19. Michael

MICHAEL

M y eyes scan the bar for a certain head of wild blonde curls, but she’s not here.

I clench my hands and take a seat at the bar.

Maybe she’s on her way down.

It’s not like I can really talk to her when she gets here anyway. I already crossed a line with how close I got to her earlier. Giving her more attention now would only throw out extra red flags.

The bartender stops in front of me long enough to take my order, and I keep my eyes on the entrance until he returns with my drink. Straight bourbon.

Sounds of chatter mixed with laughs drift over me from the crowded tables. I look around one more time, making sure I didn’t miss Alice. But I didn’t.

Touching her was a bad idea.

Getting close enough to smell the sugar cookie scent of her hair was an even worse idea.

I take a sip of my drink, and when I lower it from my lips, I watch a drip of liquid trace a path down the glass, causing images of Alice’s tear-stained face to fill my mind.

If she’s not here, she’s in her room. Probably feeling terrible. Possibly crying. And I can’t let her go the rest of the night thinking bad thoughts about herself. I just fucking can’t.

Without giving myself a chance to overthink it, I lift the drink back to my mouth and down the rest.

Leaving a bill under my empty glass, I stride away from the noise and exit the bar.

I pull my phone out of my pocket, intending to call my manager and have him get Alice’s room number, but decide that will probably take forever.

Instead, I cut across the large lobby and aim for the woman working behind the front desk.

She spots me, and I can tell the moment she recognizes me. Perfect.

“Good evening, sir.” She beams.

“Evening.” I force a friendly smile on my face. “One of the contestants on my show left her phone at the table.” I hold up my phone, the plain black case universal enough for anyone to own. “Would you be able to tell me which room Alice Hatter is in? I’ll just drop it off on my way up.”

“Oh, um…” She hesitates, looking torn.

I know this is against the rules. And I’m aware it makes me a total asshole to use my celebrity status to get her to break the rules, but I’m desperate. And I’m not going to be able to sleep until I’ve apologized to Alice for my harsh words earlier. Yes, her creation was horrendous, but it was also clever, and I owe her at least one nice compliment.

“She wasn’t feeling well, so I figured I’d offer to bring it up rather than making her come back down. But if you can’t…” I shrug, knowing that I’m famous for being a bit of a dick.

The woman makes a sympathetic face before glancing around. Seeing that no one is around to overhear, she clicks a few times on her keyboard before looking up. “She’s in 612.”

“Thank you.” I tip my chin as I step back.

612. I let the number sear itself into my brain as I move toward the elevators.

I run over my apology in my mind, discarding options as soon as I come up with them.

I’m sorry I called your ice cream the worst thing I’ve ever tasted.

Sorry I spit it out in front of the whole world.

I step into the empty elevator cab and jab my finger against the 6.

I’m sorry for making you cry. I know you don’t know a thing about me, but I’m pretty sure I’m half in love with you and I’d rather die than make you cry again.

Sorry I didn’t just eat the whole disgusting cake. Because I will, if it’ll make you smile.

The elevator stops, and I step off onto Alice’s floor.

Taking a few deep breaths to slow my suddenly racing heart, I stop in front of door 612.

No hesitating.

You didn’t get to where you are by hesitating.

I knock.

And then I wait a thousand years for the door to swing open.

Not wanting her to slam the door in my face, I jump right into it.

“Alice, I’m sorry. I…” The rest of my sentence dies in my throat.

Holy Mrs. Claus, my Christmas wish just came true.

Alice is standing before me, eyes wide, hair mussed as if she’d just been well fucked. That bright green skirt dancing around her knees and… I have to work to swallow so I don’t drool down my chin. Sweet snowballs, her tits are amazing.

I’m not sure if what she’s wearing can even be called a shirt. It’s so thin. And it looks so soft. And it’s doing absolutely nothing to hide her perfectly plump breasts.

I was just coming up to apologize, but if I make it out of here without sucking one of those nipples into my mouth, it’ll be a damn miracle.