Page 63 of Forever Wild

We’ve reached the point in our relationship that, even before he surprised me with a weekend at one of the nicest hotels in Denver, having sex is definitely on the table. A place I desperately want it to be.

I pull my car into the parking lot across from the hotel and hit the button to turn it off. I’m pulling my bag out of the back seat when I notice Jameson hasn’t moved. I stick my head in through the back door and ask, “You okay in there?”

He nods a couple times before replying, “Yup.” He looks at the dark parking lot. “Wait. Why are we parked here?”

“Oh, instead of dying of mortification, I thought it’d be easier to just have us murdered. This seemed like a good spot. Now grab my computer bag. They aren’t going to try to kill you if you don’t look like you have something worth stealing.”

His look clearly says “That’s not funny,” but regardless of what he thinks, I know I’m hilarious.

I roll my eyes and grab the bag instead. “Come on, princess. The hotel is across the street.”

“Why would you not use valet parking?”

I look between the hotel half a block away and his face. “Because we are basically at the hotel now and it will cost half of what it does to valet.”

I grab his hand and start pulling him toward the hotel.

“Yeah, but I’m supposed to be treating you this weekend.” He shoots me a glare. “Princess, I can afford valet.”

“So can I. It just seems silly to waste money on it, no matter how much you make, when there is a perfectly good parking lot right here.”

“Will we also be getting dinner from the 7-Eleven I can see down the block?”

I flip my hair over my shoulder. “No, you may treat me to fine dining. Though, shit. I only have my work clothes, which are basically all dirty and are definitely all too casual for someplace nice… Oh! I know. We can just go to the Ship Tavern. It’s a more casual place inside The Brown Palace that I went to a few times for special occasions during college.”

I look down at my attire. “This should be fine for that. Maybe tomorrow we can hit up the 16th Street Mall so I’ll have something for dinner then. Unless, of course”—I squeeze his hand—“you’re reconsidering the weekend?” The note of uncertainty that laces the question detracts from the calm exterior I’m trying to put on.

He stops, turning me to face him as we approach the hotel. “Definitely not reconsidering anything, B. Just got caught a little off guard, is all, and now I’m unsure if saying ‘who needs clothes, we can order room service all weekend’ like I want to is pushing you into something you don’t want.”

“You know,” I say as I start walking into the revolving door, “I’ve always been a fan of room service.”

Jameson catches back up to me once we enter the lobby, the sound of his steps echoing off the marble floors. The atrium lobby, with balconies surrounded by railings rising eight floors aboveground, is a flashback to a historic time of lavish parties and decadence. A grand piano sits on one side, a pianist softly playing elevator music. All around, people are chatting on plush chairs and sofas or enjoying happy hour at the small tables spread throughout the place.

“Here, let me take the bags,” he offers, reaching for my backpack.

I let him take it, handing him my suitcase as well. “About time you started acting like a gentleman. What would Lori say?”

He leans into my side, his warm breath tickling my ear as he whispers, “I have no plans on acting like a gentleman tonight, and let’s just go ahead and leave my mom as far away from here as possible, okay?”

I huff out a laugh, my blood pressure spiking from his nearness and the promise in his statement.

Jameson leads us to the elevators, telling me he checked in before coming to meet me at the airport. We ride to the top, and I follow Jameson to our room. He opens the door, pushing it open to reveal the extravagant suite he booked for us. I look at him, surprise in my eyes, and he smiles, clearly pleased with himself.

“This is…wow.”

“Cathy informs me this is the Beatles Suite.”

I haven’t had a chance to meet Cathy, Jameson’s virtual assistant, yet, but she does a damn good job of keeping Jameson and his life in order.

I point to the picture of the four band members hanging on the wall. “Ahh, that would explain the picture.” I turn and look at the glowing box next to the door. “And the jukebox.”

Throwing my coat in a corner, I plop down on the couch, turning on the TV. “Oo, I hope Friends is on.”

“You have an addiction, you know.”

I glare at him. “I only watch it when I’m in hotels!”

“You’re in hotels more than I am, which is saying something with how much I have to travel for golf, so saying you only watch it in your hotel room is basically like saying you watch it all the time.”

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