Page 57 of C*cky Best Friend
“No. I want to surprise him,” Elijah says, saving our asses without knowing it.
She giggles, “Well, since I know you are who you say you are.” Her eyelashes flick to the hotel registry and back to us a search later. “You’ll find them in Room 444.”
He gives her a wink and the three of us walk to the shiny elevators as Lexi smirks, “You are smooth, Elijah. The looks you gave that poor girl.”
“You have no idea.”
Touching his lapel, she stops him. “And so am I. Gabriel’s not here. Thanks for the help though.”
Elijah stares a beat, and chuckles. “I can’t believe I fell for that. I know you better, Lexi. And you, Sam, backing her up!”
I shrug, “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She points to her dress. “No sleeves here. Don’t be too rough with yourself.”
“I’m always rough with myself,” he smirks as he heads away.
Lexi calls after him, “Too much information, thanks.”
Elijah points at me, “Whoever broke your heart like this, make him pay.”
Lexi pushes the elevator call button as we watch our favorite candidate walk away. Under my breath so only she can hear, I say, “I think Logan is hurting enough.”
* * *
Imotion for her to stay back.
“I’ll be right here,” she whispers pointing both of her index fingers at the carpet that hid our approach. A door opens to our right and someone in a hotel uniform walks out carrying a tray of covered dishes, uncorked champagne bottle showcased in a silver ice bucket. The employee locks eyes with me and glances to the door, realizing I am where he is supposed to be.
I’ve studied in the school of Alexis Cocker my entire life so, without missing a beat, I reach for the tray. Since I had no hesitation, he gladly hands it over and hurries back to the employee elevator so he can return to his busy night.
Lexi reaches over and knocks for me three times, calling out, “Room service!”
I hear footsteps growing louder, just like my heartbeat.
How am I going to ask him, Did you drop Marion on purpose? And after I accuse him of this, how am I supposed to dance with him in New York?
It’s not really an accusation, is it? I’m telling him what other people have said.
Clearing the air.
That’s all.
Then why the flash of perspiration?
His door swings open.
Stuart is wearing a white terrycloth robe loosely tied around his middle.
I stammer, “Oh, Mr. Rogess, I must be at the wrong room.”
Behind him, Asher steps out in a white robe, too, flushed, happy, until he sees me. “Sam!”
I am speechless.
Asher rushes forward, eyes flicking from our producer to me. “Stuart was just…”
My arms slide forward, and Stuart takes the tray, begging me, “Samantha, please don’t tell anyone. My wife.”