“What time do we need to leave tomorrow?”
“Midday.” Lucy clearly doesn’t need to look at the schedule. She probably has it memorized.
My gaze drifts to my Rolex before I realize that it’s set to LA time. That does nothing to help me figure out how much time that gives me this evening until I look at the clock on the dashboard at the front of the car: 11:37 p.m.
Great, twelve hours. That should be more than enough time to hang out with Christopher for a bit uninterrupted.
I envy Lucy’s ability to retain information. My brain is like a sieve. Information is like sand. I only manage to retain the big stuff. But I’ll remember the call time. Because it buys me a chance of normality.
By the time I make it through the noisy swarming crowds waiting for me outside the hotel and back to my suite, it feels eerily quiet. My brain, however, is not.
I’ve brushed my teeth three times, more thoroughly than usual. I rinsed my mouth out with mouthwash and took another Adderall to try and get my brain to focus, though the medication is taking its sweet ass time to kick in.
I even showered twice, letting the last of the water on my body get soaked up by the soft-white Egyptian cotton towel as I run another one through my hair.
My right leg twitches as I stare at the phone beside me on the bed, wondering what to message Christopher or if he’s still even up. The last time, I had Dutch courage in my system to help me force myself to knock on his door. But I’m sober tonight, a deliberate decision I made to prove to myself I can take alcohol or leave it—Icanleave it—and now I don’t know what to do.
I finally pick it up, take three deep breaths, and type away.
Is that so? Mine’s probably better.
I can’t bear waiting for a response, so I throw my phone back on the bed and get up, heading to the walk-in wardrobe, dropping the towels on the floor. I’m picking out some shorts and a vest when I hear a pinging sound.
It can’t be. That was too quick.
But it has to be him. Not only because I’ve just messaged him, but because I set my phone to Do Not Disturb and set a rule to only allow notifications from Christopher.
I almost stumble over the towels in my excitement.
Christopher
Are you back? I could head over in five…
Cool. Knock four times so I know it’s you.
Shit.
This is really happening.
I’m instantly turned on by the thought of being alone with Christopher in my room. But I want to play it cool.Needto play it cool. Yet I’m second-guessing every thought that enters my brain.
Should I tidy my room or leave it messy?
Should I change into something else or keep what I have on?
Should I spray on some of my Creed aftershave, or would that come across as trying too hard?
I move from the bedroom into the lounge area, turn the TV on with the remote, and slump into the couch. My heart rate feels like it’s going about as fast as my finger flicking through the channels. I impatiently check the clock in the corner of the screen.
Maybe I could do with a drink?
Seven minutes have passed when I hear four knocks at the suite’s entrance, and I jump straight up. Somehow, I stop myself from rushing to the door, taking long deep inhales to gain some composure. I pause at the video screen next to the door to ensure it’s Christopher.
My heart skips a beat.
He looks breathtaking in a white polo shirt, blue jeans, and brown boots. His brown hair is parted down the right side and he’s twiddling his thumbs. I take one last look of my reflection in the hallway mirror, running my hand through my hair and adjusting my shorts, before pulling open the door.
“Hey,” I say.
