Chapter 5 #2
“Why exactly are we ditching your bodyguard?” I whispered to Oliver as we stepped off the elevator and onto the fifth floor.
This late at night, only one man was on duty, a bald mountain who seemed opposed to smiling, and the boys spent fifteen minutes creating a plan to ditch him.
It was so convoluted and harebrained, I gave up trying to understand the hows and whys by the time JJ added a twenty-seventh step.
All I knew was that my involvement consisted of returning to my room under the pretense of retrieving a fictitious poster I accidentally left behind, but wanted the boys to sign.
Somehow I ended up with Oliver as my escort.
He grinned. “Because it’s fun. Besides, do you really want him standing at the edge of the pool watching us swim?”
I glanced back at the man. “Definitely not.”
“Yeah, didn’t think so.”
“Wait,” I told Oliver as he walked straight past my room. “I don’t have a swimsuit, so I want to grab a change of clothes.”
“Not enough time,” he told me as he shook his head. “Once we’re gone for too long, he’ll come looking for us. Then the guys will be able to sneak out. We’ll find you something to change into afterward.”
When we reached the end of the hall, Oliver slipped into the stairwell, and we started taking the steps two at a time.
I kept looking over my shoulder, afraid that his bodyguard would burst into the stairwell and tackle me.
Maybe he’d even accuse me of kidnapping Oliver.
I could see the headline in my head: “Teenage Girl Abducts the Heartbreakers’ Lead Vocalist!
” As absurd as it sounded, I was starting to get nervous.
“Are you sure we won’t get in trouble?” I asked Oliver.
Before he could answer, two girls opened the door to the sixth-floor landing above us.
They glanced down at us as Oliver pulled his hoodie up over his head, and suddenly I understood why he insisted on wearing a sweatshirt in such hot weather.
But it was too late—the girls did a double take when they realized who he was.
Oliver grabbed my hand. “Come on.”
We flew down the steps before either of the girls could shout his name.
By the time we reached the first floor, I was breathless; fleeing with Oliver as he was being chased by fans was surprisingly exhilarating.
I could hear feet pounding down the stairs and a chant of “Oliver! Wait up!” but we didn’t stop.
Pushing open the door, Oliver poked his head out into the hallway to make sure the coast was clear before tugging me after him. We raced down the empty hall, and that was when I noticed we were going in the wrong direction. The pool was on the other side of the hotel.
“Hey, where are we going?” I asked.
“We’re making a pit stop.” He pressed his body flush against the wall and held his hand up in a finger gun gesture.
“Bond, James Bond,” he muttered to himself. My heart fluttered, but I quickly stomped the feeling down. It didn’t matter how cute and corny he was being, I couldn’t let myself get close. Because after tonight, I would never see Oliver again.
We cautiously continued down the hallway like spies until we reached a set of metal doors with circular windows that revealed the kitchen beyond.
“What are we doing here?”
“I’ve got a surprise for you.” Oliver pushed open the doors, and we were blasted in the face by hot air that smelled of fried food.
It was well past dinnertime, but the kitchen was bursting with activity. I watched as a woman in a hairnet chopped up carrots, her knife a flashing blur. Something sizzled on a nearby grill, and a boy with a mop and bucket zoomed right by us, water droplets spraying everywhere.
“Are we allowed to be in here?” I asked. I wanted to leave before someone noticed us and we got kicked out.
“Of course,” Oliver said, like it was perfectly normal to stroll into a hotel kitchen. “Xander has some really dangerous food allergies. We always stay in the same hotels, and the kitchen staff learns exactly what he’s allergic to. I’ve gotten to know everybody who works here.”
As if on cue, one of the cooks shouted at Oliver. “Perry, my man! How’s it going?”
Oliver grinned at me before turning back to the cook. “It’s going great, Tommy. How about you?”
“Same old, same old. The rest of the guys coming down to see me?”
Oliver shook his head and rolled up his sleeves. “Not tonight, but I’m sure they’ll be down for breakfast,” he said, and I watched in confusion as he washed his hands in a nearby sink. What in the world was he doing?
“They better,” Tommy joked as he turned back to stir something simmering over the stove.
When he’d finished scrubbing his hands, Oliver turned to me. “I kind of have this thing for cooking,” he explained. “You’re not allergic to anything, are you?”
“Um, no…” I said slowly, still confused.
“Great. You just wait here. I’m going to whip us up my favorite.”
I stared after him as he made his way over to a huge refrigerator and began pulling out ingredients. Was the lead singer of America’s most popular boy band about to cook me dinner?
He was.
After finding some empty counter space and spreading out the different food items, Oliver grabbed a knife and a cutting board.
When he started to chop up a potato, I realized the photo opportunity I was missing and reached for my camera.
As stealthily as possible, I took a few steps back and snapped some shots of Oliver working before he noticed.
The potatoes went into a fryer, and while those cooked he started to slice something green.
The food didn’t take long, and when he was finished, he packed everything into a paper bag.
“Ready?” he asked and grabbed my hand again.
“Uh-huh.”
Instead of heading toward the pool like I thought we would, Oliver led me out the back door of the kitchen. “Grab the stop,” he instructed as we stepped out into the warm summer night. “The lock on the door gets jammed sometimes, and we don’t want to get stuck out here.”
Bending over, I scooped up the wooden block and shoved it in the door threshold before it closed. Oliver sat down on the concrete steps, and when I dropped down next to him, he placed the food between us. I had no clue what he’d made, but a grease stain was already creeping its way up the bag.
“So, James Bond, what do you have for us?” I could feel my stomach grumbling, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten dinner, and just the smell of something fried was enough to make my mouth water.
Leaning over, Oliver unwrapped the bag and pulled out a Styrofoam take-out container.
“Why don’t we start with this before it gets cold?
” he said, placing it between us. He opened the box to reveal the source of the grease as steam poured out.
It looked like french fries, but they were covered in a white sauce with shredded cheese sprinkled on top.
“I had this in Dublin during our European tour. Now I can’t get enough of it. ”
“What the heck is it?” I asked, feeling less hungry. I wasn’t normally a picky eater, but whatever it was looked disgusting. Maybe I shouldn’t have let Oliver cook for me—just because he enjoyed it didn’t mean he was any good.
“Garlic cheese chips. You’re never going to look at a fry the same way again.” Oliver picked up a loaded fry, shoving it into his mouth before anything fell off. A piece of shredded cheese stuck to the corner of his mouth.
“Um,” I started, not sure how to tell him. “You got something right here…” I used my thumb to brush the edge of my mouth.
“Oh.” Oliver licked his lips. “Did I get it?”
Nodding, I directed my attention to the fries instead of his mouth. “So what exactly is the white stuff?” I could already hear the “that’s what she said” joke, as if JJ were sitting next to us.
Grabbing another crispy fry, Oliver dunked it in the goo. “Arlic maymays,” he said with a full mouth.
I looked at him and laughed. “Never heard of that before.”
Oliver swallowed. “It’s garlic mayonnaise.”
I wrinkled my nose. “I like ketchup.”
“Figured that,” he said, and pulled a handful of packets out of the bag. As I reached for the sugary tomato sauce, he pulled away, keeping the ketchup just out of reach. “If you want it, you have to try this first.”
“Come on, Oliver,” I said, staring down at the sloppy mess. “That looks gross.”
“Nope. You gotta try one.”
“What if I said I’m allergic?” Oliver lifted both hands to his face and covered a sneeze. “Bless you,” I said on reflex.
“Thanks,” he said. “I’m allergic to bullshit.”
“Hey,” I complained and whacked him on the shoulder. “That’s not funny.”
Picking up another fry, Oliver cupped his other hand underneath to catch the droppings. “Just close your eyes and trust me.”
With a sigh, I did as he said, but not before grabbing my water bottle from my backpack in case I needed to wash down the fry. Oliver brought the food up to my mouth, and his finger grazed my lip as I slowly opened up.
“Well, what do you think?” he asked, as I chewed tentatively. It was a masterpiece of cheesy, salty heaven. I was too stubborn to admit that out loud, so instead I picked up another fry and shoved it in my mouth.
“That’s what I thought,” he said with a bemused smile. We finished the rest of the fries quickly and fought over the last one before continuing with the next course.
“Ready for round two?” he asked me. Wiping my greasy fingers on a napkin, I nodded. “Okay, this is something my grandma used to make me when I was a kid.” Oliver pulled out another container. He opened the lid and revealed a strange pink-and-green food.
“Is that…ham and pickles?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
He nodded. “And cream cheese. It holds it all together.”
“You eat the weirdest food ever,” I said.
Oliver had spread cream cheese over slices of ham, placed a pickle in the middle, rolled it all up, and cut them into to bite-sized pieces.
Truthfully, I wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d pulled out a rainbow eggplant dipped in chocolate and told me it was his favorite food.
He cradled the box against his chest. “Don’t insult the pickle rollups. They’re delicious.”
“Sorry, I didn’t know pickles had feelings.”
“They do.”
“If I try one, will they forgive me?” I asked, as I covered a grin with my hand. The pickle rollups didn’t sound appetizing, but they looked much safer than the garlic cheese chips. The first dish had surprised me, so why couldn’t this one?
Oliver glanced down at the food in consideration before looking back up at me. “I suppose so.”
I picked up a pickle rollup and took a bite. “Pretty good,” I told him. The cream cheese actually brought the combination of foods together nicely.
“You mean pretty damn good,” Oliver corrected me.
“Of course,” I said and picked up another. “My bad.”
Giving me a nod of approval, Oliver grabbed a pickle thing and popped it into his mouth.
As he chewed, a smile spread across his face.
He looked like a kid who had just been told he could eat dessert for the rest of his life.
I chuckled as I grabbed another roll-up, one that had a little more cream cheese than the rest.
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a bit crazy?” I asked, licking some excess cheese off my finger.
Oliver smirked. “People like me are allowed a little bit of craziness.”
What did that mean?
“Are you now?” I asked and shifted away from him. His comment abruptly reminded me of whom I was sitting with—the lead singer of the Heartbreakers.
“You know it, babe,” he said with a lazy wink.
“Don’t call me that,” I said. I had no problem with pet names, but when guys used them in such a casual way, they came off as demeaning. Appetite gone, I pushed the food away from me.
Oliver froze, the smug smile wiped off his face. “Sorry,” he said, sitting up straight. “I didn’t mean anything by that.”
“It’s fine,” I told him, even though it wasn’t.
For a moment, I had forgotten that I was sitting with the leader singer of the Heartbreakers.
Oliver’s goofy personality had made me bubbly, but now I only felt deflated.
And with my disappointment came the realization that I actually kind of liked Oliver—that was, when he wasn’t being pretentious.
Unable to hold his piercing gaze, I focused on my nails. The black polish was chipped in places, my left pinkie completely free of paint.
“Stella?”
“Hmm?”
“You okay?”
“Yeah, fine. Why?”
An almost silent sigh hissed out of his mouth. “Nothing.”
Thankfully, my phone buzzed. “It’s Drew,” I said, reading the text. “We should head to the pool. He’s wondering where we are.”
Oliver studied my face. “You’re right,” he said, his expression unreadable. Then he stood up, brushed off his jeans, and held open the door. “After you.”