Page 85 of The Lodge

And he gives me more—I think, honestly, he’d give as much as I wanted tonight. We stay in the heady space of this push-and-pull makeout session for now, though, the tease and tension of it all, his hands there and then not, his purposely restrained kisses giving way to a feast, all of it so bright and hot I’m surprised it hasn’t restored power to the entire resort.

He’s just started kissing his way down my neck when there’s an unmistakable knock at my door.

In the middle of a blackout, in the middle of the night.

When we pull away, his face looks exactly how mine feels: perfectly disheveled with a touch of bewilderment. I imagine we’re thinking the same thing, too, that it must be Julie or River—someone with exclusive access to our penthouse floor—maybe with an update about the power situation.

Together, we fumble our way through the darkness toward my front door.

When I open it, I see one of Julie’s concierge desk assistants—the emergency lighting is surprisingly bright in the elevator landing—but she’s not alone.

Lauren stands on the other side of my door, a huge smile on her face.

“What are you doing here?” I manage, thrown by her presence. “Howare you here?”

“They had one last train going out tonight before the storm,” she says brightly. “I caught it just in time and thought I’d surprise you. So—surprise!”

BEFORE

Sunday Brunch: Jett Beckett’s Erratic Behavior

By Aria Statler // Pop Culture Blogger, LifeLoveLattes.com

Happy weekend, everyone! Hope you’ve got a fresh cup of your favorite coffee/tea—I certainly do!

Is it just me, or has Jett Beckett’s recent behavior seemed…offto anyone else? He’s long had a reputation for being True North’s most contrarian member, but reports from the band’s latest tour note that Beckett has exhibited, for lack of a better term, a new and extreme level of diva behavior—and two tips we received over the weekend seem to confirm that.

The first mentioned a sighting of Jett and the band’s manager, Jason Saenz-Barlowe, sharing a drink in the hotel lounge at the Ritz-Carlton Hotel in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania (the band played two sold-out shows there this weekend, and has another scheduled for tonight). The anonymous source reported that Jett began to raise his voice just as she took a discreet photo, so she proceeded to capture the entire debacle on video. Jett’s outburst was fierce but brief, leaving his manager stunned, speechless, and alone at the table; Jett was reportedlynotinebriated duringthe exchange, according to the bartender who was working at the time.

The second, unrelated tip was submitted by a tech who was called in to this weekend’s concert venue to fix an issue with one of the band’s soundboards. When he arrived, he heard a commotion in the men’s restroom. Upon investigation, he found Jett Beckett smashing a Martin guitar against one of the urinals. When asked why, Jett merely replied, “Because nothing on the stage was hard enough to break it.”

We sincerely hope Jett has a good support network behind the scenes.

If anyone out there happens to spot any newsworthy behavior from Jett Beckett or his bandmates, feel free to submit it at [email protected].

25

This isnotwhat I had in mind for tonight. Not at all.

In fact, I think it’s safe to say this is the furthest thing from what I had in mind. I should have explicitly told Lauren not to come instead of using the storm as an excuse—lesson learned.

“Did you not get my text?” I ask as Lauren steps inside.

“What text?”

“The one where I told you Chloe was all good with you crashing at her place tonight? I texted you, like, four hours ago.”

“Wait, seriously?” She fishes her phone out of her tote bag, opens up our message thread to look. “Oh. No, I totally didn’t get any texts from you today.”

She holds up her phone so I can see it, its light too bright in this darkness. My text—which I distinctly remember sending, because I felt palpable relief at Chloe’s willingness to help out—is very much not there.

“At least I made it here before the storm!” Lauren says, heading down the hall to give Puffin a chin scratch.

Tyler puts a hand on my lower back and leans in close.

“Rain check?” he murmurs.

“Yes, please. I’m so sorry.”

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