Aside from Mila and Izzy, Tom is my friend. Probably my best friend lately since Mila is in love, and Izzy is brainwashed by the hockey player. This leaves us hanging out constantly this summer to the point where I actually invite him over on Friday nights and we watch chick flicks.
Pathetic. It’s not at all how I pictured my life going this year, but then again, we can’t all have Shade Sawyer fall in love with us, can we?
The sad part about my new Friday night date?
Tom loves the romantic comedy movies.
It’s something Mila and I used to do while complaining about men. Now one is my best friend. Strange how that happens.
Mila, she went and fell in love with the firefighter from the bar after he rescued her from the burning fire in the hotel.
Oh, wait, I didn’t tell you about that, did I?
Quick recap. You remember how Mila can pretty much attract anything with a dick? Actually, I’ll rephrase that because let’s be honest, if I were into chicks, my first choice would be Mila. Then Tom.
Ha. Kidding. Poor Tom. He’s just so pretty!
Anyway, Mila has always caught Nixon Shaw’s attention. He was an investment banker with Shaw Investments. Like how I said was? Just wait. It gets better.
Now, you remember when I told you about Mila sleeping with a married man once? Before the firefighter. Before Judah. This was back in college.
That married man was Nixon’s dad.
I’ll let you do the logistics here. Jealous son?
Yep.
The jealous side of Nixon got so bad he actually started a fire in the boiler room of the hotel and then trapped Mila in her office, set that on fire, too, and then ran.
What a punk, right? Demented fucking shit is more like it.
Long story short, or not so short, Caleb was called to the fire and rescued Mila from her office. They found Nixon dead in a stairwell. Apparently he wasn’t so good at finding his way through the smoke. He should have thought of an exit strategy before he started the fire that killed him. Stupid fuck.
The hotel was closed for three months, and Mila ended up in the hospital for about two of those months with second- and third-degree burns.
Her and the firefighter now? Madly in I-want-to-have-your-love-child love. I can’t blame her, but he’s certainly no Shade Sawyer.
Given the hotel was under renovations for a few months, Shade didn’t return in the spring.
But guess who’s in town now?
Yep. My dream guy.
There’s only one problem with him being here. I’m not a maid anymore. After the fire, I was promoted to front desk manager.
What the fuck were they thinking, right? I didn’t even do anything heroic. I wasn’t even working the day of the fire.
Regardless, my chances of sleeping with Shade or getting him to notice me are about as high as they were on New Year’s Eve.
I’ve continued to follow him. Okay. I’ve stalked him on social media.
Dude’s on a downward spiral, and I can’t help but think he needs me to pull him out of his slump. Or I need him?
Regardless, there’s need involved.
Knowing all this, how do you think I’m going to get close to him while he’s here? Clearly the elevator run-in didn’t work in my favor and going up to his room and knocking on the door last time didn’t work either.
My problem is solved Friday night, about the time I’m making plans with Tom to watch a movie.
Willa, Shade’s PR rep hands me two tickets for tonight’s Red Bull X-Fighters show at CenturyLink Field when she checks him in.
I stare at the tickets, a knot of tension in my chest. “Holy. Shit.”
She laughs, tucking her brown waves behind her ear with one hand, the other on her swollen belly. “Mila said to give these to you?”
“Um, yes?” Crap. Play it cool. “Yep. She did.” Bitch didn’t mention anything to me before she left town with Caleb on their romantic weekend. I tuck the tickets in my purse under the counter, ready to guard them with my life and blood. “Does Shade have any special requests this time?”
Her concern seems to be on her ringing phone. She clicks the side, dismissing the call and smiles tenderly at me. “No, not this time. Hopefully it’s a quiet weekend. The boys have to leave in the morning so it’s a quick trip.”
I nod, still trying to play it cool when really, you can totally tell I’m doing a happy dance inside. One with kicks and screams and cheers. It’s like a pep rally in my head waiting for the big game tonight.
Willa leaves, and I dig out my phone from my purse intending to thank Mila for this heavenly gift.
Me: Did you seriously talk him into giving me tickets for tonight?
Mila: I didn’t have to talk him into anything. If you remember correctly, dude destroyed the penthouse last time he was at the hotel. He OWED me them. Go. Have fun.
Me: Thanks! Any chance you can drug his security?
Mila: Already taken care of. They won’t be there tonight. A card key to the room is in my office in an envelope with your name on it.
I’m shaking with excitement and nerves.
Me: I LOVE YOU!!!
Mila: I know you do. Now leave me alone. I’m kinda busy.
It’s three in the afternoon already, the show starts at eight tonight so that leaves me what, three hours to get ready after work? Running outside while there’s a break in checking in guests, I snatch Tom by the arm while he does absolutely nothing in the valet booth.
“Hey, plans tonight. Come to the X-Fighters event with me.”
Tom’s eyes jet around the valet drive, then to me. “What’s X-Fighters?”
I slap his shoulder. “No time to explain. I’ll meet you right here at seven tonight.”
He shrugs. Tom’s usually down for whatever. “Okay.”
DO YOU SEE those two people in line to get beer? Focus on the girl. She’s the one wearing skin-tight jeans, heels, and a tight black top that shows off her nonexistent boobs.
Do you notice how nervous and fidgety she seems?
It’s because she’s out of her element.
I’m used to rock concerts, dive bars and lately, my couch doing absolutely nothing.
This, the world of freestyle motocross, is unlike anything I’ve experienced and it hasn’t even started yet.
Tom and I arrived at CenturyLink Field in downtown Seattle shortly after seven. The sun’s just starting to set to the west of the stadium, pink and purple splashes of color in the sky.
While I look presentable and tasteful if you ask me, and Tom looks like he just stepped out of a Pearl Jam video, most of the women strutting around the stadium appear to be strippers. Or attempting to be them. They remind me of the Doublemint twins who were in the elevator with Shade the last time I saw him.
Tom’s enjoying it, his wandering eyes checking them and their half-dressed bodies as they smile at him. I bet he could take any number of them home with him by simply winking at them.
I nudge his ribs with my elbow as we move forward in line. “Buy me a beer. I’m nervous.”
“I’m a struggling musician. You should buy me one for coming with you.” With an eye roll, he digs out what looks to be twenty dollars in ones.
I toss him a look like he’s lost his goddamn mind. He gets these looks from me all the time. “What the fuck?
He tosses me a sly grin, his eyes on counting his money. “Gotta have money for the hos.”
“You make me sick.”
He raises his eyes to mine, then back to the money. “Yet we’re here so you can stalk your celebrity crush.”
Goddamn him and his facts.
Two minutes pass and Tom looks confused. We’re still standing in line and he’s still counting his one dollar bills, his third time through.
I snatch the money from him. “It’s a good fucking thing you can sing because your math skills are ridiculous.”
AFTER WE GET our beer, we’re seated in our front row seats near a jump. I’m buzzing with nerves, barely able to sit still.
Tom isn’t so enthused. Look at him. He looks bored, doesn’t he?
“Why’d you make me come here?” he finally asks during opening ceremonies.
“I didn’t want to come by myself.”
There’s something in his eyes, an unmasked question. “So what’s your plan?” Tom lifts his beer to his lips, his eyes watchful of me over his cup.
“Mila said she’d talk to Carl and see if she could get me in the room.”
“And then what?”
What is it to him? Does he even have to ask? I’m pretty sure he knows what goes on when two people are alone in a hotel room, but yet he’s asking then what?
Just when I question if he’s truly dumb, he asks shit like this. Tom really is dumb. You saw his math skills. Not convinced? He once asked me what season comes after spring. I honestly don’t think he graduated high school. I think teachers just passed him based on his looks and they didn’t know what to do with the adorable troublemaker.
But it has me thinking about the “then what.” I draw in a breath. Do you see the way my cheeks tint? “I’ll fuck his brains out.”
“Lucky bastard,” Tom mumbles, as if he thinks I won’t hear him.
“Really?” I lift my own beer to my lips and watch him curiously.
“Would you believe me if I told you that you were the best I ever had?” he asks, drawing my attention once again by the intensity of his tone.
“You mean this year?”
He shakes his head, taking another swig of his beer. “No. I mean ever.”
“No, probably not.”
He hesitates. “I’ve never lied to you,” he says.
Do you see his face? What’s he thinking? This isn’t Tom Chase.
Wanting to draw the conversation away from that particular topic, I fan myself and yank at my shirt. “Jesus Christ. Are your balls sweating as much as my tits? It’s fucking hot.” Seattle doesn’t get very hot in the summer, but would you believe it, tonight it’s ninety-six degrees at nine o’clock at night. Ridiculous. All it comes down to is I have really sweaty tits and it feels like there’s a stream running through my cleavage.
My question catches Tom off guard. He laughs, a loose sound that turns into a cough, his grip on his beer tightening. “Why don’t you stick your hands down my shorts and see for yourself.”
Just so you know, I don’t.