It’s as if she knew exactly what to say to me. If I still believed her capable, I would have considered her story a ploy to get what she wanted. But no matter how closely I watched her for any sign of manipulation, I couldn’t find it. Instead, I felt the vulnerability rattling from her, which put me at ease. There’s no way she would have that type of insight into me anyway, especially when my own confession came after hers. My music is the most personal thing I have and ever will have, and my parents understand that about me. For some reason—though I shouldn’t have any—I find myself wanting to make her understand it. Or maybe I just want to be in her space again to figure out why she seems so fucking…lost.
Clearing the screen of the picture I can no longer stomach. I pull up my messages and shoot off a text.
Hey, you still up?
I can’t help my grin as dots immediately begin to roll along the screen.
I was just about to text you and let you know I’ll leave your jacket at the reception desk.
Keep it for now. It’s clear you didn’t pack nearly enough clothes.
I program her in, waiting on her response.
Natalie: Hilarious. Eye-roll emoji.
Want to go somewhere with me tomorrow?
More bubbles appear, her response time drawing out in ridiculous length before she gives me a one-word reply.
This woman.
Natalie: Where?
Not telling. Be ready at 6.
Natalie: Okay.
AM.
Natalie: Wtf, that’s like five hours from now!
And this is strictly off the record.
Natalie: Seriously?
Yeah. What’s your room number?
The bubbles start and stop for a full five minutes before the room number appears.
Firestarter
The Prodigy
Natalie
I jerk awake as sharp knocks sound against my hotel door. It’s only when I open my eyes that I realize I’m not at home, and I fell asleep with my laptop open after failing to set an alarm.
“Shit!”
Scrambling, I pull on the Seahawks sweatshirt I bought from the hotel gift shop and crack the door. On the other side stands a handsome, well-dressed man who looks to be somewhere in his early forties, grinning at me with a phone lifted to his ear.
“Good morning, Natalie?”
“Yes,” I say, partially shielding behind the door to hide my slightly revealing pajama bottoms.
“Yeah,” he says with a low chuckle. “She most definitely overslept.”
“I’m sorry,” I blurt loudly, knowing Easton is on the other end of the line. “I can be ready in ten minutes.”
The man shakes his head, his grin widening. “He says too late.”
My chest deflates.
“Yeah, she looks like you just kicked her.”
I narrow my eyes at him as he pulls away from the phone and covers the speaker.
“Hey, I’m Joel,” he whispers.
I frown in confusion. “Hi.”
He elevates his voice for Easton. “He says ten minutes, fifteen if you bring coffees from the lobby and have an apology ready.” He pulls his phone away again and whispers conspiratorially, making him an instant ally. “He’ll wait twenty.”
I project my voice again. “I already apologized and tell his entitled ass, it’ll be twenty.”
Joel grins as Easton speaks on the other end of the line. I find myself leaning in and can’t make out a word. “Uh huh, got it,” Joel says before hanging up and giving me a wink of reassurance. “See you in twenty, Natalie.”
With that, he turns and begins to make his way toward the elevator.
“Wait,” I call out to his retreating back. “How do you take your coffee?”
“Black.”
“Got it,” I say, slamming my hotel door and bracing myself against it for a few seconds before I burst into motion. I use the first four of my twenty minutes in the shower and accidentally wet my hair when I drop my rag.
“SHIT!”
Bringing my soapy hands up to see how much of it got wet, a splatter of soap lands directly in my eyes. Eyes burning, I curse as I jump around in pain before finally immersing my whole head under the spray.
Once I’m out, I manage a quick towel off before I frantically dig through my amenities bag, praying I have enough product to tame the inevitable curls I inherited from my mother. While Dad gave me the color, my mom graced me with the just electrocuted ringlets sure to appear as soon as the air starts to dry it. I spent the rest of my ticking time blow drying and crunching it as my unused flat irons stared back at me in judgment.
Without a single second to spare, I slide on clean panties, jeans, and my Van high-tops before pulling back on my Seahawks hoodie. With less than five minutes to spare, I haul ass to the coffee shop in the lobby and stand in line, shooting off a text to Easton.