“I’m—I’m so sorry, it was…there was a mistake and…” I trailed off, lost for words.
“I will have security escort you to the suite to gather your things,” the agent told me.
“Um—”
“Where is your husband?” she demanded.
I opened my mouth, not sure what to say. But then I heard Smith’s voice as he strode across the lobby to join us.
“I’m right here, what seems to be the problem?” he asked, wrapping an arm around my waist and pressing a kiss to my temple.
My heart leapt. It didn’t matter that this was just for show, that Smith and I weren’t actually a couple. It still felt so damn good to have his hands on me again.
“The problem,” piped up the second honeymooner, “is that you have stolen our suite.”
Smith narrowed his eyes. “Surely this is all just a big misunderstanding.”
“Are you Albert or Jean-Paul Chalamet?” the agent asked, scowling at Smith. “Can you show me identification to that effect?”
“Funny,” said Smith, “you didn’t ask for identification yesterday when you handed me the keys. This seems like an issue on your end.”
The honeymooners turned back to the agent. “You didn’t ask for identification? What kind of establishment is this?”
“Messieurs, please,” said the agent, holding up a hand to stop them. “I apologize, we will certainly look into how this incident took place. In the meantime, you are welcome to have a complimentary dinner in our restaurant while we clean the suite for you.”
“And what about us?” Smith asked.
“What about you?” asked the agent.
“Will you be checking us into the rooms we reserved?” Smith asked.
The agent shot him an incredulous look. “The hotel is at capacity. I’m afraid you forfeited your right to those reservations when you stole the honeymoon suite.”
I felt a flare of anxiety in my chest. Paris is notoriously one of the worst cities in the world when it comes to finding a place to stay, and I had spent an arm and a leg to get a room at the hotel where the conference was taking place.
“I’m so sorry about all of this,” I said, stepping forward. My problem-solving self was taking over, pushing aside the Dom that was scared and confused and heartbroken. “As you said yourself, this is all a big mix-up. Surely there’s a room somewhere in the hotel that we can check into.”
The agent shook her head, looking scandalized by my gall. “Even if there were a room available, I certainly wouldn’t permit the two of you to remain on the premises.”
“Seriously?” Smith asked, disbelieving.
“You made your bed,” the agent said tartly, “now you have to lay in it.”
“Uh…we would if you had a bed available,” Smith snapped.
I snorted, trying not to laugh.
“Ah, here is security,” said the agent. “Please follow Pierre up to the suite and gather your things.”
A hulking man was looking down at us without a trace of amusement on his face. I felt a visceral throb of apprehension. After all, I had always been the kind of guy who was adored by authority figures. It was strange to have someone looking at me like I was some kind of criminal.
“Listen—” Smith began, but I cut him off.
“Lead the way, Pierre,” I said, giving him an affable smile.
Pierre didn’t say anything, but headed in the direction of the elevator. The ride up was intensely awkward, what with Smith barely containing his annoyance and Pierre regarding us like a pair of particularly naughty children. I kept the smile plastered on my face, willing myself not to dissolve into panic at the thought of finding another place to stay for the week.
Pierre watched us like a hawk as we gathered our things, stuffing rumpled clothing into our bags. Then he led us back downstairs and escorted us out of the hotel.
“Holy shit,” Smith said, the minute Pierre was out of earshot.
“Oh my god,” I replied, letting out a shaky little laugh.
“Did we seriously just get kicked out of the hotel?” Smith asked incredulously.
“Uh…yeah. I think that’s what happens when you impersonate someone,” I said, leaning against the wall.
“Fuck,” said Smith with a little smile. “I pride myself on being something of a bad-boy-type, but I think this takes the cake in terms of my misadventures. I was literally escorted out of a classy Parisian hotel by a security guard.”
“Was I the only one who thought Pierre was going to beat us up?” I asked.
“Oh, I kinda thought he was gonna proposition us,” said Smith, cracking up. “It’s always the stoic ones.”
“Would you have gone for a threesome with Pierre?” I teased.
“You’re damn right I would,” quipped Smith. “Wanna see him plow your ass.”
We both froze, looking at each other.
“I, uh, thought you weren’t up for another round,” I said, trying to sound casual.
“Right,” said Smith, an odd expression on his face. “I’ve been thinking about that a lot.”
8
Smith
The entire day had turned into a disaster as soon as Dom left La Fontaine Saint Michel.
First off, my microphone’s battery died. That meant that I had to spend the better part of an hour tracking down a place that carried the correct type of battery, which completely fucked my recording schedule.
Secondly, I got stood up by one of the YourTubers, which wasted a good couple of hours that could’ve been spent collaborating with someone else.
Thirdly, I couldn’t get Dom fucking Baker out of my mind. I knew, even as I said the words, that not sleeping with him again would be a mistake. He was just…incredible. I wanted to go back to the previous night, sated and sharing a bed with him.
I ran the arguments through my mind over and over again. Dom was sweet, smart, funny, pragmatic. He was the kind of person who made me want to push the limits of my own comfort zone. It didn’t take a genius to realize that he would be good for me.
When it came right down to it, there were only two things stopping me from letting Dom in. There was my one-night-only policy, and there was the fact that my viewers expected me to talk about slut culture through the lens of a bonafide slut.
And I just knew, somehow, that if I slept with Dom again, my feelings would only multiply. I couldn’t have explained it, but I just knew. Sleeping with Dom was a gateway to a whole slew of emotions that could eventually put my heart on the line and my career at risk.
That’s why I had a one-night-only policy.
My livelihood depended on me staying single, on me sleeping with a different guy each night.
So, I spent the entire day distracted and kinda miserable.
And then I got to the hotel and found Dom facing a very annoyed French couple and a pissy desk agent. God, my immediate reaction shouldn’t have been to run in there and protect Dom, but that’s what it was. And as soon as the agent referred to me as his husband, I fell right back into the fake relationship schtick, wrapping my arm around him and kissing his goddamn forehead.
The scariest part? It felt all kinds of right.
Then we got outside with our haphazardly packed bags, laughing about the absurdity of the situation, and I had to make a horrible joke about us having a threesome with Pierre the security guard.
“I, uh, thought you weren’t up for round two,” Dom said, looking away from me.
“Right,” I said, trying to pull on a poker face. “I’ve been thinking about that a lot.”
“Oh yeah?” Dom asked, kicking at a pebble on the ground.
“Yeah,” I said, biding my time. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and glanced at the time. “We should probably find a place to stay, it’s getting close to seven. Can we put this conversation on ice until we get checked in somewhere?”
“Of course,” said Dom, nodding. “I’m really hoping we can find a place, this city is a mess when it comes to places to
stay.”
I pulled up the internet and searched for “hotels near me.” Google coughed up about a zillion options, and I began the painstaking process of entering in the dates of our trip on each website.
No vacancy.
Full.
At capacity.
It was strike after strike after strike. I rolled my eyes as yet another hotel informed me that there was no availability. Meanwhile, Dom was scrolling through a hostel website.
“We can’t stay at a youth hostel for a week,” I said, nudging his shoulder. “It’ll be full of obnoxious college students being all young and loud and in our space.”
“Would you rather sleep in the street?” Dom asked sweetly.
I rolled my eyes.
“Well, according to Google, we are surrounded by hotels that are all sold out,” I said with a sigh.
“Yeah, that’s what happens when you manage to get yourself kicked out of your hotel in Paris in the middle of the summer,” Dom snarked. “There’s a place about a mile and a half from here that has some availability. It doesn’t specify if it’s a private room or not, but it might be worth checking out.”
“God, a mile and a half?” I groaned. “I don’t wanna drag my bag all the way there.”
“Hold your horses,” said Dom with a smile. “Lemme call and see what the deal is. No use getting all wound up about when we don’t even know the details.”
He dialed the number and I watched his face as he held the phone up to his ear. He scrunched up his nose in annoyance and ended the call after a few seconds.
“It was just a dial tone,” he said.
“That bodes so well for us,” I said sarcastically.
“I mean…maybe we should just walk over there,” he suggested.
“You want to walk a mile and a half just to see if there’s any availability?” I asked, shooting him an incredulous look.
“We could try to track down a taxi or something—”
“Ugh, no, walking is fine,” I groused.
If I’m being honest, dragging my duffel around Paris wasn’t half bad when I had Dom with me.
The youth hostel was like nothing I had ever seen before. Every single wall was painted a different bright color, and there was 90s pop blaring from an honest-to-god boombox behind the front desk. A college-aged woman with dreadlocks was singing along enthusiastically to Britney Spears as we came through the front door, and I started cracking up.
“Oh, hi there,” she said, catching sight of us and grinning. “Welcome to Les Trois Canards. Looking for a couple of beds?”
“Uh, yeah,” I said, glancing at Dom. “We were hoping that you’d have a couple of private rooms available actually. I know it’s a long shot, but…”
“Hm, that might be tricky,” she said, plopping down in front of a computer and typing furiously. “We’re normally booked out way in advance in the summer, but a big tour group cancelled their res last night.”
“Lucky us,” said Dom with a smile.
“How long are y’all planning on staying?” the woman asked. She had a lovely southern drawl, and I wondered how an American had ended up manning the front desk of a Parisian youth hostel.
“Just through the week,” Dom said. “We’re attending a conference at L’Hôtel Normandaise but there was a bit of a snafu with our rooms there.”
“Gotcha,” she said. “I’m Lola, by the way.”
“I’m Smith, and that’s Dom,” I said, reaching to shake her hand.
“It’s always nice to meet folks from the States,” she said. “I’ve been here for about six months and I’m finally starting to miss home.”
“What brought you all the way here?” I asked, leaning on the front desk and fiddling with a pile of brochures.
“I came to do some backpacking and fell in love with the city. When a job opened up here at the hostel I jumped at the opportunity to live abroad for a while. I’ve thought about continuing on, checking out other countries, but I’m having a blast here,” she explained.
“Makes sense,” Dom said, taking off his backpack and nudging me out of the way so that he could look at the brochures.
“Okay, here we go,” said Lola. “Looks like we have some beds available in a twelve-person dorm, but you’ll be sharing with other guests. There is one private room available, but it just has a single bed.”
Dom flicked his eyes over to me. “Rock paper scissors for the single?”
I scoffed, shoving playfully at his shoulder. “I’d rather share a single with you than a dorm with a bunch of strangers.”
His mouth dropped open in surprise and Lola smirked at me.
“What?” I asked, feeling slightly defensive.
“Nothing,” Dom said in a rush. “I just…I thought you’d want some space.”
I shrugged, looking at my feet. “If you don’t want to share—”
“Dude, don’t put this on me,” said Dom with a smile. “If you want to share the single, we can share the single.”
“That’s settled then,” I said, still not looking at him. I glanced up at Lola and saw her trying determinedly not to laugh.
“Alrighty then boys,” she said, “it’s forty-five euros a night, but I’ll shave off ten percent if you pay it all up front.”
“Forty-five euros a night? That’s it?” I asked. “What’s the catch?”
“The catch,” said Dom, “is that we have to share a bathroom with fifty drunken frat boy types.”
“Ten points to Dom,” said Lola with a smile.
“Will they be shirtless?” I asked, smirking.
“We can only hope,” Dom said solemnly. “But as someone who lives with a bunch of fratty dudes, I can tell you the novelty actually wears off.”
“Bullshit,” Lola and I said at the same time. We started cracking up, leaving Dom to roll his eyes at us.
“Fine, whatever, gang up on me,” said Dom, digging through his bag for money. I followed suit and we settled our bill with Lola.
“It’s on the third floor, door at the end of the hall,” she said, handing us each a key. “There’s a locker in there if you want to leave your stuff while you’re out. Bathrooms and showers are on the second floor, and there’s a kitchen down here. I’m heading out to an open mic night around nine-thirty if y’all wanna join.”
“Thanks so much, Lola,” said Dom.
We made our way up to the third floor and I pushed open our door with a flourish.
Here’s the thing: when I envisioned a single room at a youth hostel, I had something very distinct in mind. I thought there would be a full-sized bed, a closet, maybe even a chest of drawers. The actuality of our room left a lot to be desired. It was barely bigger than the twin-sized bed it contained, and the only furniture was the aforementioned locker at the foot of the bed.
“Holy shit,” I said as I stepped inside, tossing my duffel onto the bed before sitting down beside it. “This is tiny.”
“You’ve never staying in a youth hostel before?” Dom asked, quirking an eyebrow.
“Not one like this. Jesus, we’re gonna be all up in each other’s business all week,” I said. The double entendre hit me a second later and I snapped my head up to look at Dom. He was biting his lip, trying hard to keep in a laugh.
“Do you want to go back down and tell her one of us will stay in the dorm?” he asked.
“No,” I snapped before I could stop myself. “Please, Dom, stay here with me.”
He took a step closer, standing over me with our knees brushing.
“I thought you had a policy. Never the same guy twice, right?” Dom asked softly.
“I—I—”
“You need to maintain your slutty virtue, right?” he continued.
“Dom,” I murmured, his name sliding right the fuck off my tongue. It felt so good to say it.
“You want me to share a twin-sized bed with you, but you don’t want to sleep with me,” he said quietly. “Isn’t that right?”
“No,” I whispered.
/>
“Sorry?” Dom asked.
“No, it’s not right,” I confessed, closing my eyes.
Every single godawful emotion I had felt since I met Dom came rushing back, overwhelming me.
I want him.
I want him so fucking badly.
Dom climbed onto the bed, straddling me and bringing his hands up to cradle my jaw. He leaned in so close that his lips were brushing mine, and he whispered, “Tell me what you want.”
A shudder ran through me and my hands came to rest instinctively on his thighs. He felt so sturdy above me, so right.
I want to kiss you.
I want to fuck you.
I want to lick every inch of your skin until you’re crying out for me.
“Anything,” I groaned, my hips bucking upward. In that moment, it was the truth. I wanted anything he was willing to give me.
Dom closed the distance between us, kissing me hard. I drew his bottom lip into my mouth, sucking gently, and he let out a little moan. Then he was shoving me onto my back and hastily unbuttoning his shirt. I ran my hands up his chest, desperate to get my mouth on all that hot, smooth skin. But Dom had other plans for me.
He pulled my shirt off roughly, his eyes raking down my body. Then he reached for my fly, pulling my pants open impatiently and tugging them down. We were both hard by this point, cocks straining against fabric, and I made a feeble attempt to get his pants off of him. Dom batted my hands away, standing up to discard the rest of his clothes. I tugged off my underwear and wrapped a hand around my aching cock, giving it a couple of firm strokes.
“You with me?” Dom asked hoarsely. I nodded, my eyes locked on his. “I want to blow you. And I want you to blow me at the same time.”
My eyes widened and I nodded furiously, thrusting up into my own hand.
“Please,” I croaked.
Dom reached for my hand and gently removed it from my cock, replacing it with his own. He gave a few aborted pumps before climbing back onto the bed, situating himself so that he was on all fours, straddling my shoulders with his head just inches from my cock. I watched his own cock bob above me, just out of reach.
“Don’t make me wait,” I begged.
Playing Along Page 9