#Kissing (Rock and Romance #1) Read Online Free Page B
Author: Ellie Brixton
leads to a bedroom, which most certainly will contain a phone. I have a call to make. Kat intercepts me, winding an arm around my waist. Her clouded eyes tell me she's already enjoying herself.
"You don't want to go in there," she says in accented English.
"No? Why's that?" I ask, curious about what wonders await behind door number one.
She draws me away, and we're a two-headed organism as we careen toward a table with a fancy vase filled with autumn-hued flowers. I recognize sunset lilies from my grandmother's garden, along with auburn mums, and little red berries that remind me of poison.
"Never mind. You and I never finished that dance." She pulls me onto a coffee table and grinds against my leg.
My current interests mostly involve the attention of a guitar-player with messy hair and a voice that my ears seek in the cacophony of chatter and crappy music that isn't the Halos. Nonetheless, I fall into rhythm with Kat. Our arms whirl in the air. She spins a pair of panties around her finger, tossing them into the room, and then gives everyone watching an eyeful of her enormous fake tits. It's sexy, if you're into that kind of thing.
Slade pulls her away with a whisper in her ear. Her eyes dip, and she gives my hip a squeeze and wanders off. I lower from the table, suddenly feeling foolish.
The hotel suite boasts two bedrooms, two baths—all occupied—, a balcony, the kitchen where the bartender works with a dwindling assortment of colorful and intoxicating liquids, and of course, the main room, smoky and stuffed full. Everyone is here for the party, the proximity and association of fame and excess, free alcohol and drugs, and the epic question of what might happen.
Nothing, if it continues like this.
I'm here to bring it. These people think that by being in this suite something cool is going to happen to chat about around the water cooler at work on Monday or brag to their friends about at brunch the morning after. I'm a quick study and Bubbie always said if you want a party, you have to make it happen and create your own fun. The key is in making it come off as spontaneous debauchery.
A blinking red light catches my eye on a table with a lamp. Aha ! There's the phone. I dial for room service.
"Hi, when does the shift change?" I ask, interrupting the receptionist's greeting.
"The shift started at eleven and goes until seven." Her voice is bubbly, a college student probably, and not entirely unfamiliar with unusual calls from suites.
"Send anyone up on their break if they want to party. But first, I have a few requests."
"Go right ahead," she says.
"At twelve am, please provide us with a shit ton of alcohol."
"Would you like to be more specific?"
"Nope, I expect that you're sufficiently skilled in this area, thank you," I say efficiently. Aside from prescription medication for my diabetes, as a rule, I don't dabble in drugs.
"Next?"
"For one o'clock, please call Gentleman and Blonds . Have them send a few of their finest. At two am, we'll take five-hundred water balloons."
"Five-hundred?"
"At the very least. For three, twenty pizzas, set one aside for you guys down there if you're hungry. It's on us."
"What toppings?"
"Surprise me."
"Which pizza place do you want? Nearby, there's—"
"The greasiest. At four, extra linens, please. For five, popcorn and candy."
"What kind of candy?" she asks.
"All the kinds."
"Anything else?"
"I'll get back to you at dawn."
"I leave at seven," she says.
"Not if you come up here you don't."
She laughs.
"If you want autographs or anything, let me know; I can hook it up as a thank you."
"Seriously?"
"Mhmm." Someone paws at my shoulder, but I shrug them off.
"We're not supposed to acknowledge the guests in that way, but if you could that would be so awesome. The Halos—Niko is like—" I don't hear her and don't care because his head is in my lap and he bats at my hair, his eyes shiny, and his lips kissable.
"Thanks." I hang up.
"What was that all about?" he
"You don't want to go in there," she says in accented English.
"No? Why's that?" I ask, curious about what wonders await behind door number one.
She draws me away, and we're a two-headed organism as we careen toward a table with a fancy vase filled with autumn-hued flowers. I recognize sunset lilies from my grandmother's garden, along with auburn mums, and little red berries that remind me of poison.
"Never mind. You and I never finished that dance." She pulls me onto a coffee table and grinds against my leg.
My current interests mostly involve the attention of a guitar-player with messy hair and a voice that my ears seek in the cacophony of chatter and crappy music that isn't the Halos. Nonetheless, I fall into rhythm with Kat. Our arms whirl in the air. She spins a pair of panties around her finger, tossing them into the room, and then gives everyone watching an eyeful of her enormous fake tits. It's sexy, if you're into that kind of thing.
Slade pulls her away with a whisper in her ear. Her eyes dip, and she gives my hip a squeeze and wanders off. I lower from the table, suddenly feeling foolish.
The hotel suite boasts two bedrooms, two baths—all occupied—, a balcony, the kitchen where the bartender works with a dwindling assortment of colorful and intoxicating liquids, and of course, the main room, smoky and stuffed full. Everyone is here for the party, the proximity and association of fame and excess, free alcohol and drugs, and the epic question of what might happen.
Nothing, if it continues like this.
I'm here to bring it. These people think that by being in this suite something cool is going to happen to chat about around the water cooler at work on Monday or brag to their friends about at brunch the morning after. I'm a quick study and Bubbie always said if you want a party, you have to make it happen and create your own fun. The key is in making it come off as spontaneous debauchery.
A blinking red light catches my eye on a table with a lamp. Aha ! There's the phone. I dial for room service.
"Hi, when does the shift change?" I ask, interrupting the receptionist's greeting.
"The shift started at eleven and goes until seven." Her voice is bubbly, a college student probably, and not entirely unfamiliar with unusual calls from suites.
"Send anyone up on their break if they want to party. But first, I have a few requests."
"Go right ahead," she says.
"At twelve am, please provide us with a shit ton of alcohol."
"Would you like to be more specific?"
"Nope, I expect that you're sufficiently skilled in this area, thank you," I say efficiently. Aside from prescription medication for my diabetes, as a rule, I don't dabble in drugs.
"Next?"
"For one o'clock, please call Gentleman and Blonds . Have them send a few of their finest. At two am, we'll take five-hundred water balloons."
"Five-hundred?"
"At the very least. For three, twenty pizzas, set one aside for you guys down there if you're hungry. It's on us."
"What toppings?"
"Surprise me."
"Which pizza place do you want? Nearby, there's—"
"The greasiest. At four, extra linens, please. For five, popcorn and candy."
"What kind of candy?" she asks.
"All the kinds."
"Anything else?"
"I'll get back to you at dawn."
"I leave at seven," she says.
"Not if you come up here you don't."
She laughs.
"If you want autographs or anything, let me know; I can hook it up as a thank you."
"Seriously?"
"Mhmm." Someone paws at my shoulder, but I shrug them off.
"We're not supposed to acknowledge the guests in that way, but if you could that would be so awesome. The Halos—Niko is like—" I don't hear her and don't care because his head is in my lap and he bats at my hair, his eyes shiny, and his lips kissable.
"Thanks." I hang up.
"What was that all about?" he