Naughty Nights: A Bad Boy Romance (2 page)

Mrs. T. chuckled.

Encouraged, the man sauntered over to us. “You ladies need some company?” he said, his gaze zeroing in on my v-neck top.

“Shoo. We’re gonna play cards,” Mrs. T. said.

The man was unfazed. He tipped an imaginary hat at us and walked to the elevators.

“That horny idiot has been here nearly as long as I have,” she said. I gave her a weak smile, but I was still concerned about Luke and the altercation out front. Mrs. T. followed my worried gaze. “He’ll be fine. Want to play gin?”

“Sure.”

We began playing, and it took all my concentration to keep up with the card shark across the table from me. After a few minutes, the taxi left and Luke came in, still looking angry. But he smiled at me before heading back to the front desk.

 
After we’d each won a hand, Mrs. T. asked me, as she always did, if I wanted to learn how to play bridge.

“No, thank you.” The residents at Hampton Acres loved that game, but I’d never felt the desire to learn. It seemed that a place like that would be such a better fit for someone like Mrs. T., a fact I tried to bring up casually as we played. Maybe this time she’d listen.
 

Or not. “That’s where people go to die,” she said.

“No it’s not. We’ve got great residents. People your age. Women who could whip your ass at bridge.”

“Not likely. And anyway, as soon as you move into one of those homes, your brain cells fly straight out your ears. I volunteered at a place like that when I was young. Went once a week to read to them. I read the same chapter every week and no one ever noticed.”

“Mrs. T!” The woman was incorrigible. And winning. She beat me quite decisively before the food arrived. When it did, Luke invited her to join us, but Mrs. Townsend grinned and said she’d leave us to it. I wondered if Luke noticed the emphasis she put on the word
it
.

Luke was right, the lamb was delicious. We ate in the back office. Technically, Luke had fifteen minutes left of his shift, but he kept an eye on the front desk from his seat by the door. It wasn’t exactly fine dining, eating off paper plates with plastic silverware. But the food was excellent, and my dining companion was looking pretty hot in his white button-down shirt and black jeans. So what if I’d get to bed late, wake up late, and blow off the eight-thirty apartment viewing I’d been waiting a week for? This was worth it.

Chapter Two

ON SATURDAY, I saw a few apartments that had some potential. The one I liked best was quite close to work—and to Luke’s hotel, I couldn’t help noticing. But unfortunately, the rent was too high. Another had a manageable rent but it wasn’t in an area of town I liked quite as much.
 

In the late afternoon, I went to the front desk to tell Luke about the apartments. He worked from five to eleven on Saturdays, so his shift should have just started. But there was a sign on the counter saying he was helping a guest. It had a number to call if anyone needed assistance, but I waited a few minutes, hoping he’d show up.

Finally growing tired of pacing around the lobby, I pulled out my phone and called the number on the sign, though I felt a bit stalkerish doing so. But it was okay, because we were friends. It’s not like I was dying to see the way his blue eyes sparkled when he smiled at me.

He answered on the second ring. “Hey, come on down to Room 172. I’m helping a buddy of yours.” I smiled. I was pretty sure that was Mrs. T’s room.

It was. She ushered me in. Her room was the mirror image of mine. The only difference was that she had bookcases and huge storage tubs stashed everywhere. Oh, and one other difference was that there was a hot night manager fiddling with the back of the TV. He was facing away from us, bent over, and … oh crap. Mrs. T. caught me checking out Luke’s cute backside.

Fortunately, Luke spoke up then—not that I thought that Mrs. T. would rat me out. “Mrs. Townsend, this game console is really old. It’s not going to look very good on this TV. It’s not even in HD.”

“I don’t care. I need my tennis and my bowling games,” she said.
 

Luke crawled out a few minutes later. “You’re all set,” he said.

“We have a bowling league at Hampton Acres. You can come some night. You don’t have to be a resident.”

“Not until I’m ninety-nine, young lady.”

Luke laughed, and then the phone at his waist rang. He looked at it. “Damn, it’s Barbara.” He pushed a button and spoke into it for a few seconds. “Yes. Room 172.”

He ended the call and shook his head. “She just happened to drop by and wanted to know where I was.” Half the time the Barracuda acted more like a jealous girlfriend than Luke’s boss. She got irritated when he talked with women his own age during work hours. She lectured him on appropriate workplace behavior, but she didn’t seem to mind if he chatted or joked with male guests.

“I bet she did,” Mrs. T. said. “Never saw a married woman make such a fool of herself.”

Luke laughed and winked at me. “I think maybe she thought I was with you.”

I exchanged a glance with Mrs. T. and then spoke to Luke. “But you
are
with me.”

“Yeah,” Luke said, “But I’m not, like, in your room. I’m helping Mrs. T.” He paused and then swore. “She said she was coming down here.”

Luke and I stared at each other with something bordering on panic, but then Mrs. T. snapped us both out of it. She turned to me and said, “What are you waiting for, girl? Go hide in the shower!”

* * *

That next Friday, I stayed at work later than I’d meant to. It’d been a really long day, and just as I was finally gathering my things to go home, Mr. Grant had shown up with a long list of complaints about the dining hall. That was surprising. I ate with the residents a few times a week, and the food was pretty good. As I listened patiently to his complaints, it became clearer what the real issue was.

“And then yesterday,” he continued, “my roast beef was so rare that it could have walked off the plate. And the ladies at the table next to mine, their chicken looked bone dry. They didn’t really notice, they were too busy talking and laughing. But I noticed. And this morning, my toast was burnt. Every time I picked it up, black crumbs fell all over my newspaper. And the guys at the next table, the ones who play poker after dinner, had very runny eggs.”

I gently stopped him. “I’m really sorry this happened, Mr. Grant. Maybe on Monday, I could eat lunch with you and you could show me the food?”

“Oh. Yeah, I guess I could do that.”

“And maybe Mrs. Stinson and Miss O’Leary could join us. Have you met them? Mrs. Stinson’s a great cook, and Miss O’Leary used to work in the restaurant industry, so you can ask their views of the food. You’ll have a lot to talk about.”

He left much happier than when he arrived. I certainly understood his unspoken desire to share mealtimes with others. I hated eating in my room by myself on nights that Luke wasn’t at the hotel. Meals were much more fun with friends, and I was pretty sure Mr. Grant would like the women I was going to introduce him to on Monday. Plus, they’d probably defend the food around this place, which would be a bonus.

I wished that all of the residents’ problems could be resolved that easily. Also, I hoped that next time he was upset, he’d come find me a little earlier in the day. I was anxious to start my weekend. And, okay, I could admit it—anxious to see Luke. I’d already planned what I’d change into, and how I’d fix my hair. Not that it was a date. I knew that, and I dutifully answered “Not tonight,” when John asked me if I had a hot date on my way out the door.

* * *

A half dozen guests crowded around the front desk when I got to the hotel, so I decided to take my time. I took a shower, brushed my hair, and put on a rose-colored, scoop neck sweater and my favorite jeans. And just for the hell of it, I slipped into some sexy sandals with a three-inch heel. Luke was tall enough for that. Not that it mattered since we spent so much time separated by a counter.

It was after nine by the time I caught him alone. He looked tired when I approached, but his eyes lit up. At least I thought they did. At least I
hoped
they did.
 

“Chicago-style deep dish pizza?” he said, which was not his usual greeting. “Please say ‘yes.’ I’ve been craving it all day.”

“Yessss,” I said, dragging the syllable out. “But I hate to break it to you that we’re not in Chicago.”

“Never fear—I know a place. What do you want on it?”

I knew the proper answer when sharing a pizza with a guy. “Pepperoni.”

“You’re perfect,” he said, and fortunately he was too busy dialing to notice my involuntary smile. By the time he’d finished ordering, I’d managed to wipe it off my face. Mostly. “It’s going to be over an hour.”

I looked at the large clock on the wall behind him. That would make it well after his shift ended. “Can you stay that late?”

“Of course, dummy. I don’t turn into a pumpkin after ten.” He grinned when he said it, but then his face fell. “Shit, I forgot.”

“Forgot what?”

“I was thinking earlier that maybe we should cool it on eating in the office in the evenings. For a little while. Barbara said she’s been getting some complaints.”

“From who?” I couldn’t imagine anyone complaining about our sharing a meal together.

“It’s total BS, I know. But she’s been on the warpath lately. Telling me I have to maintain a professional distance with the guests, especially young women. Professional! Half the time she’s around me, her boobs are practically falling out of her dress.”

It took a little effort, but I managed to put that disturbing image out of my mind. “Do you think she knows how much we hang out?” A new thought occurred to me. “Are there cameras in the lobby?”

I looked around, but he shook his head. “She’s like this in the daytime, too. Always finding an excuse to interrupt when I’m dealing with female guests she thinks are more attractive than her. Which is pretty much all of them, given her personality,” he said, making me feel better.

“Have you thought about looking for another job?”

“Yeah, I’ve looked a little, but I haven’t found much. At least this job has evening hours so that I can go to class during the day. A lot of the jobs out there won’t guarantee regular hours. And it does pay my tuition. I think the owner probably gives me a little extra combat pay for putting up with her.”

He looked so bummed out that I made a snap decision. “How about we eat in my room?”

“Your room?” Luke echoed, his eyebrows raised.

“Yeah,” I said. But then I felt a little embarrassed. The absolute last thing I wanted to do was to remind him of someone like Barbara. But there was no going back on it now. “We could watch pizza and eat a movie.”

I replayed that sentence in my head and felt my face flush. Luke laughed, and after a few moments of pure mortification, I did too.

“Sounds like a plan,” he said.

 
* * *

I straightened up the clothes I’d left out and neatened the toiletries in the bathroom. This would be his first visit to my room, and I wanted it to look nice. But that was a stupid thought. All of the rooms were the same, so he’d seen rooms like mine plenty of times. Still, I couldn’t help fussing with everything, including my hair and makeup. By the time he knocked on the door, I was a nervous wreck.

My senses went into overload as a hot man with a hot pizza entered the room. Both looked delicious to me, but the pizza had a slight edge because its yummy scent reached me first.

Luke set it on the small two-person table by the tiny kitchenette. As I got plates, he asked, “Did you find a movie?”

“Yeah.” I picked up the remote and turned on a premium channel. A popular action flick from last year had just started.

“Excellent,” Luke said, “except …”

I followed his gaze and his train of thought. If we sat at the table, we’d never be able to see the TV.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, heading fort he door.
 

After he left, I did my best to scoop out two slices of thick, deep dish pizza with a regular fork and table knife. How could so much cheese fit onto the crust? And why was the crust yellow? Chicago was a strange place.

There was a quick knock and then Luke came in, holding at least four pillows. He piled them on top of the others on the queen-size bed, and it was only then that I saw he had two bottles of beer. “We have a secret stash in the main office,” Luke explained. “For emergencies.”

We awkwardly settled on the bed, setting our plates on big, fluffy pillows. I used a fork to cut through what seemed like an inch of molten cheese. It was going to be messy—too bad the little kitchenette didn’t have better utensils. My kitchen stuff was all in storage.

I took a bite and … wow. It was sinfully delicious. “Remind me to go to Chicago ASAP.”

“Will do,” Luke said after swallowing a large bite and sighing in satisfaction. “I told you this place was good. Only one in town that has an authentic cornmeal crust.”

“All the places you order from are good—except I’m still holding out for Lithuanian takeout.”

“If there was a Lithuanian place within a fifty-mile radius, I’d know about it. Finding good takeout is my superpower. Well, it’s one of them anyway.”

I glanced at him sideways. “What are the other ones?”

“I’m hoping you’ll find out sometime.”

I was kind of hoping I would, too.

Chapter Three

I ONLY MANAGED to eat a slice and a half. Honestly, I wasn’t trying to fake a ladylike appetite in front of Luke. He’d seen me chow down on many kinds of food. But the pizza was just so filling.
 

 
Luke finished three slices as well as his beer. I went to the kitchenette and looked around. It definitely wasn’t stocked for hosting, but I was able to offer him soda or red wine. He chose the wine, and he cleared away the plates as I removed the cork.
 

I poured two glasses, embarrassed that all I could find in the cabinet were two standard-issue juice glasses. I brought them over to the bed, which seemed more intimate now that it was a bed again, not a makeshift table.