Quest (The Boys of RDA Book 4) Page 7

  Again.

  I roll to my back and stare up at the ceiling resigned to the fact I’m awake.

  This.

  This right here.

  This is my wake-up call.

  It’s time to refocus on my life and get a plan. If you just let me get my life together like a real grown-up, I promise I’ll never drink again. I pray to the ceiling, my lips moving with the words but no sounds escaping.

  Step one of my new life — get out of this hotel room.

  My eyes scan the area, but none of my clothes are anywhere in the bedroom. They were all thrown around in the living room section of this unnecessarily large suite. I suffer from this problem whenever Grant shares space with me.

  I wait and listen to Grant’s steady breathing. When I’m sure he’s sleeping peacefully, I remove myself from under the covers, slow inch by slow inch. My feet make contact with the floor when the covers rustle and I freeze.

  A throat clears behind me. “You’re not attempting to sneak off are you?”

  Busted.

  With my ass on the edge of the bed I turn my upper body trying to play coy, but it’s not an emotion I’ve ever been good at. “Me? Never.”

  Grant smirks at my unsuccessful attempt to lie. He’s propped himself up with an elbow resting on his pillow. With his mussed up hair and sleepy expression, he comes off smug… and sexy.

  It’s annoying.

  I refuse to imagine what he’d have been like had he woken up an hour earlier and seen how I slept wrapped around him most the night. Our legs intertwined and my head rested on his chest, both his hands wrapped around me in a hug and my body held in his firm grip.

  We’re caught in a battle of wits and with each second the silence continues to grow heavy. I’m desperate to end it. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

  “Oh good. By the time you’re done breakfast should be here.”

  “You ordered breakfast?”

  “Of course I did. It’s the most important meal of the day. I wasn’t sure what you wanted, so I ordered a little of everything.”

  My mouth falls open in question. “How?”

  “With the hotel phone.” He points at the device resting on my side of the nightstand. “You can dial zero for the operator and she’ll put you through to room service or it’s button eight or something. I always forget.”

  “I mean when?” My eyebrows furrow at his implication I can’t use a phone in a swanky hotel room.

  “Earlier. You were sleeping so peacefully I didn’t want to wake you.”

  “How was I sleeping? Never mind.” I have no desire to find the answer to that question.

  Grant laughs seeming to understand my dilemma. “We can eat and then you can shower and dress. If you don’t have any other plans today Aspen and Finn invited us to a Giants game.”

  This is an easy one. Finally, I’m back in my element. “I would. Really, but I don’t have anything to wear.”

  “Don’t worry, we have plenty of time before the game starts. We’ll swing by your place and you can change.”

  My smile grows because I’ve won this.

  “I don’t own any Giants gear.” I’m poor Mother Hubbard. My cupboards are bare. The rhyme makes me laugh and I stand up ready to search out my clothes from last night and get a move on. The white sheet comes with me as I rip it from the bed and wrap it around my naked body.

  “Not a problem. We’ll buy you a shirt before the game.” He stands on the other side of the bed letting his nakedness hang out.

  I whip around and give him the best no-nonsense expression. “Do you know how expensive that would be? You are not buying me Giants clothes for one game.”

  He walks past me into the living room, unfazed by my declaration. “Fine, you can borrow one I already own but I’m sure we’ll go to many games so it will be worth it.”

  I follow and stop in the living room as he stands in front of the large bathroom mirror. “Are you going to get dressed?” I ask as he leans over the sink putting toothpaste on a toothbrush.

  “Yes. After a shower. I thought we could take one together.”

  A scoff escapes my mouth and Grant turns his head at the noise, the toothbrush hanging out between his closed lips. “I’m not taking a shower with you.”

  He spits in the sink using another few seconds to rinse his mouth. “I very well can’t take one alone.”

  I let my eyes circle the room looking for my clothes and spot the white tank top on the back of the couch. “Why not?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Clare. We both know the minute I step into a shower you’d be out of here faster than Quicksilver on an energy drink.”

  “I’m not even sure what that means.”

  Grant laughs but turns back to the bathroom and grabs a towel off the shelf above the toilet. “I think you do.”

  Arggh. Damn Drew making me watch those X-Men movies. I do. The sheets billow out around me as I plop on the couch. I’d put up a bigger fight, but I guess spending one more day with Grant at a Giants game wouldn’t be the end of the world.

  **

  My foot sticks on the edge of the step and I trip, falling upward. Grant catches me, but my palm still scrapes across the dirty floor. “Where are the seats again?”

  “Finn has a box.”

  Holding on to Grant’s arm, I make it two more steps before I ask. “You mean like an owner’s box?”

  “No.” Grant laughs. “Finn doesn’t own the Giants, although I’m sure he wishes he did. It’s a regular suite where we can watch the game from the comfy couches. The rooms are nice. They bring you snacks and stuff.”

  He says “regular suite” like regular people will ever get to watch a game from one of them. I stalled for as long as possible, but we still made the game in time. Grant took a shower at my place even though I freaked out he wouldn’t find it clean enough. His bathroom is spotless because someone cleans it for him every day. Drew and I argue over who has to wipe his spit off the mirror.

  While Grant showered, I hurried to try and sneak out before he finished. I was super close to making my escape, but Drew stopped me at the front door. I’m beginning to think he’s on Grant’s side in this whole debacle.

  He used a guilt trip of epic proportions, the size of which I haven’t seen since he needed me as his wing man to help him score a date with Charlene Wilkinson back in twelfth grade. A few compliments on her new school wardrobe was all it took to get her to Mrs. Haverbush’s house for an afternoon. But my work blew up on our faces when she realized we lived in a foster home. Drew couldn’t get her to look at him again and I wrote her off as the big bitch she was. One day when Drew is super rich and awesome she’ll be sorry she snubbed her nose at him.

  He pleaded.

  He begged.

  He told me about how it was his dream to attend a Giants game. Grant offered him a seat as well, but Drew had to work. The least I could do was enjoy the afternoon for him.

  Grant did win a few points for inviting my best friend even if he couldn’t come. Drew will spend his Saturday afternoon helping his boss with family drama — wedding prep or something — and I would spend my Saturday watching a bunch of hot men throw a baseball back and forth. I guess it could be worse.

  Of course, I could have done without the big brother lecture about what I’m running from and when I plan to acknowledge it. I have enough inner turmoil about my situation. I don’t need Drew adding to it.

  Grant walks through an open door like he’s done it a hundred times, but I pause at the opening. The room is a basic square shape, but I’m overwhelmed by the Giants feel. Every area screams Giants. The bright orange stools are lined up against a bar on the back side of the suite. Jerseys and newspaper clippings hang on the walls highlighting the team’s achievements.

  I stop in front of the large glass window on the other side. It takes up an entire wall and provides us with an unobstructed view of the field. It’s flashy. Much more than I’ve ever seen the laid-back Finn throw around his mone
y. Here, in this room, it’s impossible not to see him as the video game billionaire. Sunday mornings when he’s taken up a spot on one of Cosmo’s bright orange couches it’s easy to forget. He might not own the Giants, but surely he has enough money he could.

  Aspen stands beside me, rapping on the window with a knuckle twice. “Nice view, right?”

  She smiles with her brown eyes as sweet and nice as ever. I wish I could be more like Aspen. She might be dating Finn now, but a year ago she was normal. “It’s a little much, don’t you think?”

  She shrugs proof she’s around the wealth so much she doesn’t see it anymore. “It’s the one time Finn spends money with abandon.” She turns and watches Finn and Grant pile snacks on their plates from the long bar in the corner of the room. Speaking louder she says, “Well this and these crazy Dragons Reborn pictures he bought at this art gallery one night.”

  Finn whips around. “Hey! You said you liked them. I bought them to impress you.”

  “Yes, but you’re the one who hung them above the bed.” She laughs. “I’m kidding. They’re lovely.”

  He obviously buys it, turning back to the row of food, but from Aspen’s head tilt I’m not sure I do.

  “Come on. The couches are comfy and Finn always makes us get here an hour before the game starts.”

  “Do you hear this nonsense, Grant?” Finn says, but the only reply from Grant is mumbled words mixed in with food as he chews.

  “Actually, he likes to miss the traffic. Not that there’s ever a time without traffic in the city.”

  “Grant deleted my Uber app, so we had to take a regular cab. Someone he has on retainer.” I make air quotes around retainer. It’s fishy if you ask me.

  Rich people.

  “I keep telling her Uber isn’t safe.”

  Aspen’s head whips around and then settles back on me. “This is true. Have you read about the whack jobs in the paper?”

  “I thought you weren’t reading the paper anymore?” her boyfriend butts in, flashing Aspen a look of concern.

  She shrugs. “It’s the Internet, Finn. You can’t not read it.”

  “Maybe I should buy you a car?” To my horror the comment comes from Grant not Finn where it would be acceptable.

  Aspen and I both gasp stealing so much oxygen from the room I worry Grant and Finn will suffocate.

  Thankfully Aspen speaks since my mouth still hangs open while I concentrate on not throwing up my breakfast. “Whoa. Slow your roll, old man. Way too soon. Don’t scare Clare away. We like her.”

  Grant shakes his head clearly confused. “Why? Doesn’t Clare deserve gifts? I’m going to give her the world. Why is that wrong?”

  Everyone in the room is frozen. The single moving body parts are our eyes as they dart back and forth between each person. Grant is being completely unreasonable, but if I don’t change the topic, no one else will.

  “How about we start with you getting me a snack?”

  He nods. “I can do that. A little bit of everything.”

  I shake my head and roll my eyes to the ceiling sure he hasn’t gotten the point.

  When both boys have their backs turned again, Aspen whispers across the leather couch, “What’s up with you and Grant?”

  What’s up with us? Isn’t it obvious? He’s the big rich handsome spider using his money to lure me into his web. If I don’t get out soon, I’ll never be free again.

  “We’re friends,” I whisper back.

  “Just friends?” she asks, with both eyebrows raised in a particular look I think she means to be questioning or disbelief — or she’s practicing her serial killer look. It’s hard to know.

  “Yes!” Why does no one believe me on this?

  “Uh-huh,” she says, but it doesn’t sound like she believes. “We’ll talk tomorrow morning at brunch.”

  My mind races for an excuse why I won’t be there tomorrow. The couch bounces as Grant sits beside me and hands over a plate stuffed full of random food. Pretzels, a little hot dog wrapped in dough, a pile of dip on the side with crackers circled around it, and three pieces of mini sandwich almost falling off the edge.

  “If you don’t eat all the sandwiches, I’ll take them off your hands,” Grant says and I pull the plate close as protection from his wandering hands.

  In fact, I might be coming down with another summer flu.

  Aspen laughs reminding me of why I absolutely cannot go to girls’ brunch tomorrow. There’ll be nothing but Grant third-degree. My stomach rolls at the thought.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The ice in my drink clinks against the glass as my hand catches on the deep red tablecloth when I put my cloth napkin in my lap. I can’t remember the last time I ate in a restaurant that had cloth napkins.

  The whole place screams money. From the dim lighting illuminating the space below us from a crystal chandelier to the open glass view from the windows we’re next to. Through the window the city’s lights slowly trickle on as twilight turns to night. My head swims. A few quick blinks don’t alleviate the problem so I pull my head away from the window and high view. Why do rich people want to be so damn high? Do they enjoy the fantasy of looking down on the peasants from high atop their castle restaurants?

  My own knight, known for his skill with a sword in a video game rather than real-life sits across from me. The small, thin menu held in front of his face blocks my view of his blue eyes. You’d think rich people would want more options in their dining experiences, but he seems fine with the limited choices. Tonight’s meal at The High-Top Restaurant is not the same as our first night of pizza.

  Grant and I have had a great week together. We’ve gotten along. I’d almost begun to consider him normal until he brought me to this ghastly restaurant. There’s been no more talk of buying me a car. And even though I spent the night in his hotel room twice this week, he hasn’t been pushy.

  Well, he’s Grant, so he’s always a little demanding, but I haven’t wanted to kick him in the shins lately. It’s an improvement.

  It was nice.

  Until this unexpected and outrageous meal. They don’t even list prices on the menu. I didn’t realize restaurants like this existed. I thought they only happened in movies. Don’t people want to know how much they’ll end up paying for the food they shovel in their faces?

  It doesn’t make sense to me, but I’m trying to remain positive. Grant has been sweet. I was able to successfully bow out of girls’ brunch last weekend. Instead of eating burritos on the couches at Cosmo’s, I let Grant buy Drew and me pancakes from our favorite diner. Grant and I ate ours in bed while Drew stuffed his face as he ran out the door citing more family issues for his boss.

  It was the first time I’d missed brunch where Marissa replied she fully supported the excuse. Then she talked me into attending the next girls’ brunch, tomorrow, and I promised I’d be there.

  “What are you going to order?” Grant asks placing the menu on the table.

  “I have no idea. There are no prices?”

  Grant laughs. “That way you order what you want, regardless of price. Or in your case the cheapest item on the menu.”

  I scowl at him, my lips pinched together. How did he figure out my plan? Grant’s words say order whatever you want, but does he mean it? Or is it like the time my mom promised me a fun day at the wharf, but then everything was too expensive? If I accidently eat a fifty-eight-dollar salad, will he freak out?

  Most of the dishes I’ve never heard of and the descriptions don’t help. But under the steak section is one dish I recognize. It’s also guaranteed expensive. Everyone knows filet mignon is pricey and the shrimp topping is sure to set Grant back. I guess I’ll find out if he’s true to his word. With Grant’s words in mind I peruse the menu finding other options I’ve heard of before.

  Our waitress returns to the table in her cute all-black outfit, her hair pulled up into a tight ponytail. She probably makes more in tips here than I do working at the center, but unlike me she spends all day kissing r
ich people’s asses. Her job is definitely harder.

  “Have you decided on a selection tonight?” she asks.

  Oh I’ve decided on selections. That’s for sure.

  I order a starter salad, a small cup of soup, the shrimp topped filet mignon steak, and finish with a molten lava dessert cake. The entire time I’m ordering my eyes never leave Grant. I watch for a small give in his facial expression. Any display he’s upset or reached his limit.

  He doesn’t flinch.

  When I’m finished he orders a similar steak, but leaves off the add-ons. Grant finishes and I watch the waitress walk away, my mouth hanging open.

  “How much do you think our meal will cost you?”

  Grant shrugs. “I have no idea. I’m not worried.”

  He might not be worried, but I am. Why didn’t he stop me? “I can’t possibly eat it all.”

  “I’m sure even The High-Top does doggie bags, Clare. You can take it home for a snack.”

  Has he gone mad? I’m pretty sure filet mignon is not something you heat up in the microwave and have for a snack the next day.

  “I shouldn’t have ordered the cake.”

  “Of course you should have. If you want cake, you order the cake. We could order another and take it home for Drew.”

  I never get dessert at restaurants. They are always overpriced. Seven dollars for a slice of chocolate cake? It’s outrageous. I could buy a whole cake for that at the grocery store.

  “Stop freaking out. I signed paperwork for new deal we just finished negotiating today. Tonight it’s a celebration and I want to bring my girlfriend out and spoil her. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  I jump right over the girlfriend part, not as scared by it as I’d expect, but make a promise to come back to that discussion point later. “I’ve worked too hard and overcome too much to be married off and paraded around like arm candy.”

  “Whoa, let’s not get ahead of ourselves here. It’s cake not a marriage proposal.” Grant’s face falls into one of concentration. “What have you overcome?”