Flame - Erin Noelle Page 0,9
expression that flashes across his face when he sees me says everything—I look like a girl who was fucked six ways from Sunday. Glancing down, I notice the dress I just threw on is indeed inside out, and I’m sure my out-of-control bed head and smudged mascara only helps to complete the look.
Refusing to allow him to fluster me, I smile brightly and motion him into the suite. “I wasn’t aware I ordered room service,” I remark as he carries the tray in and sets it on the dinette table next to the bed.
“No, ma’am. Mr. Tanner ordered it for you before he left early this morning. There’s also a note from him on the tray. He wanted me to express his apologies for leaving you alone,” the middle-aged, balding man explains, his gaze lingering on my braless tits that are barely concealed by the thin yellow fabric.
Never one to back away from an opportunity to tease, I gather my hair in one hand and twist it up into a knot on top of my head, revealing even more of my cleavage to him. In my sweetest, most demure voice, I reply, “Awww, well, thank you so much for delivering the message.” Then, lifting the silver dome covering the food with my other hand, I pick up a piece of sausage and raise it to my mouth. “And for the meat,” I add before sinking my teeth into the juicy link.
His Adam’s apple bobs wildly as he swallows hard, unsure of what to say or do next. Shuffling his feet backward toward the door, his nervous gaze drops to the ground and he begins to stutter, “Y-y-yes, ma’am, Miss Shavell. P-please stay as long, um . . . as long as you’d like. Mr. Tanner has taken care of everything.”
Arching an eyebrow, I take another bite, well aware the grease from the sausage is dribbling down my bottom lip, past my chin, and dripping onto my chest. “Yes, Mr. Tanner is quite good at taking care of everything. More men should be like him.” I pause to read his nametag, then add, “Don’t you think so, Kurt?”
“Absolutely.” Another hard swallow as he shoots his hand out behind him to reach for the silver knob. “If you need anything else, please ring the front desk, Ms. Shavell.”
Then, with a quick twist of his wrist and an abrupt about-face, he’s gone. And I erupt into a fit of giggles as I grab the handwritten note from Rory off the tray.
I drop back onto the bed, grabbing a piece of bacon from the plate as I go and sigh contently. I really have a great life. Amazing family. Good friends. Promising career plan. Regular hookup. All drama-free. I wouldn’t change it for the world.
So why am I still thinking about that damn button fly?
SATURDAY, JUNE 16
WEDDING DAY.
Ugh.
I know the minute I wake up something isn’t right. My skin is clammy, my teeth are chattering even though I’m sweating, and my hand feels like it’s been shot when I accidentally bump it against the headboard. All that means one thing: fever.
I’ll be the first to admit I’m a fucking pussy when I’m sick. On my bike, I’ve cracked three ribs, broken my left ankle twice and my right forearm once, and dislocated my shoulder more times than I can count, but the crud kicks my motherfuckin’ ass. I haven’t been sick in over five years, and the fact I’ve come down with something today of all days gives me another reason to hate this stupid-ass day.
Exerting all the energy I can muster, I roll onto my side and snatch my cell phone from the nightstand, collapsing back onto the hotel pillow once the feat is accomplished. After three deep breaths, which also involves three excruciatingly painful swallows, I raise the phone up off the mattress and hit the “favorites” button with Emmy Sue’s picture next to it. Switching it into speakerphone mode before dropping it on top of the comforter next to me, I wait for her to answer.
“Levi, I swear to God you or Gunner better be dying or in jail to call me at six-thirty on the morning of my wedding,” she growls into the receiver, not bothering with any false pleasantries. This is why I love her; she’s always real. No fluff. I just wish she wasn’t taking my roommate away from me.
“Dying,” I croak. “I think I’m dying.”
“Shit!” She shuffles around on the other end of the line, probably sitting