Chapter 8

B y the time I got back to my fancy penthouse suite, I was wiped out. I wasn’t shy or retiring, but I didn’t much care for crowds, and I’d felt so fucking out of place at the Westmore’s Christmas Eve dinner, every part of me felt like it’d been wrung through the wringer.

The first thing I saw when I got back into the room was that there was a fancy basket, wrapped in gold-shaded cellophane. It had fruit and nuts and probably chocolate, too, and were those Christmas cookies? I was still full from dinner, but I ripped the basket open and shoved that cookie in my mouth. The sugar was so fine, the whole thing started to melt in my mouth.

Then I saw the expensive piece of paper with a phone number on it so I could schedule my hot tub session. Could I get them to send up a couple of drinks as well?

A few hours ago, I wouldn’t even have thought of it, but now, now I knew. The Westmores owned the hotel (and dozens like it, all over the world), so I, being their guest, could do whatever I liked. Have whatever I wanted. When I wanted it.

Old me would have run screaming through the halls buck naked, on account of I basically had a get-out-of-jail-free card on file. New me, well, I thought about doing that very thing, and while I smiled at the ruckus it would cause, I thought about Alex and his beautiful smile and the kindness in his eyes. The kindness in all of their eyes, sparkling with the joy of Christmas.

Yeah, I could say Bah Humbug with the best of them, but I pulled out my phone and dialed that number, fast.

“This is Jane at reception. Can I help you?” asked a polite female voice.

“Hey, Jane,” I said with my best, sexiest drawl. I find that women with names like Jane and Betty give the best head, so I knew it paid to be extra polite and stuff. Just in case there was an offer happening. (Sometimes, yes, I’ve slept with women. I like to keep things spicy and different!)

“What can I do for you, sir?”

“I’m in one of the penthouse suites on the eleventh floor,” I began, having no idea what my room number was. “I’ve been told I can schedule my hour in the hot tub, and can I have drinks sent up?”

In the back of my mind, I really felt like I’d left it too late, and that the Westmores didn’t have that much control over as much as they acted like they did and that Jane was going to turn me down flat. No hot tub beneath the stars for me.

“Is this room 1115?” she asked. “Am I speaking to Malachi Beckett?”

“Call me Beck,” I said.

“Beck,” she said, and I could hear the smile in her voice. “We can schedule you for two hours, actually, starting at nine o’clock. Will that work?”

“I only paid for one hour?” I said, my voice rising, because once again I was wrong and I already knew the truth. The Westmores (Jasmine, probably) had phoned ahead to give the staff the message: Take care of Beck.

“Your Soak and Stars package has been upgraded. You’re now getting as many hours in the rooftop hot tub as you like, and I’m ready to schedule the Massage and Sauna package for whenever you might be available this week. Plus there’s?—”

No. Just no. I do not do massages where I strip to the skin so a stranger can touch me. Where I grew up, that kind of behavior, well, you might as well stick your head beneath an executioner’s blade so you can get your head chopped off.

Sure, I let people touch me, but I had to know them. Alex had been the exception to that. For some reason, he’d felt different. The energy he’d given off had been different, and so I’d willingly let him get his hands all over me, pretty much from the start.

She rambled on for a bit, something about getting ski and snowshoe equipment for free, a nighttime sleigh ride through the woods, complete with dinner in a heated tent. Meals in my room. Nightly turndowns.

I leaned back a bit to see that yes, someone had come into my room while I’d been with the Westmores and turned down the freaking bed. An invasion of privacy that old me would have been pissed off about. As for new me, yeah, I was a bit irritated, but since it was a thing the Westmores did in their fancy hotel, I was just going to have to put up with it.

“Let’s just do the hot tub for two hours,” I said. A little overwhelmed? Yeah, that was an understatement.

“Certainly, sir. I’ve got you booked. You take the penthouse elevator to the rooftop. The key code to get in is your room number, followed by your last name. There’s a heated changing room, complete with a robe, slippers, and towels.”

“Can I—” I stopped and revised the question in my head. “Can you send up two double G&Ts, please?”

“Two doubles?” she asked, doubt clear in her voice.

“Well, I don’t want nobody coming up more than once,” I said.

“We’ll come up as often as you like, sir,” she said. “We want your gin and tonics to be fresh.”

“Okay,” I said. If that’s how they wanted it. “I’ll have a gin and tonic every half hour.”

“So four altogether,” she said, to clarify. “Will that be top shelf gin?”

“Best you got,” I said, nodding to myself.

I was going to go whole hog and get shitfaced drunk, then plop myself in bed and sleep it off. Maybe I’d make it to the Westmore’s Christmas breakfast, or maybe I wouldn’t. I certainly didn’t need all the complicated feelings that being around them brought me. It would be easier to forget about Alex and move on, if only his family would leave me alone.

“Would you like anything to snack on with that?” she asked.

I made a little sound in my throat. Sure, I was full, but after I started drinking, I’d want something salty and crunchy.

“Send up whatever,” I said. “One of them meat boards with crackers and cheese.”

“Certainly, sir,” she said, attentive and cheerful. “If you need anything additional during your soak, you can always use your phone or the intercom to call to reception, and we’ll get you taken care of.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“You’re more than welcome,” she said. “We want your stay with us to be amazing.”

I was uncomfortable with all the kindness, but I was going to make the most of the hot tub or die trying. I grabbed my jacket, and picked up my keycard, made sure the hotel door was securely locked and closed, and marched to the penthouse elevator.

The ride up to the top of the hotel was quick and silent. I was early. It wasn’t yet nine o’clock, but I was all alone up there, at least as far as I could tell, because it was perfectly silent.

Ahead of me was a tall wooden fence with one of those keypads. The top of the fence had a string of tiny Christmas lights in all colors: red, green, blue, and white.

I entered my hotel room and my last name and pulled the gate open on silent hinges. Inside the enclosure there were around four or five hot tubs, each with a small wooden wall around them, to make them private. Keep out the wind.

Steam rose up from each hot tub. They were what I’d call in-ground, that is, the hot tub was level with the wooden deck. Probably so drunk people wouldn’t have to go up and down any ladders.

Along the far edge was a series of sheds that I guessed were changing rooms. Only I didn’t have a bathing suit. I hadn’t even packed one. Maybe I didn’t even own one.

I looked inside the shed nearest to the end, and while I found the promised robes and slippers and towels, there were no bathing suits for me to borrow. Fine with me. I could soak in the buff.

Dragging what I needed to the hot tub I wanted, I shed my clothes, feeling the crisp air against my skin right before I slid into the hot tub.

It was hot, hot, hot! But I stayed where I was and tipped my head back to rest it against the curved edge of the tub. This feeling, of floating with the steam rising all around me, was what I’d looked forward to from the moment I made the booking. Peace, quiet, and hot water up to my neck.

From somewhere I could hear gentle Christmas music on speakers. Maybe even people singing Christmas carols.

Looking up, I could see the faint glow of the streetlights from the small town of Steamboat glinting along the top of the wooden fence. But above, directly above, the sky was black and blue velvet, dotted faintly with stars.

City lights were hell on starlight, but I only learned that when I’d gone out to Farthingdale Valley to visit my good buddy, Jonah. Then, when I’d moved with Jonah and Royce up to Thackery Ranch, which was just beyond Billings, Montana, I’d seen a whole other level of starlight. Steamboat, for all it was so cute, was too bright for lights in the sky.

Reaching out of the hot tub for my phone, I wiped my hands on my pile of clothes and called down to the front desk.

“Could I speak to Jane, please?” I asked.

“Jane’s gone off duty,” a pleasant male voice said. “This is Mike. Is there something I can help with, sir?”

“This is Beck from room 1115. Penthouse. Jane said I could put in an order for a top shelf G&T to be brought up every half hour, starting at nine. So, four G&Ts, please, cause I got a two-hour window here and I want to make the most of it.”

“Certainly, sir,” said the voice. “And would you like your charcuterie board now or later? Perhaps at ten o’clock?”

“That’ll work,” I said. I pulled the phone away from my ear to look at the time. It was 8:55, and they didn’t even care that I was in the hot tub early. Best to make sure. “I’m in one of the hot tubs on the roof,” I said. “I’m not in my room.”

“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.