“Certainly, sir,” said Mike.
“I wanted to make sure you knew,” I said because I was still confounded how everything was so easy and nobody was saying no to me. “That I’m not in my room.”
“Of course, sir,” said Mike. “When you entered the hot tub area, the system let us know you were up there. Your time starts when you enter, but there’s no rush, as you are the only one booked for the rest of the evening.”
“Is there a note from Mrs. Westmore?” I asked, getting an eery premonition.
“Why, yes, sir, there is,” Mike said. “And from Alexander Westmore. We’ve been instructed to get you anything you like.”
“I like—” I paused. For some reason my throat had tightened as it if had been filled with something I couldn’t identify. Gratitude to the Westmores for being so kind? Or maybe, like before, it was with a sense of overwhelm, because I was Bad Boy Beck and didn’t deserve any of this goodness. “I rather like it when stuff is dipped in honey. Dates in honey. Or almonds. I don’t know, but I’ve seen it on YouTube.”
“There are all kinds of things dipped in honey like that,” said Mike. “Let me see what the kitchen can come up with.”
“And don’t forget those G&Ts,” I said, trying to make it a joke cause there’s nothing I’m more uncomfortable with than ordering people around. “No later than nine-oh-one, you feel me?”
“I feel you, sir,” said Mike and thank fuck there was laughter in his voice. “The first glass will be right up.”
I threw my phone on my pile of clothes where I could get at it if I needed it.
Inside of another minute, the tall gate around the collection of hot tubs opened, and a nice young man in black, black pants, black vest, with a white shirt underneath, came over to the little wall and opened the small gate. He carried a round tray, which he balanced on his palm, and on that tray was a single, frosty sided gin and tonic.
He held the tray out to me so I could take the glass.
“What kind of gin?” I asked, just to be sociable. Not that I cared. All gin was good gin, as far as I was concerned.
“I believe it’s Monkey 47 Distiller’s Cut, sir,” said the young man. “It’s from Germany.”
I held the glass to my mouth and took a sip. It tasted amazing and bright, and I could almost imagine myself a connoisseur because I was able to understand the mile-wide difference in quality between it and my regular brand, which was Beefeater.
“I’ll be back in half an hour,” said the young man, and then he was gone, leaving me with the warm steam, the hot water, and the ice cold G&T.
“Sounds good,” I said, but he was already gone and my words floated across the top of the hot, silky water until they sank beneath the surface and disappeared.
I’ll admit that I drank that drink a little faster than I should have. Like a shot, I swallowed half of it in one go, the effects sliding down my spine like a torque wrench had undone all the tenseness in my body.
Which, in turn, let loose all the feelings that I’d been packing down and not known it. Except I couldn’t define them. I’d never bothered before because my life had always come in fast and hot, and I didn’t know how now.
The G&T in my stomach certainly wasn’t helping, and all I could think about was Alex.
He didn’t owe me anything for saving him. He and his family had been more than kind. Polite, suave, rich, and just oozing affection.
And now I knew why Alex had been so upset to be missing Christmas with his family. Sure he’d been unsettled on account of almost dying. But he’d sat on the edge of that bed and just about sobbed at the thought of not being able to hold Baby Ginny.
Until Jonah had hooked up with Royce, that kind of emotion from a man would have been like meeting an alien. And I’ll admit I’d been all ready to mock Alex about those tears. Only?—
I hadn’t. Not because he was simply too handsome to laugh at. Maybe it was because those tears, that vulnerability, unnerved me. I was adaptable, I guess, but not that fast. What in the world would I do with such a sweet man, anyway?
I drank the rest of my G&T. I sighed after the last swallow as the ice clinked against my teeth and caught the bitter taste of lime.
This might be as good as my vacation was going to get, and that was okay by me. It could have been worse. I might have been too late to save Alex, and would now be in my room with a queen bed and a balcony that overlooked a parking lot.
This made me happen, in spite of my sadness about the fact that after I went back to Montana, I would never see Alex again.
Chapter 9
Two seconds after I’d finished off my G&T, my cellphone rang. I had to leap out of the water into the icy air, on account of I’d thrown that phone pretty far away. My hands weren’t even dry, but I grabbed it, thinking it was Alex to wish me a Merry Christmas and all that.
But it was Jonah.
