“It’s all good. I have your number now.”
That sounds ominous but in a very nice way. Oh god.
“Bye Mabel!” I say loudly as Tenley walks into my room.
“Mabel? That annoying girl from your child psychology class?” Her eyes snap up to the massive bouquet. “Holy shit! Who gave you those?”
She marches right over to the roses but luckily the card is tucked safely into the back pocket of my jeans. “A gift from the school I’m interning at. They send something for everyone’s birthdays I guess.”
“Shit. I can’t wait to see what they do for Christmas!” She inhales. “These are Juliet garden roses. They’re not cheap. This bouquet probably cost about three hundred bucks.”
“Shut up.”
“Dead serious.”
“How do you know what kind of roses these are?” I can’t help but ask.
She shrugs her slim shoulders. “I did a research project on this horticulturalist in New Zealand that tried to murder her in-laws with poisoned flowers and I learned more than anyone needs to about the different types of roses.”
Tenley’s second major was Criminology and she’s a true crime addict. I’m lucky she takes everything I say without question because when she gets a whiff of a lie that degree kicks in and she becomes a relentless investigator. She figured out why Harlow ended her engagement while years later the rest of us still have no clue. And Tenley won’t tell.
“We should get ready,” I say, trying to change the subject. “Do you have any idea what I can wear that won’t make me look like a librarian?”
“Absolutely nothing in your closet,” Tenley replies swiftly and I frown. She laughs and grabs my hand. “But I can lend you something birthday girl. Let’s go.”
Chapter11
Crew
This is an eight hundred and fifty-seven dollar gamble. Between this and the roses, I have spent more money on Olivia than I have on any bed buddy in the history of bed buddies. And she's technically not even that. I'm not complaining. I wanted her to have the flowers. I knew as soon as I walked into the florist that she would love them. And my mom once told me each rose color had a meaning. Yellow was friendship, white was innocence, pink was admiration, and red was passion. I feel like whatever this is between Olivia and me, it covers all those things so she got them all.
This though… booking a room at Chateau Marmont in hopes she texts or calls me tonight… it’s a gamble. Chances are I will be spending the night in here alone. Not the end of the world. The guy at the front desk is a hockey fan and he upgraded me so I have a suite. It overlooks the patio dining. I stretch out on the sofa in the oversized living room and swirl the light beer I pulled out of the minibar. The three large windows are open so there’s a constant din of table chatter filtering through the gauzy curtains and the hum of traffic from Sunset Boulevard just beyond that.
Olivia is probably out there, just below my windows, enjoying her birthday dinner. I haven’t looked. It feels a little stalkerish. If she doesn’t text me by eleven, I’ll just turn on the TV, down another beer, and go to sleep. No harm no foul. But it will suck. I really want another shot with her.
It’s mostly my ego talking, knowing that the sex didn’t actually make her orgasm. I feel like I failed her and I don’t like it. But it’s also because, if I’m honest with myself, I really enjoyed that night in Vegas. Olivia is charming and entertaining and she catches me off-guard a lot, something that hasn’t happened with a woman, or a man for that matter, in a very long time. I’m not looking for a relationship, but I could use another dose of that kind of night before I go back to my solo ways.
I tap my phone so I can see the time. Ten twenty-nine. I get up and pace the long room. My phone buzzes and I almost pounce on the coffee table like a skittish cat. But it’s not Olivia.
NASH: You wanna grab breakfast with me tomorrow? Erewhon? 7:30?
I’m mulling over the commute time in my head because he means the Erewhon in Venice. Normally that’s a quick seven minutes from my townhouse, but I’m in West Hollywood and the commute will be way longer.
NASH: Sorry. I just need to bounce something off you. It’s important.
Nash thinks everything is important. It’s probably whether he should paint his bedroom royal blue or navy blue or some such shit. He’s been renovating his house since he bought it two years ago. He’s slow and meticulous about everything. Still, I haven’t been spending much time with him at all lately.
CREW: Yeah. Sure. I can meet up but I have a doctor’s appt in the valley.
A lie, but it’s harmless.
CREW: Can we do Erewhon at the Grove? 8:30?
It means he has to drive farther since his house is in Venice, but The Grove location is only about nine minutes from this hotel. His response is a thumbs up.
I’m about to set my alarm so that I get up in time to make this breakfast rendezvous when a new text pops up on my screen. This one is from Olivia.
OLIVIA: I really loved the flowers. Thank you, again.