No Vacancy (Scorching Hot Summer #3)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Ella

The phone rings, sending a shockwave through my system.

We don’t get many calls.

“Hello, thank you for calling the Neon Palm Motel. How can I help you today?”

“You guys, stop it, I’m on the phone,” the girl on the other end of the line says with a laugh. “Can you please tell me when…bottomless…”

There’s a burst of wind and distant shouting, then her voice warps and fades. “…starts at the—wait, I—hello? Can you hear me?—sshhhk—brunch—kkkrrt—”

The rest is swallowed by static and the sound of waves.

Bass-heavy music comes through the phone, and a shriek makes me pull it away from my ear.

“Ouch,” I mutter, grabbing the remote to turn down the daytime talk show blaring from the ancient TV in the corner of the lobby. “Miss? Hello?”

“Hello?” the woman says.

More shrieks.

“Yes, hi,” I repeat slowly, “thank you for calling the Neon Surf Motel. How may I help you today?”

“Can you please tell me when your guys’ bottomless mimosa brunch ends?”

“Oh,” I say, my shoulders falling. “I’m sorry. This isn’t really that kind of place.”

“Sorry, can you repeat that?” she says.

“I said that I’m afraid we don’t have a bottomless mimosa brunch here,” I say a little louder, enunciating each word. My father barges through his office door behind me and swings around to the front of the check-in counter with a wrench in his hand.

Oh no. When dad has a wrench, that means something’s broken. It also means that he doesn’t know how to fix it.

Air conditioner spitting out hot air? Wrench. Fan making weird noises? Wrench. Soda fountain in the bar leaking? Hammer. Just kidding. Wrench.

Welcome to the Neon Palm Motel.

The wifi sucks.

Enjoy your stay!

“Wait, you guys don’t do brunch?” the woman on the phone says. “I thought you guys did a mimosa brunch.”

There’s more shrieking and more music before the call abruptly cuts out. I let out a big breath as I hang up.

“What’s broken now?” I ask my father as I slump down into my seat.

“The sign out front is on the fritz again,” he says.

“That’s probably why no one’s checked in today.” I give him a weak smile and pat his hand across the counter. “No one knows we’re open.”

But, in fact, no one even knows we even exist.

There are a lot of hot and happening hotels in Miami, and we aren’t one of them. This is a place where old ladies come for water aerobics class, not where college kids on spring break come to show off on social media.

My dad’s phone rings and a beaming smile stretches across his face.

“I’ve got to get this,” he says.

I swallow thickly as my stomach does an actual somersault.

A gentle saltwater breeze sweeps through the lobby as Dad leaves through the sliding glass doors. I hear him answer the phone and then the distinct sound of a car door closing, and then a voice.

A hot, deep, commanding voice that makes my heart twist in my chest. It’s a voice I’ve never heard before, but I know exactly who it belongs to.

I’ve been waiting for this moment for the past two years, but I didn’t know it. I never imagined he would actually come here to visit. What could we possibly offer him that he doesn’t already have?

Every sound from the street has made my ears perk up. Every engine rev has sent my heart into a spin. And every dude who walks by with a surfboard, flip-flops smacking against the hard pavement, has made me more and more frustrated.

So far, none of them have been him.

The guy I have been quietly obsessing over for the past two years.

My dad’s best friend.

Cole Wesley.

Owner, president, editor-in-chief, and all-around boss of the biggest travel and adventure magazine in the world, “Stray.”

He puts the guy who made it around the world in 80 days to shame.

While the rest of us watch reels and scroll through social media, he’s living the kind of life people write movies about.

This man is a powerhouse. He’s been everywhere on the map.

He once lived off the grid for a month and came back with a beard, a book deal, and a photo spread that broke the internet.

His nature photos are dazzling. His writing is clear, powerful, and evocative. And he is the hottest guy who has ever lived.

I love his magazine.

So do all of the old retired ladies who hang around the motel.

They may come here under the guise of taking water aerobics classes or chair yoga, but I think they’re here to get their hands on his magazine.

After I’ve devoured every copy, staying up late and obsessing over every word and every photo, I fan it out along with all of the other magazines in the lobby.

That’s when the feeding frenzy begins. I’ve found more pages ripped out of that magazine than I care to think about.

Behind me, in an old picture frame, hangs a photo of Cole with my mom and dad, all posing next to a palm tree and looking all cool and badass out in the parking lot next to a BMW M3 Lightweight.

I turn around to look at the photo. Cole is no longer that young surfer dude with long hair and flip-flops.

My mom was so gorgeous. I never really knew her, but my dad has told me so many stories over the years. I feel like I really do have a strong connection to her, as though I’ve already lived a full life with her by my side. Even now, I know she’s watching over me.

I adjust the frame, which is always crooked. It immediately shifts back into its crooked ways and I smile. I think I like it a little off-center anyway.

My friend and coworker, Delia, walks through the sliding doors, fanning herself as she saunters lazily to join me behind the check-in counter. I throw my hair into a ponytail and smile as I squeeze past her.

“Conserve your energy,” she says. “It’s hot out there.”

Hell yes it is.

I hold my breath and try to suppress a smile as I step outside, a rush of damp heat flowing over me. I follow the sound of voices coming from the pool, recognizing every single utterance.

It’s Cole’s fan club — the ladies who are just as obsessed with him as I am.

I make my way toward the pool and take in the full scene.

I was right. It’s him.

My heart lurches in my chest. My cheeks flush with heat. A shiver rolls through me. And my panties burst into flames.

Oh. My. God.

He is so much hotter in person. I don’t even know how that’s possible, but it’s true.

He stands up slowly, looking like he just stepped out of a commercial for a very expensive cologne.

His hair is pushed back from his face in a kind of half-faux hawk, partially shaved on the sides. His beard is the perfect length, showing off his sharp features, but lending him a rugged aura, and the camera slung across his chest seems like it belongs there.

His eyes are hidden behind a pair of dark sunglasses, but I can feel them on me, like a touch. My stomach flips. My skin prickles. I want to look away, but I can't. He's magnetic. Powerful.

My eyes drop down to the front of his pants. His dick is hard, pressing into the fabric. I can see the outline of it, big and hot. My stomach flip-flops.

Maybe he likes older chicks. I mean, there’s a pool full of cute old grannies right here. Maybe they’re his type.

I know they’d all love a chance with him.

But he’s looking at me .

He pulls off the sunglasses, and I get to see his eyes. Those sharp, deep, green pools of intensity latch onto me and refuse to let me go.

He’s not looking at some gorgeous sunset through the lens of a camera. He’s looking at me — with no lens, no filter, nothing between us.

I’ve spent two years imagining what it would be like to meet this man.

And now he’s here.

Big, broad, golden — all muscle, heat, and masculinity, standing there like a storm rolling in off the ocean.

I knew it would be a hot day.

I never imagined it would be quite this hot.