The Standby

by K. A Knight

  “Sir?” Sarah interrupts, making us both blink, and I step back and turn away slightly, letting my hair fall to cover my heating cheeks. “It’s all booked, here are your new boarding passes and information, your bags will be changed to tomorrow’s flight, and here is the voucher to take to the hotel. You can eat there, as well as have your clothes dry cleaned for tomorrow if need be. So sorry for the inconvenience, and I hope this does not spoil your holiday. If either of you have any issues or questions, please don’t hesitate to come back or contact us on the number on the voucher,” she offers, but throws me a knowing look before pasting on that smile again.

  Logan grabs all the paperwork and his bag and thanks her before starting to walk away. I look from her to him as he stands a few paces away, staring back with a grin. “Coming?”

  I scramble after him, and he waits patiently until I’m at his side, then starts walking again. We don’t speak as we duck through the airport and head to the adjoined hotel next door, where the queue for the reception desk is almost as long as the airport one. We stand side by side the entire time, our hands held loosely between us. So close, that if I reached out, we could almost touch...I don’t, because that would be strange, but the urge is there, and it takes all my concentration not to close the distance.

  My body is almost vibrating with need, need for this man. A need so strong I’ve never felt it before, it’s embarrassing actually. He could just be being nice, but when I glance up, I see his eyes locked on my face, those flecks more pronounced in this light, his teeth digging into his plump lower lip.

  No, not being friendly.

  He feels this too.

  “Next,” comes a tired sounding voice, and I snap my head around to see the reception man waiting for us none too patiently. I bet they have been busy tonight, and it shows in the bags under his eyes and the coffee cup by the side of his hand.

  I step forward and smile. “Hi, our flight was cancelled, and we have some vouchers for a room tonight…” I trail off when he just stares at me. He blinks, nodding, and looks down at the computer.

  “Mr. and Mrs.?” he prompts, typing away, and I clear my throat awkwardly.

  “No, sorry, we aren’t married. It’s Miss Shaw, we aren’t together,” I blurt out, and I feel Logan chuckle next to me.

  “Oh, sorry,” the man replies, and continues to type, leaving us in awkward silence. “You need two rooms?” he questions, his voice slightly higher, and I frown at him.

  “Yes, please.”

  He glances up at us and mutters under his breath before continuing to type. Not a minute later, he lets out a long sigh, and I know whatever he’s going to say I’m not going to like.

  “Erm, I’m sorry, but with all the delayed and cancelled flights, I’m afraid we only have one room available. The suite. It would, however, come under the voucher, but there is only one bed.” He looks between us nervously, fingers poised over the keyboard.

  My eyes flare and I look at Logan to see him debating. I open my mouth to say it’s fine, I can sleep in the airport, but once again he beats me to it.

  “We will take it.” He nods without looking at me.

  Wait, what? I gape at him as he hands over the vouchers and provides his details to the man…

  We will? We are sharing a room...a bed?

  Three

  Sharing a bed with Logan. With the man who has me wetter than a waterfall simply from a smile alone. Oh yes, this doesn’t seem like it will end well. Cupid is definitely on my shit list.

  The man hands over two keys, which Logan accepts before grabbing my bag and his, and hoisting them onto his shoulder. “Is room service still available?” he asks the man casually.

  “Yes, sir, until eleven PM, drinks until two AM.” His tone is very monotone, the words almost rehearsed.

  “Thank you, have a good evening,” Logan calls, and then winks down at me. “Come on then, Mrs. Hemsworth,” he teases, making me blush. “Our suite awaits.”

  I follow after him, but once he sees me lagging behind, he slows his long strides to match mine, both of us heading to the silver elevator proudly waiting in the all glass and modern reception. I reach over and press the button, and we wait as we watch the numbers tick down. When the door opens, we slip inside, and he presses our floor—the top, of course—and we start to head up.

  He sighs and I glance over to see him almost wincing. “Sorry, Ryan, is this okay? I should have asked before. If you’re uncomfortable with the idea, I can find another hotel,” he offers, his eyes dejected and lips turned down, watching me with increasing worry that he has overstepped his mark. I should say yes, find your own hotel. I open my mouth to do just that…

  “No, it’s fine,” comes out instead, and I snap my traitorous mouth shut as a brilliant smile covers Logan’s handsome face.

  “Great! I’ll order us some room service when we get up there,” he informs me as the door opens, revealing a brown carpeted hallway. He lets me go first and then leads me to the right, following the counting down numbers until we reach the white door at the very end with the golden plaque revealing, “602 Letterman Suite.”

  He releases his bags, balancing them as he pulls out the keycard, and swipes it. The little light blinks green, and I help by pushing open the door. He waits for me to step through, so I do. I feel him close behind me as I move into a dim hallway, which opens up into a room. I stand in the middle, looking around for a light switch, when a click sounds and they flicker on above us. Glancing behind me, I see his hand on the keycard, placing it in the slot by the door.

  He grins at me and I turn around to see that I’m standing in a lounge area. Three large black sofas are in a U-shape, facing a massive TV which is hung over a fake fireplace. A red and golden rug sits between them with a dark, wooden table placed in the middle. The windows are open, letting in a cool breeze, and when I walk over a window to glance out, I see the airport right next to us.

  To the left is an open doorway, and I peek inside to see a king-sized bed with two matching bedside tables, a wardrobe, another TV, and a darkened door which I’m guessing leads to the bathroom. Backing away, I smack into something hard and freeze as I feel his breath wafting over my neck.

  “Sorry, was just going to put the bags down,” he whispers, so I step to the side silently, and watch as he moves into the room and places our bags on the bed, before unbuttoning his jacket and tossing it on top. He looks around as he rolls up the sleeves of his shirt, exposing thick, veiny forearms which have me swallowing.

  Fuck, this man is way too attractive for his own good. He’s oblivious to my ogling, though, as he strides across the room, flicks on the light to the bathroom, and sticks his head in before coming back out and finally spotting me still standing where he left me. I undoubtedly have a stupid look on my face, but all he does is smile. “Get comfy, I’ll order,” he states, as he heads past me into the lounge, sliding by so close I can feel the heat of his body and the woodsy scent of his cologne.

  I watch him, tongue-tied, as he heads to the phone next to the sofa, grabs a black booklet, and starts flipping through it. Aware I need to stop staring at him like a crazy person, I go to the bathroom to give myself a moment. Shutting the door gently, I step over to the sink and lean against the porcelain, staring at myself in the mirror.

  Nope, still me. Small, crazy, with wild hair.

  It reaches my waist now, curling in all directions, and it’s a little bit frizzy from the rain outside. My eyes are a deep brown, sometimes almost black. My lips are pink from my lip gloss and not a bad size, if I do say so myself. I’m curvy, not skinny, but I like my body. I have an ass and tits, but I don’t think I look half bad. My face is pale from the lack of makeup, but at least my eyelash extensions make me look like I made an effort, and I was blessed with thick, arched eyebrows, so I don’t tend to wear a lot unless it’s a special occasion.

  My last boyfriend called me pretty, and I guess it fits. I’m no model like Logan, but I can hold my own. I shake my head,
why am I evaluating myself? Because of him? It’s never bothered me before. Either men like what they see or they don’t. There are millions, trillions of people out there all with different tastes. Just because one person, or even two, doesn’t like the way you look doesn’t mean anyone else doesn’t.

  So why am I suddenly so concerned that this one man, Logan, likes the way I look? Even finds me attractive?

  Easy, I want him. Which means I want him to want me back, even though I’m probably different from his usual model girlfriends.

  Turning away, I force myself to stop being stupid.

  It’s not like I’m looking for anything, Christ, I just got out of a shit stain of a relationship, the betrayal and pain barely washed off my skin, but in this room, this suite, it feels...different. Like we could be anybody, just for one night.

  And the person I want to be is a woman whom Logan wants…

  I clean up a little and put on some more perfume, conscious I’ve been in the airport all day. I place my shoes near the wardrobe but keep on my socks, which is about as comfy as I can get without any other change of clothes. I do have a dress in my hand luggage, luckily. I thought I could change into it on the plane so when I landed in Dubai, I wasn’t stuck in jeans sweating my tits off, because let’s face it...boob sweat is the worst. Opening my bag, I hang the dress in the wardrobe, not wanting it to be too creased, as I’m going to have to wear it tomorrow. I’m just zipping up my bag again when I hear a noise behind me.

  I spin, my hand going to my heart. For a moment, I had forgotten anyone else was here...how I could forget this man, I don’t know. Blame it on the wine. But there he stands, leaning against the doorframe, arms above him, stretching the shirt against his body until I can see all the dips and indents of his many muscles. The shirt strains to contain them and his big arms, and I catch a glimpse of tantalising skin between the shirt and his trousers before dragging my eyes up to meet his.

  “Food is ordered, I also got us some more drinks,” he tells me huskily, his gaze similarly drinking me in.

  Fuck it. Cupid may have screwed me over with my ex and all the bad luck today, but it was all worth it to end up here with this man...and I won’t let this opportunity pass me by. It’s not like we will ever see each other again, we are from different worlds.

  So tonight, in this suite of ours, I will forget everything and everyone else and just enjoy myself, and if that leads somewhere...then so be it. Maybe Valentine’s day isn’t going to be as bad as I thought.

  Four

  We are sitting awkwardly on the sofa. I don’t have enough liquid courage for this. He’s checking his phone, so I pull mine out and scroll through the messages and missed calls.

  All from dick bag ex...well, there is one from my mum. I drop her a message, letting her know the flight was cancelled, but that I’ll be on one tomorrow. I leave out the part where I’m spending the night in a hotel room with a hot, bestselling author who I want to climb like a tree and become his own personal monkey.

  Opening the messages from my ex, I snort as I scroll through them. They range from apologies to insults, back to apologies again. How boring.

  “Everything okay?” I snap my head up to meet his golden-brown eyes and drop my phone to the sofa, forgotten.

  “Yes, sorry, just someone I would rather not talk to,” I reply, and he nods, his mouth opened to ask who, I bet, but a knock comes at the door. He holds his finger up, placing his phone on the sofa.

  “One minute, that will be the food, then you can tell me all about them.” He grins and heads to answer the door.

  His phone is unlocked, and I can’t help but glance at the lit up screen on the sofa. It’s on Facebook...a page. His author page by the looks of it, where he is replying to reader’s messages. I blink. Okay, I kind of figured an author like him would have a PA or a manager to do that, but what do I know?

  I hear him thanking the man, then a minute later he comes back holding a silver tray, which he places on the table, before going back again and returning with a wine bucket with two bottles in it. I sit forward, scooching to the front of the sofa, as he grabs two glasses and holds the bottle of champagne for me to see.

  “Would you like a glass?” he asks, and I nod mutely. “Go ahead, I ordered a mix of dishes, I didn’t know what you wanted,” he murmurs, as he concentrates on opening the bottle.

  I grab the covering and lift it to see a mix, like he said. There are chocolate covered strawberries, fudge cake, chips, a sandwich, and even a burger and a salad.

  “Wow,” I whisper, staring at the feast with wide eyes as he passes over a still bubbling glass of presumably expensive champagne. “Did the airline cover this?” I inquire, wide-eyed, glancing at him.

  He laughs and sits cross-legged on the floor in front of the table with his glass in hand. “No.” He winks.

  I shake my head. “Really, you shouldn’t have, you don’t need to spend money on me,” I argue, but he sips his glass and leans back on his arms, watching me.

  “Then how else will I impress a beautiful girl I met reading my book?” he teases.

  I scrunch up my face. “I highly doubt you have any trouble, but you could try...talking?” I suggest, and his face turns serious for a moment.

  “Hmm, I could. I guess I’m used to people wanting things, demanding my money. I’m sorry.” He sighs.

  “Hey, I was joking, feel free to spoil me with food.” I laugh. “I just mean I didn’t come here for your money, Logan.” As soon as it leaves my mouth, my eyes flare, fuck.

  He sits forward then, food and champagne forgotten. “Then why did you?” he questions lowly, voice rumbling.

  My tongue darts out to wet my lips and he follows the movement. “Honestly? I don’t know, it felt…”

  “Right?” he finishes, and I nod before downing some of my champagne. This man has me all out of sorts.

  Luckily, he lets it drop. “Eat whatever you want, I promise to try and seduce you with my witty mind and horror stories as well.”

  Fuck, what girl stands a chance with that offer?

  “I swear,” I laugh, glass held in one hand, my movements loose from the alcohol buzzing through my system, “they called me stripes for years because of the horrible block stripes my mum put in my hair, I never lived it down!”

  The empty trays of food sit discarded on the table, as does the first bottle of champagne. Around the time we opened the second, I loosened up and started to relax. I’m curled up in the corner of the sofa, legs thrown over the edge, turned to face him. He is sitting on the middle cushion, having scooted closer after we finished eating. His arm is draped over the back, his legs crossed as he laughs at the story I’m telling.

  We decided to play a game to get to know each other better, and what was better than twenty questions? It somehow ended up with me explaining a horrible nickname that I have never been able to escape. Taking another sip, I tilt my head and watch him. “What about you? Any funny or embarrassing nicknames?”

  “Not really, I mean, there was a boy at school who used to call me Lowman because, according to him, I was always reading depressing books.” He snorts, the sound so unrefined and...well, not what I was expecting. I feel myself relax further. He may be rich and famous and have girls falling at his feet...but he’s still human. Still a man who grew from a boy who loved to read to escape his ‘asshole father,’ in his own words, who was bullied for his intellect, who grew up poor. His favourite colour is red, the deep one, and his favourite food is burgers. He prefers being warm to cold and hates wearing shorts because he thinks his knees are weird.

  “Now, this won’t do. We need to give you a shitty nickname that will haunt you forever!” I declare loudly, and he laughs, his head leaned back against the sofa as he watches me.

  “I will leave that in your very capable hands.” He chuckles.

  “Hmmm, what about button? Nope, don’t like it, what about worm?” I exclaim, the alcohol making itself known.

  “Worm?” He cough
s.

  “Like bookworm? Worm!” I nod, it’s clearly a smart nickname. I start giggling and he joins in until we’re both leaning on each other, laughing. “Stripes and Worm!” I gasp.

  A brush of fingers has my laughter stopping in a hiccup as my eyes lock on his. I’m leaning against him, so close our faces are almost touching, the orange and golden flecks practically swirling in his eyes as he reaches up and pushes a stray strand of my crazy hair out of my face. He searches my eyes, his fingers lingering against my cheek.

  “You have a beautiful laugh,” he whispers hoarsely.

  “Thank you,” I murmur, my eyes dropping to his lips.

  Electricity zings between us, almost yanking us together. His gaze is locked on my lips with searing intensity, and I know he’s going to kiss me. I could move away, I could stop it...but I don’t want to. Instead, I lean into him, pressing my lips to his, and then freeze.

  Both of us don’t move or even breathe until suddenly, with a burst of movement, his hand grips the back of my head and pulls me closer as his lips start to caress mine. Groaning, I wiggle closer, my own hands landing on his chest and stroking his pecs through the thin material of his shirt.

  Our entire day, all our teasing and flirting, has been leading to this. This was my choice. I knew when I said yes to the suite, I was really saying yes to him...to this passion that’s now exploding between us like a barely controlled blast.

  Locked together in a whirlwind of desire, our lips fumbling and desperate, I gasp and he sweeps his tongue in, tangling it with mine. He groans into my mouth, the noise so deep and masculine that it makes me shiver in need. My pussy is wet and pulsing, my clit has its own heartbeat, aching for him, and I couldn’t stop this even if I wanted to, which I don’t...not now.