I mean, sharing a suite with the man himself? Any writer or fan would give their eye for that, wouldn’t they?

Then why do I feel hurt somehow that he hasn’t just come right out and said what I want him to?

Why can’t fantasy become reality?

And is he gonna pay for this dinner? I kinda blew my budget on this room, and that’s with the money Marie left for me. Yikes.

I timidly get out of the bath, dry off and make my way to my own room, closing the door this time and get dressed.

Nothing exotic or sexy in my suitcase though, it’s all jeans, T-shirts, and track pants. The underwear I had on before was not something I usually wear either. Not a bad thing I remind myself, smiling a small smile of satisfaction once I slide back into my granny panties.

But who do I really have to try and be sexy for anyway? I’m built for comfort, not for show.

By the time I’m dressed in blue jeans and a sweater, white tee underneath, it almost feels like everything before was just a dream.

That Nathan Cartwright isn’t really behind that door waiting to talk to me some more and then take me to dinner.

I mean, the guy must have a million other things to do with this whole conference.

He was probably just being-

There’s a gentle knock at my door, which he opens before I can even say a word.

So much for privacy. But I don’t really mind. I’ve been in here for ages really and his look answers some of my questions.

“You okay?” he asks, and I’m not sure what to say let alone think.

I can’t remember the last time anyone even asked me that and meant it the way I know he does.

“About before,” he starts, but I don’t care about that anymore. I’m not mad or embarrassed or anything else.

I’m more interested in this new thing. This whole Nathan Cartwright wanting to talk and get to know me thing.

Nobody’s ever taken any interest in me, ever. It’s new but a little weird, and only because he’s like well… He’s Nathan Cartwright.

I open my mouth to say something, not quite sure what but then the phone by the bed rings. The hotel phone I never noticed until just now.

We both jump a little at the same time, then smile before I reach over and answer it. “Hello?”

“Eduardo?” My dad says sarcastically but he’s madder than anything else, I can tell.

Shit.

“Umm. Hi daddy. How’d you get this number?” I ask.

Bad question.

I can see Nathan’s reaction too, his brow creases and he looks pained.

“I called the hotel. The hotel I thought you and Marie were staying at?” he says gruffly. “But you didn’t answer. Neither did Marie. Guess who did, honey? Guess who answered the phone?” he asks, his voice rising with anger again.

“Eduardo,” I murmur, remembering what Marie asked about me not telling my dad.

Never said anything about him finding out for himself.

“I called everywhere looking for you, I was so worried. I’m coming down to get you myself. I knew this was a bad idea. I should never have-”

“No, no no no no no, Dad. No. Please. No. It’s okay, really. No,” I practically shout, feeling the plastic handset creak in my hand.

Did I say ‘no’ enough times, do you think he got the message?

“I got another room and it’s already paid for, so…” I trail off, waiting for my angry dad to just agree and wish me a happy weekend with my new and old enough to be my dad author friend, who I suddenly want to come closer to me again. Want him to touch me, have his way with me before all this comes crashing down once my dad gets here.

The thing about my dad, he’s not a talker. He’s a doer. When he says he’s gonna do something, it means he’s already on his way to do it.

I listen as my dad sigh loudly, reminding me he has work of his own this weekend because Denise is having the time away.

“I know daddy, I’m only a few blocks from the convention and I can still meet up with her. It’s just the room-share thing didn’t work out,” I hear myself tell him feebly, not even believing a word of it myself.

“I don’t think Denise and Eduardo will be doing much book conventioning, sweetie,” he tells me, sounding like he’s breaking it to me gently. Like I really haven’t put two and two together.

But dad has a point, I am kinda naïve about most things, and he’s only looking out for my best interests.

“I’m just worried now, Lucy,” he confesses, sounding serious still but less angry.

“And I’m not angry with you, not at all. It’s that darned Marie I could kick the pants off of,” he explains.

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