Flame by Erin Noelle

Author:Erin Noelle [Noelle, Erin]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Flame
Published: 2015-08-06T07:00:00+00:00

THURSDAY, JUNE 21

“I DIDN’T THINK GUNNER WAS being serious about getting a hotel,” I confess to Emilia, thanking the valet attendant for holding the door open as I slide out of the front seat of the Suburban. Following her up the front steps to the Adolphus Hotel in downtown Dallas, I dare to ask, “Is it really because I’m too loud in bed?”

Shaking her head with a snort of a laugh, she waits for me to catch up before going inside. “No, silly. This stay was already planned. We’ll be here tonight and tomorrow night. Shows both nights, plus two public appearances for the guys tomorrow afternoon. We’re back on the bus Saturday morning for Austin and Houston, and then once we land in New Orleans next Wednesday, the last five nights will be in a hotel. That’s when things will get crazy. Radio shows, interviews, parties, you name it. It’ll all start running together.”

“I’ll go wherever you tell me,” I reply with an unconcerned shrug and an easygoing grin. It already was all running together. “You know I’m not big on the schedule. I didn’t even know we were in Dallas until we passed a billboard back there that said so. I’m just along for the ride. ”

“And the sex,” she teasingly adds as we enter the air-conditioned lobby. “I know you love the sex.”

Naturally, at that exact moment, all other noise in the room fades out and her last comment echoes loudly through the regally decorated space. I know you love the sex . . . love the sex . . . love the sex . . .

The bald doorman, the cute young guy behind the front desk, the elderly couple waiting by a pillar, and a few other stragglers in the vicinity all stop what they’re doing and stare directly at us—two young girls in cut-off shorts and flowy tank tops, sunglasses pushed up on our heads, and flip-flops on our feet. And now they all know I love the sex.

Doubt I’ll shake that label before we check out.

Not surprisingly, all the male staff is suddenly eager to assist us, and before I know it, we’ve each got a glass of wine in our hands as Kelvin—according to his fancy nametag—whisks us away for a guided tour of the Dallas landmark on the way to our rooms. Stories of poorly dressed American presidents being refused entry to the restaurant, room service mix-ups with British royalty, and opulent tapestries worth more than mansions fill up the walls of the completely-over-the-top-but-still-cool-as-shit historic hotel. It doesn’t really strike me as a place Levi and Gunner would want to stay—a little stuffy and stately for guys who play in the dirt all day. But what in the hell do I know? I’m chill with whatever.

At the end of the tour, Kelvin delivers us outside our neighboring doors on the sixth floor and gives us the standard hotel spiel. “Ladies, your luggage has already been delivered inside your rooms. If you have

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