“Still back home at LAX. Thank God I packed my gym gear,” I say, twisting my arm behind me to pat my backpack.
He pauses for a beat, catching my eye.
Now I see why all those girls are waiting outside the hotel.
Close-up, he is even more breathtaking.
“You’re from LA too?”
A sparkle in his eye shows me there is genuine interest, and I wonder, if only for a fleeting moment, if he might be interested in me, before reminding myself how stupid I sound. The thought that this heartthrob, with hundreds of women outside screaming his name, could be into someone like me is ridiculous.
“Yeah, I moved there a couple of years back,” I say nonchalantly, before adding, “I hope you don’t have to deal with any moreBIGreveals this week.”
I quickly close the door and slam my back against it, mortified at what I just said. Something sharp in my backpack causes a shooting pain to run through my spine.
What the fuck was I thinking?
Did I see a mischievous smile on his face as I shut the door? Or is my mind playing tricks on me again? I turn and peer through the peephole. He’s still standing there, shaking his head. The fish-eye lens makes his face and muscular frame more round.
After what seems like an hour, but is probably more like three seconds, I reach for the door handle. But just before I pull it down, he turns and walks away. The sound of his footsteps on the carpet get quieter before I hear the loud sound of a door shutting.
I let out a large exhale and lean forward, banging my forehead against the door.
What a dick move.
I take off my backpack, placing it on the table beside the television, next to the notepad and guest services folder. Like all hotel rooms, the bed is tidily made, with two bedside tables on either side and lights that match those in the hallway. The golden curtains are already drawn. I fling my sneakers off next to one of the two golden armchairs and remove my socks beforereaching across to my backpack and retrieving the miniature toiletries bag British Airways gives out in business class. It was the only redeeming quality of my nightmare travel journey. Bag in hand, I make my way into the bathroom.
The coolness of the marble-tiled floor catches me by surprise. But it’s not nearly as shocking as my reflection in the mirror. God, I’ve seen better days. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think I was thirty-seven and not just turned twenty-seven. The dark circles under my eyes are big enough to hold all my physical and emotional baggage and then some. My disheveled, short brown hair, completely void of its usual right-side parting, looks like I’ve had one too many big nights on the town and am paying the price for it.
I quickly brush my teeth, cursing the overhead lighting as I do so, and strip down to my boxers. I leave my clothes scattered next to the bathtub and grab my phone before making my way to the bed.
The Egyptian cotton sheets caress my bare skin soothingly as I settle in, and I plump the pillows before turning my attention to my phone, ignoring messages from my sister and mum. Curiosity has gotten the better of me.
After firing up TikTok, I go to the search tab, but I struggle to recall the hot guy’s name.
Think, Christopher. Think.
As if on cue, I hear the faint chant beyond the curtains.
Alex. Alex. Alex.
That’s it.
I quickly type inAlex,London, andwardrobe malfunction.
When the results load up, I am greeted by hundreds of videos, all from different angles. Alex is catapulted into the air and lands on stage with his trousers hanging halfway down his legs.
I scroll through one video, then another, until I land on onethat’s zoomed in close enough to reveal that he has quite the package. Clearly, the hashtag wasn’t lying.
I’m tempted to scroll further and find out more about this Alex guy, or is it Alexander? But I’ve got a big day ahead tomorrow, and I need all the sleep I can get to face my mother. I roll over to turn off the lamp and put down my phone, hoping that I can get a decent night’s sleep. But clearly the day isn’t done playing with me just yet.
The squeals and louder chants ofAlex! Alex! Alex!from behind the curtain get louder, as if the crowd below has been lifted up to right outside my room.
I pull one of the pillows over my head, attempting to drown out the sounds of the screaming girls below.
Pleasetell me they’ll all be gone by tomorrow.
3.Alexander
