Wow, I was jealous. Really jealous.
That wasn’t good.
I purposefully ignored the rest of their very loud conversation and was thankful when they got their sodas and left the refreshment car.
I ordered myself a cheese toastie and a bottle of water and headed back to my seat. Thankfully my seatmate had finished eating. I ate my food and then put in my earbuds, watching Netflix on my phone for the remaining three hours to London.
I was worried about getting a taxi from the station to the hotel. I was worried the hotel wouldn’t let me check in under a name that wasn’t mine. I worried that the car wouldn’t show up to take me to the Barnet stadium.
And I worried that Lucas would stand me up again and I’d be left in London like an idiot.
Euston Station was heaving when we arrived. I had to practically shove my way towards the exit. There was a line of black taxicabs lined up outside the station. I approached one, gave them the hotel name, got in the back, and that was that. Easy peasy.
I was feeling proud of myself and my worldly traveling ways by the time we reached the hotel. I paid the cab driver and he helped me with my small suitcase.
“Thanks,” I said.
“Ta,” the cab driver replied, getting back into his car and driving off.
I looked up at the hotel and tried not to gape. The building was huge. It looked like an old courthouse.
I walked inside and was surprised to find the interior to be incredibly modern. With sweaty hands, I walked to the reservations desk, readying myself for difficulties.
There was no way they’d give me a key to a room that wasn’t even under my name. That’s just crazy. Even though Lucas assured me it wouldn’t be a problem, I was expecting to have to lug my stuff to the game with me.
“Hello, my name is Morgan Carter. I’m checking in. But the thing is, the reservation isn’t under my name.”
The woman behind the counter looked unimpressed. “What name is the reservation under then?” she asked, sounding bored.
“Johnny Parks,” I told her.
She typed in the name and then I watched with some satisfaction as her eyes widened slightly, her cool, indifferent demeanor faltering. When she looked at me again, she was smiling.
“Miss Carter, it’s wonderful having you and Mr. Parks staying with us. I do just need to see some form of ID first.”
I handed her my passport. She looked at it, then at me, before giving it back.
“You’re in the Rag suite. It’s on the sixth floor, which is right at the top. There are only two rooms on that floor and has a wonderful view of the city.” She gave me a key. “This is your room key. You need to use it in the lift to access the sixth floor. If you need anything at all, don’t hesitate to ask.” It was amazing how different her attitude was. I guessed there was note in the booking exactly who Johnny Parks was.
Maybe I could get used to the special treatment Lucas’ name afforded me.
A bellboy took my bag and assured me he’d bring it up to the room, which left me to get onto the elevator and head up to the top floor.
I almost lost my mind when I walked into the room. I had never stayed in a place quite like this before. The room was beautiful. The space was massive. I did a full circle, taking it all in. There were two separate areas. One had a large sectional and a flat screen TV. A bar stretched along the length of the interior wall. Separated by a fashionable half wall was a gigantic king sized bed with a wall full of windows that overlooked the city. And the bathroom—good god, the bathroom—it had a giant whirlpool bath and pedestal sinks, as well as a shower stall with the largest shower head I had ever seen.
There was a knock at the door and I opened it to let the bellboy bring my bag inside. He put it down on a luggage rack and stood just inside the door, obviously waiting for something.
“Oh!” I exclaimed, pulling out my wallet. I found a five-pound note and handed it to him.
“Thank you, ma’am,” he replied before leaving the room.
The phone beside the bed rang, startling me. “Hello?” I said after answering.
“Miss Carter, your car will be here in five minutes to take you to the Barnet Stadium,” a woman’s voice told me.
“Okay, great.” I hung up and got out my phone, messaging Lucas to let him know I got to the hotel.
I was feeling more than a little like Pretty Woman in this swanky pad, but I wouldn’t dwell on that particular angle of my current situation.
