Chapter 21
Hunter
We barely talk on the drive to the hotel. My mind is dancing with a minefield of thoughts, each one more frantic than the next. I want her. God, do I want her.
But as we roll through town, a newer, more calming realization takes hold—she wants me, maybe as much as I want her. All of those stolen looks and small moments around the house weren’t a product of my wishful thinking.
In the time we’ve shared Kyler’s house, I’ve learned enough to know her choices are deliberate, and my chest tightens at the idea that she’s choosing me.
I don’t want to piss off Kyler, but fuck him.
He’s a grown-up, and if he’s my closest friend, he should be happy that I want to do right by his sister.
I’m sure there are plenty of vacancies at half the hotels in town, but I want to take her someplace special.
I also don’t want to drive very far to get there.
The first place that comes to mind, since we’re in West Hollywood, is Chateau Marmont. The team has been hosted at some meet and greets there, and there’s enough celebrity clientele that the front desk staff can usher us to a room without a lot of eyes headed our way.
That’s good for me, given that I don’t need any more controversies surrounding my career, and going into a hotel room with a woman definitely would get some media attention. Not to mention that Gracie’s bosses would not like it one bit.
Gracie looks out the passenger window, and I worry she’s losing her nerve. The way her eyes bored into me in the back of the restaurant and her clear instructions left no question about what she wanted, but maybe she’s getting cold feet. I can’t see enough of her face to tell.
I squeeze her knee and leave my hand there.
“Hey.” She turns from the window, and I see her bottom lip between her teeth.
As I suspected, she’s nervous. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.
I was trying to get you out of an awkward date, that’s all.
If you want to hang out and order room service, that’s great with me. ”
She nods, but her expression is complicated—neither a smile nor a frown, eyes narrowed in concentration. “Okay, sounds good.”
I want to ask her to elaborate, but it’s enough to know she wants to be here with me. However it unfolds is okay. The last thing Gracie needs is another caveman making her feel uncomfortable. I want to get her to the hotel so badly that I’m cursing every red light under my breath.
When I pull into the valet area and an attendant opens our doors, all of the frenzied haste I felt moments before fades into the distant buzz of the city below us.
It’s so quiet up here in the Sunset hills, and for the first time since my house burned down, I feel grounded.
Sure, it’s the warm evening air and the starry black skies, but it’s something else that has nothing to do with my surroundings.
Walking around to Gracie’s side of the car, I hold out my hand, an offer I hope she’ll take.
I’m not about to force it. If she’s had enough of handsy men for one night, I’ll follow her inside and make good on my room service offer.
I haven’t eaten since lunch, and I wouldn’t mind some comfort food on a tray delivered to an upper floor of the hotel.
The softness of her skin lights up a deep part of my heart, and the feelings I’ve worked to repress spring free and hit me hard. I don’t just want room service with her. I don’t think I only want one night with her.
Easy, Sport.
I pull open the door of the lobby and place my hand on the small of her back to escort her inside. Maybe it’s my imagination, but every time I touch her, it feels like she sinks deeper into my hand, supple and willing.
At the reception desk, I ask for a room for tonight, and the clerk starts typing on her computer, offering me different options. “A suite,” I confirm. “That’s perfect. And how late can we get room service?”
The clerk barely looks up, still typing. “You can get anything from our restaurant menu until eleven, and then the late-night menu until six-thirty in the morning.”
I try to catch Gracie’s eye to confirm my willingness to hang out and eat, no strings attached, but I find her looking at the floor. She takes a step to the side, putting some space between us.
I hate it.
I reach for her and gently put my arm over her shoulders before pulling her back toward me. With her blazer folded neatly over one arm, she takes a step closer, but she’s stiff beneath my arm, so I let it fall from her shoulders.
Bending my head to hers, I tip her chin up so she’ll look at me. “Hey, are you okay? We don’t have to do this,” I whisper. “You tell me what you’re comfortable with.”
She chews on her lip. “I’m a little nervous.”
A loud crush of people comes in suddenly from the bar, and we turn to see a bride-to-be wearing a tight black dress and a veil and holding a martini glass.
Her entourage wobbles along next to her in stiletto heels, each woman holding a similar glass, some with olives, others with lemon peels.
“Excuse us, we have to get upstairs for our penis cake. It’s an ice cream cake, so, you know…
” One of the women makes a wide-armed gesture like she’s parting the Red Sea.
“Come, ladies, penis ice cream awaits. When will I ever say that sentence again?”
They all erupt in laughter and totter over to the elevators. Their glee and silliness seem to melt some of Gracie’s nerves. Her delicate fingers grasp mine in a fist and hold them tight.
“I’m good. Really.”
“You sure?”
She nods and meets my eyes. The hesitance in her eyes is gone. “I want this.”
That’s all I need to hear.