Free Cherished by Kim Cash Tate Page B

issues.”
    Wonder why .
    â€œShe knows Mallory Knight is here this weekend. We used to date. She said she wanted to surprise me, but I think she’s checking up on me. Ooh, boy”—he rubbed the back of his neck—“if she hadn’t had a problem with the car alarm when she stopped for gas, I wouldn’t have known she was coming till she knocked at the door.”
    Heather was reeling. “Well, what am I supposed to do?”
    â€œI can give you some money for another room. They’ve probably got some last-minute cancellations. But other than that, I don’t know. I’m sorry.”
    Ten minutes later Heather was pulling her suitcase back down the long hallway. She just wanted to find a good place to cry. And lie down. Her head was still spinning, and she suddenly felt like vomiting.
    She pushed the Down button for the elevator, then the Lobby button, and leaned against the wall, head drooping. When she got off, she wandered over to the registration desk, where a lone man was reading a book.
    â€œUm, I need a room.” Her voice was so slight she barely recognized it.
    â€œMa’am, we’ve been booked for months. There are several conferences in town.”
    â€œNo cancellations?”
    â€œI’m sorry. None.”
    Heather felt tears of despair rising. “Could you give me some numbers for other hotels around here?”
    He hadn’t moved, his finger poised as a bookmark. “I could, ma’am, but I’m hearing everything’s sold out in the area. It’s just one of those weekends.”
    Heather nodded and turned, staring into the distance. What was she supposed to do? She couldn’t drive the several hours it would take to get home, not feeling like this. Even driving far enough to find a hotel with vacancies seemed too ambitious. She barely had strength to stand, and she felt like—
    She turned back. “Where’s your restroom?”
    He looked up from the page. “Across the lobby, down that hall, ma’am.”
    Hand to her mouth, Heather hustled as fast as she could, pushed open the bathroom door, and entered the first stall, leaving her luggage just outside. The second she leaned her head over the toilet, she vomited, again and again. Sweat beaded her forehead, and she thought she would faint. She sank to the floor, but just as she did, her stomach heaved again and she moved her face over the toilet, emptying whatever was left of the food. She grabbed toilet paper and wiped her mouth, then more to wipe her forehead, shaking all the while. She flushed the toilet and sank against the beige wall.
    Right here was a good place to cry.
    The sobs that had been gathering in her chest spilled out. Why? Why did this happen? How could Ace just put her out like that? He’d invited her. He’d slept with her. She laughed into her sobs. None of that mattered to him. She didn’t matter to him. She never mattered. She was the one who could walk into a room and grab all the attention, the one guys tripped over themselves to get to, the one who never had a problem finding someone to hook up with. But she was never the one who mattered.
    She was the one who got kicked out of men’s beds.
    Heather pulled her knees to her chest, the scene from eight months ago vivid in her mind. She knew she’d entered forbidden territory, sleeping with a married man. But she and Scott had met in the choir, sung duets, had good conversations. He was unlike any man she’d known, a sincere man who actually wanted to live right—and she wanted a man like that, a special man, to want her.
    She knew what she was doing—flirting in a nonflirtatious way, gaining his friendship. She felt special whenever she was with him, and she dared to imagine herself with him, really with him, the one he’d love and adore.
    But the fantasy died the day Dana burst into the room and caught them in bed. Scott made his position clear. He loved and