a quick toast, the other manager’s hand drifted onto my thigh, edging inward. After two years working in this hotel, I’d dealt with these kinds of things more than once. I wasn’t the same girl who used to panic over this. I debated between slapping him or digging out my pepper spray when suddenly someone yanked me up by the arm. In the dim lighting, Caleb stood there, his gaze hard and expression unreadable, radiating a quiet menace. He lifted a glass of wine and poured it over the manager’s face. The man sputtered, anger flashing in his eyes, as if about to retaliate. Caleb smirked. “Try me.” “Touch her again, and you might not get that hand back.” Then he shrugged off his jacket and draped it over my shoulders. Pulling it closer, I suddenly felt a sense of relief—Caleb had grown in these four years. No more smashing wine bottles over his own head to make a point. Now he knew how to stand his ground without losing his cool. This kind of maturity was… reassuring. I didn’t resist as Caleb led me out of the restaurant and into his car. After a silent moment, he looked at me and muttered, “Wait,” before stepping out and locking the door behind him. Soon, I saw Caleb striding back, swinging open the door and slipping into the driver’s seat. His collar was unbuttoned, his tie loosened, face still set with barely controlled anger. I couldn’t help laughing. “Where’d you go?” His knuckles tightened on the steering wheel, his gaze fixed forward. “To make sure he remembers next time.” I chuckled. “So after all these years, you really have grown up.” Caleb flashed a wicked grin. “Some parts have grown up. Wanna see?” Bring it on. Fueled by a little too much wine, I felt a sudden spark of mischief. “Sure.” My hand drifted up his thigh, my smile widening as I leaned closer. “Let’s see exactly how grown up you are.” I remembered a college party during my sophomore year. Caleb and I had gone to a karaoke bar with some friends. I was craving iced coffee and demanded he go find me one. The moment he left, though, a few guys dragged me into another room. Nineteen years old, terrified, and too scared to call the cops, I didn’t know what to do. The guys had started pouring drinks down my throat when Caleb burst into the room, knocking the bottle out of one guy’s hand.
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