Chapter Eleven

Alfie

The rental car’s lights illuminate the curved portico of the Montage Beverly Hills. I grip the leather seat and peer up at the imposing fa?ade through the heavily tinted windows. Even arriving after midnight, valets and bellmen mill about under the golden glow of the hotel’s exterior lighting.

“I’ll go check us in,” Stephanie says, twisting in her seat to look at me. “That way, you won’t have to linger in the main lobby. We can just hurry straight up to the room.”

Relief washes over me. Stephanie thinks of everything. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

She gives me an understanding smile, then slides out of the SUV. I watch her ponytail sway as she breezes through the front entrance. The scent of her shampoo still lingers in the car. Coconut and something exotic and floral. It’s more intoxicating than the expensive perfume some of my groupies wore.

Minutes later, my phone buzzes with a text notification, and I glance down to see it’s from Steph.

All set. I’ll meet you at the front door, and we’ll make a dash to the elevators. I feel like a spy!

Leave it to her to try to make this fun instead of nerve-wracking. I drive through the portico and take a deep breath. The valet gives me a curious look but says nothing as he takes the keys. Instead of waiting for a bellboy, I grab both of our carry-ons and stride to the front door, my hooves making strident sounds against the concrete.

Keeping my head down, as though no one would notice a horned bull in their midst, I avoid eye contact with the few people milling in the lobby. Thankfully, no one tries to speak to me before I spot Stephanie waiting by the bank of elevators.

“Any trouble?” she asks, punching the call button.

I shake my head. “Smooth sailing.”

The elevator doors slide open with a ding, and I follow her inside the wood-paneled car. As we ascend, she gives me a conspiratorial smile.

“I have good news and bad news about the room situation.”

My shoulders tense. I’ve learned from years of experience that in scenarios like this, the good news portion is never important. “Hit me with the bad news first.”

“Well…” She knots her fingers together. “Since we got here so late, they had already given away one of our two rooms and the hotel is full. So we just have the one.”

My heart sinks. One room means one bed. The implications hang in the air between us. Stephanie loves her job, soI know she won’t want to jeopardize it. As for me, I can’t act on this attraction I feel toward her. It would be unethical and disastrous.

“The good news?” I prompt, needing to hear there’s a simple solution.

“No issues checking in with a, um… an Other in the party.” She offers a wry smile.

I nod, exhaling slowly through my nose. No use worrying now. “We’ll make it work.” Maybe it’s two double beds. I’ve seen that a million times in the movies.

The elevator doors slide open, and we make our way down the hushed hallway. Inside the room, my eyes go straight to the bed. The one bed, which is king-sized and dominates the space.

Stephanie sets her bag on a chair and rubs the back of her neck. “This is awkward. I was so surprised about the change in accommodations that my brain wasn’t working properly. I can call the front desk, ask if they have a rollaway—”

“No need.”

The thought of Stephanie relegated to a cramped rollaway while I sprawl across the spacious bed feels wrong, and my frame on a rollaway is frankly laughable. “We’re both adults. We can share.”

Pink rises on her cheeks, but she nods. “If you’re sure. At least it’s a king… wide.”

There’s an awkward moment as we decide who will shower first, but she sits at the table and motions me toward the bathroom. “You go first. I’m going to check our schedule for tomorrow and see if our guide, Bechtel, emailed me with any changes.”

I take the world’s quickest shower and say, “Your turn,” as I emerge in one of the white robes that was hanging on the back of the door. It was a struggle to manage to make it cover all my dangly bits. I imagine Stephanie knows I’m only wearing it for her. My penchant for nudity is no secret.

While Stephanie disappears into the bathroom to get ready for bed, I pull on boxer briefs. Although I consider putting on something else, I brought nothing but jeans, and I doubt a t-shirt will do anything but make me overheated.

Being out in public is stressful, even with Stephanie by my side. It’s a relief to relax into the plush mattress that’s covered by silk sheets.

When Stephanie emerges in a conservative flannel pajama set, her eyes widen. She must be looking at my torso—my unclothed torso. I yank the sheet to my neck and sit up quickly.

“Sorry, I can put on a t-shirt. I imagine you know I’m not a pajama kind of guy.”

“No, it’s okay.” She looks away, busying herself by hanging up her clothes. “I know you prefer, um… less clothing.”

I smooth the sheet over my lap, watching as she neatly arranges things in the closet. Her damp, unbound hair swings gently as she moves, accentuating the slender curve of her neck. She smells heavenly, like her coconut shampoo and something warm and sweet. Vanilla lotion?

With a murmured goodnight, she slides under the covers on the far side of the massive bed. The mattress barely dips as she settles in. Even with the gulf between us, I’m ultra-aware of her presence. This attraction I feel simmers just below the surface. It’s never fully faded since the night I called her over to discuss Velorian’s offer. Now, lying together in the intimacy of the hotel room, it threatens to bubble over.

I force my eyes closed, but sleep eludes me. My thoughts drift to tomorrow’s meetings with the Other musicians. Will they accept me? Judge me? Stephanie’s continued insistence that they’ll like me lifts my spirits, but doubts still creep in.

Beside me, Stephanie stirs in her sleep, mumbling something unintelligible. Even her unconscious sounds are endearing. I resist the urge to glide one knuckle down her cheek, to soothe her. I lie to myself rather than admit the truth, which is that I’m desperate to touch more than her hand as I did in the plane.

As I watch her sleep, her lips part slightly and… did she whisper my name? My heart races as I wonder if she’s awake. Is she thinking the same thing I am? That she wants to erase the distance between us, tuck herself close, and kiss me senseless?

I roll on my side, unashamedly inspecting her, hoping to see her eyes fly open and her face light in a smile when her gaze lands on my face. Instead, she rolls on her side, away from me.

Yep. I’m a hopeless teenage boy sleeping in the same bed with my crush, a woman who doesn’t know I’m alive.