The Suite Life (The Family Stone Book 1) Page 3

  "His name's Taylor," I said. "I think he works here. He's the one who had room service sent up."

  "What room service?" Dad asked, craning his neck to look into the living room. "Breakfast, I hope."

  "It's not," I said. "At least I don't think it is. It should be cookies. Taylor said he was sending cookies and a white noise machine. I told him I was tired and about to go to bed. Or, he overheard me saying it. Either way, he knew I was tired. He said he'd send that stuff up. I thought for sure he would bring it up here himself, but he sent someone else. That's so weird."

  I must have come across as disappointed, because Dad smiled knowingly at me. "Oh, so you've got yourself all worked-up because that young man, didn’t care enough to come up here himself." My dad was obviously teasing me. He smiled and poked my ribs again when he said it. I squirmed.

  "I’m not worked-up. I'm just nasty and stinky, and he was really-super handsome, that's all. He looked vintage. Like someone from the thirties."

  "It's the bowtie," my dad said. "Not many people can pull that off. Most people just look goofy in one."

  "But he doesn't," I said absentmindedly.

  "No, he doesn't," Dad agreed. "It's his haircut, too. He's just an all-around nice looking guy."

  "I know," I said longingly.

  "You're smitten."

  "No, I'm not," I defended weakly. "I'm just exhausted. Delirious. I'm sorry that I ran into anyone looking and feeling like this. I can't wait to get in there and go to bed. I'm gonna eat a cookie first."

  Dad stretched. "I'll take a cookie if there's more than one."

  I helped him up and we walked into the living room to check out what was on the tray.

  There was a plate of delicious, warm chocolate chip cookies, five of them—obviously plenty for my father. There was also a glass of milk, a small gadget which I knew to be a white noise machine, and a tiny bottle of lavender oil. I couldn’t wait to use all of those things. Also, on the tray was a note that said 'sweet dreams'. It had a little doodle of a sleeping face, and the sight of it made my heart speed up. I couldn’t help but wonder if Taylor had drawn it himself. In some weird way, I hoped he had. The handwriting was neat, and the picture was cute and vulnerable and masculine.

  My dad and I were sitting on the couch, eating a cookie together and talking about my trip to England when randomly, he picked up his phone and began pushing buttons.

  "Taylor, this is Alec Stone," was the next sentence I heard come out of my dad's mouth, and I covered my face with my hands. I couldn’t hear Taylor on the other end, but they had a whole exchange about pillows. I thought I was going to get off with just a little scare, but things were never that boring with my father.

  He informed Taylor that he hadn't really called to discuss pillows, and the next thing I knew, he was saying, "My baby girl just arrived from London."

  There was a pause while Taylor said something on the other end.

  My insides came alive with adrenaline when my dad brought up my name. I was so anxious to know what Taylor was saying.

  "She said she met you," Dad said.

  I focused on him with a warning glance, begging him not to say anything embarrassing.

  He winked and smiled at me, being all casual. "We've demolished those cookies you sent, but I was hoping to get some breakfast sent up. Maybe some eggs and toast. And coffee. I definitely need coffee."

  I squinted at my dad. He didn't need coffee—not from room service, at least. He knew how to work the coffee pot in the room. And besides, he shouldn't be ordering food from this guy. He stayed in hotels all the time. He knew how to call room service.

  "Also, I wanted to see if you could be the one to bring it up." Dad added. "That's why I called you instead of just ordering from the kitchen."

  I was horrified.

  I reached out, silently fake-pounding my fist on my father's thigh, begging him to stop.

  "Yes, you, personally," my dad continued. "If you've got a minute."

  I could not believe my dad was doing this. First, it was just embarrassing that he was asking Taylor to come up here; he was never high-maintenance like that. And second, I was completely exhausted, travel-weary. I didn't feel confident with my appearance at all. I could feel my face turning red at the thought of that guy coming to our room. I gave my dad an anguished look.

  "Twenty minutes is perfect," my dad said, smiling casually at me again. "Thanks."

  He pressed the button to hang up his phone and looked at me with a satisfied grin.

  "I don't know why you had to ask him to bring that up here," I said, shaking my head.

  "What?" Dad said innocently. "It's not about you. I mentioned the game when I talked to him yesterday. I was gonna see if he wanted a ticket or two."

  "Dad, no. I should have never even said I thought he was hot. You can't go inviting him places with us just because I said that."

  "I'm not inviting him up here for you," Dad said shaking his head. "I like him. We talked for a while yesterday when we first checked in. He's a good kid. I was gonna mention the game to him before you even told me you met."

  "Well, good," I said, standing up. "Then, you won't need me."

  "Where you going?"

  "To take a shower and then go to bed," I said. I started to pick up the white noise machine and the lavender, but I decided I wanted the remaining cookie with me when I went to my room. I opted to carry the whole tray.

  My dad stood up, reaching out to hug me, and I abandoned the tray so that I could hug him back. "I'm glad you're here, Blue-Baloo."

  "Me too," I said, squeezing him.

  "Get some rest today, and I'll take you somewhere nice for dinner tonight. We might hook up with Mitch and Rhonda."

  "What time's the game tomorrow?"

  "One," dad said. "But I'm gonna head over there at about ten in the morning. You can come with me, or you can hang back and I'll send a…" He trailed off, waving at me like he was offering too much information for my tired state. "We'll talk about it later. Tonight at dinner. Go get some rest."

  "Love you," I said. I picked up the tray before heading off toward my room.

  "I won't tease you if you accidently need to come out here in twenty minutes or so," Dad called, making me turn and smile at him from over my shoulder.

  He shrugged. "You know, for a glass of water, or whatever."

  "You're funny," I said, shaking my head.

  "What? You've never told me you were interested in a guy before. You're my baby girl. I want you to have what you want."

  "I'm not interested in that guy," I said. "I just said he was nice-looking and it's a shame that I looked and smelled like a homeless person when I met him, that's all."

  "Karen said he's famous," Dad said. "She said she saw a cardboard cut-out of him standing beside a display of his books at the airport bookstore."

  "Josh said something about him writing a book," I said with a little nod. "Love you," I called as I disappeared into my room.

  "Love you!" I heard him yell from the other room.

  I was a grown woman, twenty-five years old. I had gotten by this long without including my father in my love life, and I didn't intend to change that. I had introduced him to a few guys I dated over the years, but never, ever, had I discussed my feelings or attraction toward a guy. I should have known he would take action. But how was I to know he would have the guy's number? Plus, I was too tired and out-of-it to think straight, anyway. I never would have told my dad I had seen a "hot guy" if I wasn't so delirious from exhaustion. I hadn't even said the word 'hot' in years, unless I was talking about actual temperature.

  I took a long shower. Thoughts streamed through my mind as the warm water washed over my body. One of the things I loved most about this hotel was the shower. It was one of those with multiple jets. It felt great on a regular day, but today, on a day when I was superbly exhausted, it felt a little like heaven. I nearly fell asleep as I stood there, thinking and letting the warm water hit my body.

&n
bsp; I thought about the last twenty-four hours—different things that had happened to me at the airport and on flights. My thoughts jumped to this morning, this hotel, more specifically, the guy from the elevator. I started thinking about my dad calling him and asking him to come to our room, and I began combing the conditioner through my hair just to have something to do with my hands.

  I had no idea how long I had been in the shower. I could have been in there for twenty or thirty minutes. If Taylor had come up to bring my dad's breakfast, he would likely be gone by the time I went in there… if I went in there at all.

  My thoughts continued to swirl dazedly as I finished getting cleaned up. I towel dried my hair before plugging in the electric hair-dryer. I didn't feel like standing there and drying my hair, but I hated sleeping with it wet, so it was my only choice.

  By the time I finished with everything, I felt a million times better. I was still exhausted, but there was something to be said for feeling clean and knowing you had a comfortable bed waiting for you.

  I was so content that I decided to go into the living room. It had been at least a half-hour since I went back there, so I was pretty sure Taylor had come and gone. I was wearing pajamas when I made my way out there.

  "He literally just walked out the door," my dad said as soon as he caught sight of me.

  "I didn't come out here for that," I said, walking toward the kitchen. "I came to get a drink of water before I go to bed."

  "Oh, yeah right," dad said.

  He was sitting in the kitchen, eating the breakfast Taylor had brought up, and I walked around him to get a glass for water.

  "There's bottled water in the fridge," Dad said, glancing over his shoulder. "And he's coming to the game tomorrow," he added.

  "Who, him? Taylor?"

  "Yeah, Taylor."

  "Did you give him a ticket to the suite?"

  Dad nodded as he chewed. "He might have to leave before the game's over. He said he's got four days to do about a month's worth of work at this hotel, but he just couldn't imagine a world where he didn’t make time to see a little football—especially if his new friend was going to sing the national anthem." Dad smiled at me proudly. "He called me his new friend."

  "Does he even listen to your music?" I asked. "He seems like he would listen to jazz or something like that."

  Dad smiled. "He sang some Reckless for me."

  "No, he did not."

  "Yes, he did. He played air guitar and everything."

  "Just now?"

  "Just now," Dad, said with a mouth full of food.

  I felt disappointed that I hadn't made it out in time to see him. I thought I should be happy that I avoided him, but really, I was sorry he wasn't there—sorry I had missed his air guitar.

  "He was up here for a while," Dad said. "I was asking him about his book. He asked me about you."

  "Me?" I asked, putting a hand to my chest. "He asked about me? Me specifically? Blue? What'd he say?"

  My dad's eyes got wide. "Oh my gosh, Blue, you like this guy."

  "No, I don't. I just didn't… you didn't mention that he was asking about me. You should have opened with that. What'd he ask? What'd he say?"

  "He asked if you were resting. He asked what you did and where you lived. All my girls," Dad said. "He was asking about my family. Where y'all lived and your ages and everything. We had a good talk. He was here for a good while. I thought for sure you'd come out."

  "What'd he say about his book?" I asked.

  "That it's been a big whirlwind and he never expected it to take off like it did."

  "I thought he was a hotel guy."

  "He is," Dad said.

  "How are so many people interested in reading about hotels?"

  "His book's about more than just hotels," my dad said.

  "Is it a novel or something?"

  "No, but it's not just hotels, either. He's got philosophies about work ethic and hospitality. He's one of those young revolutionaries. He came from nothing, and he's about to open his own place. Can you imagine that? Not even thirty years old, and he goes from working at a hotel to owning one?"

  Chapter 4

  I slept until four o'clock that afternoon.

  I didn't want my internal clock to get too out of whack, so I set an alarm and made myself wake up. Seven hours seemed more like three seconds. It felt like I had nowhere near enough sleep when my alarm went off. I was tired to the point of feeling drugged, and I ended up hitting the snooze button twice before I mustered up the strength to open my eyes and shift to sit upright.

  It was 4:18 when I did that, and I stared at the clock, blinking at it in disbelief before numbly rubbing my face. I took the next few minutes to stretch and get out of bed slowly.

  My stomach rumbled. I was so off-schedule that it seemed impossible to remember my last decent meal. Those chocolate chip cookies I ate before I fell asleep weren't cutting it. I was starving, and I knew my dad well enough to know we'd be eating a late dinner. There was only one thing to do. I went to the plate, and broke off a piece of the remaining cookie before popping it into my mouth. I was only planning on eating a piece of it, but I wound up eating the whole thing. It tasted even better now than it did when it was first delivered, and I made tiny audible sounds of approval as I chewed and swallowed each delectable bite.

  I took my phone from the bedside table while I was still working on finishing the cookie. I had several missed texts. My mom and my sisters were among the people who messaged me, but the last one was from my dad. I clicked on it.

  Dad: "I'm leaving soon. Going to Mitch's. I didn't want to wake you. Call me when you're ready and I'll send a driver. We'll have dinner at their house at 8. Hope you join us."

  I thought about it for a minute. I figured I'd need an hour or so get dressed. I decided to message my dad back and let him know I'd be ready to go at 6. I liked Mitch and Rhonda, and I thought it would be fun to catch up with them before dinner. Mitch was a music producer and long-time friend of my father's. He and Rhonda had a beautiful home with cool, fun things like a vintage PacMan arcade machine. They even had that golf game—the one with the roller ball that you had to spin with your hand. I was always really comfortable at their house.

  I was in the middle of typing out a message to my dad when he called. My phone scared me when it began ringing in my hand, and it took me a second to grasp it correctly so that I could answer the call.

  "Hello?"

  "You up?"

  "Yes sir."

  "Good morning, sunshine."

  "Morning."

  "You should drink some coffee."

  "Don't worry, I will," I said. "I just woke up a few minutes ago. I was just reading your text."

  "I'm at Mitch's. You gotta get over here and see what Mitch did in his basement."

  "A mechanical bull?"

  My dad laughed. "She asked if you put in a mechanical bull," Dad said, laughing with someone on the other end. "Bowling," he said, speaking to me again.

  "Like a bowling alley?"

  "Two lanes, but yeah, they're full size and everything. It's fun. You gotta get over here and check it out."

  "I was gonna ask if you could send someone at six."

  "That sounds great," he said. "I'll tell Karen to arrange it with Harry, and he'll be there."

  "Thank you," I said.

  I spent the next hour getting dressed.

  I was only going to be in Boston for three nights (wait… two nights now). Either way, I didn't bother unpacking. I just set my luggage out, figuring I could dig through my bags when I needed something. I basically went with the clothes that were on top of the stack.

  I wore light colored jeans with some small holes down the front, and a black off-the-shoulder sweater layered with a white and red striped tank. You could clearly see my shoulder, and I considered that the stripes might be too much, too Parisian, but I decided after staring in the mirror that I was comfortable in it, and that was the most important thing.

  I put
on a pair of black flats. I chose a pair that had leather bottoms since I thought we might bowl and I didn't know what the bowling-shoe situation was.

  I was low maintenance when it came to doing my hair and makeup, but I took my time, freshening up my waves with a curling iron. I pulled one side of my hair back and pinned it in place with a clip. On the clip was a red satin flower, so I took my time straightening and pinning it as I regarded myself in the mirror.

  I usually just opted for powder and mascara, but tonight I wore a light layer of foundation and a little eyeliner. It definitely wasn't a lot of makeup, but I did apply slightly more than usual. I told myself that it wasn't because I thought I might run into the hotel guy on my way out, but that simply wasn't true. I had looked so very bad when we met that I wanted to redeem myself. I wanted to be clean, and fresh, and smelling good the next time I saw him.

  I hoped that would be tonight.

  In a perfect world, I'd see him briefly on my way through the lobby, and I'd say something funny and clever that would make him laugh. We would share a fleeting moment of light-hearted banter, and he would realize I didn't smell or look so bad after all. I had to laugh at myself for even thinking such a thing.

  It was time for me to get going.

  The driver would be there soon.

  My dad had said the driver's name last time I talked to him, but I still had a mental block with it. It was either Henry or Harry, I was never confident about which. I was usually pretty good at remembering names, but certain names were hard for me. Like our handyman back home who had been coming to our house doing odd jobs for us since I was a teenager. His name was either Kirk or Kurt. A few times, when we first met, I had asked him which one, and he had clarified, but I still managed to forget. I had perfected the art of saying his name where either one could be right. So, the driver (who I thought of as Henry but didn't say out loud) would be here in ten minutes.

  Karen, my dad's assistant, was sitting in the main room of our suite when I went out there. I didn't see Nick at first, but when I glanced around the room, I saw him sitting there as well. Nick was my dad's friend and also the muscle of the operation.