Love Me Sweet (A Bell Harbor Novel) (15 page)

“I got loads of patience, yeah? And everyone knows I am skillful with my fingers. You got any extra needles?”

Delaney chuckled. “Um, sorry, no. I have lots of yarn but only these needles.”

“I can fix that.” Humphrey grinned. He stood and went to one of the bags lying on a spare bunk and rifled around in it for a minute. “How about these?” He stepped toward them again, whipping out drumsticks from behind his back.

Snickering circled the bus. “Nice going, MacGyver,” Reggie said, then he tilted his chin at Finch. “Grab another pair of those. I challenge you, bro.”

“To what?” Finch arched a ginger brow.

“A knitting contest, yeah? This blizzard ain’t going anywhere and we got hours to kill before we get to the hotel. I challenge you. Honeybun here gets to be the final judge, and she’ll decide which one of us makes the best fucking baby hat north of Tennessee. You man enough to take me on?”

“You want me to knit. On drumsticks. Baby hats.”

“I’m in,” Humphrey said, going back and grabbing four more sticks. “How about you, Mr. Cameraman. You want to knit?”

Grant shook his head. “I’m more of an observer. Maybe I could just film the rest of you with my phone.”

A tremor went through Delaney at the suggestion. No filming. Not her. She pulled her bangs down.

“Shit, yeah. Film us,” Reggie said, bouncing a little on his seat. “A roadie documentary. We can post it to the band’s Facebook page. Like,
look at us doing good
. Think the chicks will dig that? Think these baby hats will score us some honeys?”

“The chicks will totally dig it,” Humphrey said.

“I’m in,” declared Finch.

And thus began the Paradise Brothers Best Fucking Baby Hat Competition.

Chapter 15

GOD ALMIGHTY, GRANT WAS GLAD
to be climbing off of that Paradise Brothers tour bus. He was grateful for their hospitality, but the only thing more boring than knitting was filming someone knitting. And one more hour of listening to Reggie’s inane stories, followed by another night of lying next to Elaine without closing the deal, was going to give him a stroke—and not the kind of stroke he was looking for. It was close to eight o’clock in the evening when they pulled into Memphis, but at last, they’d arrived.

The lobby of the Heartbreak Hotel was like a 1960s movie set on psychedelic drugs. The walls were a purply blue. Red velvet curtains trimmed with gold fringe hung from fifteen-foot windows, and asymmetrical sofas of gold and silver filled up the area along with zebra-fur chairs. And perhaps not surprisingly, the lobby was chock-full of Elvis. Impersonators, that is, maybe thirty in all, wandering around, chatting in groups, or talking on cell phones. There was something inherently odd about seeing Elvis on a cell phone, but Grant’s brain was too tired to process the incongruity. All he wanted right now was a room with a view—a view of Elaine on the bed. He was making assumptions, of course. She might not share a room with him, but last night’s bout of restless dick syndrome made him hope against hope she’d be amenable to the idea.

Reggie walked in through the double lobby doors with a big duffel bag over his shoulder and did a slow 360 turn, pointing with his index finger. His lips moved as he counted. Then he looked back at Finch.

“Am I stoned right now? Did we get high on the bus and I just don’t remember, or does everybody else see a room full of Elvises?”

“I don’t see any,” said Humphrey.

“Me neither,” said Finch.

But Sammy pointed to the poster near the door. “That might have something to do with it.”

A bright red-and-pink sign with rhinestone letters sat on an easel by the front door.

This week in the Jungle Room Lounge—

Happy Birthday, Elvis Celebration!

“May I help you?” called out a woman from behind the tall purple counter. She was petite, with a tubular bun on the top of her head that looked like a stem. Not a good look.

Finch stepped around Reggie. “Yes, thanks. We’re the Paradise Brothers, here to check in.”

“Welcome to the Heartbreak Hotel. We’re glad you made it. My apologies for the weather. We’ve never had it so cold here in Memphis. By the way, the other two guests in your party have already checked in.”

“Other two guests?” Elaine asked, glancing at Humphrey.

“Our manager and his wife,” he answered. “Sissy won’t travel on the bus with us no more, not ever since Reggie proved you really can light ass gas on fire.”

Grant chuckled at Elaine’s expression, which was much like the one she’d had when staring at the DNA-encrusted boogie-woogie bed.

“I’m not sure what my manager has reserved,” Finch said to the desk clerk, “but do you happen to have another room available? We picked up a few strays on the road.”

Grant stepped up to the counter as the desk clerk shook her head.

“Mm, I’m sorry. I don’t think so. It’s Elvis’s birthday weekend and we’ve been sold out for months, but we may have some cancellations due to the weather. Let me check.” Her fingers flew over the keyboard, clickity-clack. “No, I’m sorry. There’s nothing right now.”

“Well, in that case, how many people can our rooms handle?”

Her fingers clacked some more.

“It looks like you have a couple of our themed rooms. Let me see. The Graceland Suite has a king bed in a private bedroom and there’s two sofas. The Burning Love Suite has a private king room, a sofa, and a chaise lounge. I’m afraid we’re out of roll-away beds, though. Several of our departing guests have added on another night’s stay because of the storm.”

Finch frowned and looked at Grant.

“Don’t worry about it,” Grant said. “We’ll figure something out.” Although he didn’t know what.

“No, no, we’re good,” Finch said. “I’m not sure why Clark got us two suites, but you and Elaine take the Burning Love room and the rest of us will crash in the Graceland. A little whiskey down the hatch and that floor will feel like a feather bed.”

“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that, sir,” interrupted the desk clerk. “Fire safety regulations stipulate we can only allow a certain number of guests in each room. You’ll have to divide up four and four if you want to add guests to your party.” She glanced at Grant. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“No worries,” Finch assured her. He turned to Grant. “Sorry, bro. Looks like you’re stuck with me and Reg tonight, but you can have the bedroom and we’ll take the sofas. Humphrey and Sam can bunk with Clark and Sissy in the other suite.”

This wasn’t the night Grant had planned, but then again, nothing had gone as he’d planned since the first moment Elaine had shown up in his bathroom back in Bell Harbor. “I guess that’ll have to work, but let me pay for the room.”

“Don’t sweat it. It’s a business expense. A tax write-off.”

“I just don’t feel right about that, Finch. You guys have been so generous already. Let me pay for something.”

“I know how you can pay us back, Cameraman,” Reggie said enthusiastically from over Grant’s shoulder. “How about you let me sleep with your woman in the big king bed?”

Elaine chuckled, but it was all Grant could do not to pop him in the jaw. This guy was getting on his last fucking nerve. It must’ve showed in his glare, because Reggie chortled and held his hands up in self-defense. “No? OK, then. Just a suggestion.”

Grant turned back to Finch. “Look, my aunt doesn’t live too far from here, and if I can get ahold of her, we can probably stay there tomorrow, but it’s too late to go over there tonight.”

“Honestly, no worries, man. As long as I can get a hot shower and a cold brewski, I’m good to go.”

They finished checking in, grabbed some luggage and guitars from the bus, and walked to the elevator. A vintage poster commemorating Elvis’s comeback tour hung on the wall. It was a red-and-blue image of the King with a banner across the top.
Elvis ’69.

Reggie pressed his cheek against it and pointed. “You see that, gents? Sixty-nine? I’m going to love it here.”

Five minutes later Delaney stood with Finch, Reggie, and Grant outside their room. The door was painted a rich, deep red, and two overfed cherubs floated above a gold banner. Fancy gold letters declared this to be
The Burning Love Suite
. It even had little hearts dotting some of the letters.

“Burning Love, yeah?” Reggie murmured, elbowing his brother. “Sounds like an STD to me. Let’s see what’s behind door number one.”

Delaney couldn’t help but marvel at the decor as she stepped inside. It matched the tacky charm of the door, with bold, rich colors and shiny gold accents. Grant flipped a switch and a crystal chandelier dangling over a glass-topped dining table scattered glimmers of light around the room. A purple velvet chaise and a red, heart-shaped velvet stool filled one corner. On the other side of that was a dining area, painted white with gold trim, and a pink-and-gold seating area came next, complete with a sky mural painted on the ceiling.

The men walked in and looked around, heads tilting this way and that as they soaked it all in.

“Wow. Very understated,” said Reggie, nodding. “Even the cabinet handles are fat angels.”

“Those are cherubs, you ignoramus,” Finch said.

“What are cherubs?”

“Fat angels.”

Delaney stepped forward through a short hallway into what was a fairly tame-looking bedroom, considering the rest of the decor. Emerald-green velvet curtains and gold satin bedding. She’d be sleeping there next to Grant. With Reggie and Finch right outside the door. She couldn’t decide how she felt about that, or about any of this.

All day she’d waited to hear something from Grant’s aunt, or his mother. She’d checked in with Melody once more but the phone finder app still showed hers as offline, and Melody asked so many questions, she didn’t dare call her again. Carl didn’t have any news either. But he did suggest a sloe gin fizz might be tasty.

Grant walked in behind her. “You OK?”

She nodded. “I’m OK. You?”

He let out a big sigh and scratched a chin in desperate need of a shave. “I’m good, but if that Reggie doesn’t stop coming on to you, I’m going to punch his lights out and he’ll have to try singing with his jaw wired shut.”

Grant didn’t have any jurisdiction over her. It wasn’t his right to make such a jealous declaration, and yet it warmed her through. They were on this adventure together, a team whether they’d intended it to be that way or not. Delaney smiled and stepped nearer, wrapping her arms around his waist. She rested her head against his chest and he pulled her in tight.

“Reggie’s not my type.”

“Good. What’s your type?”

“I don’t know. Whatever you are. Maybe that’s my type.” It was a foolish thing to say. Far too sentimental. She should be stepping back instead of encouraging him. She had enough things to worry about without adding this man to the picture. But he was already in the picture. In fact, he was the only constant she’d had in days. At the moment, he was all she had.

And at this moment, he was enough. She lifted her face up to his and he kissed her lightly.

“Pay no attention to me, kids,” Finch said, coming through the door and stepping around them. “There’s just one slight problem with this room.”

Delaney looked over at him as he walked around to a doorway on the other side of the bed. “Problem?” she asked.

He opened that door and peeked inside. “Yup. Little problem. This here is the only shower in the joint. Looks like Reg and I will have to tiptoe past you lovebirds. No worries, though. We’ve seen a little bit of everything on that bus so nothing you two do could shock us.”

Reggie strolled in next. “We could shower in pairs to speed things up. Elaine, you’re with me.”

She felt Grant start to move in Reggie’s direction but she squeezed him around the middle and he stayed put.

Finch pulled a phone from his pocket. “Hey, Sam just texted me. He says he and Humphrey are heading to the Jungle Room Lounge with Sissy and Clark to get some dinner. They want us to meet them. You guys in?” He glanced at Delaney and Grant. “Sissy is about your size, Elaine. She might have some clothes you could borrow.”

The thought of food and fresh clothes was probably the only thing more appealing than a shower right about now. She and Grant were back in their own original clothes, but she had nothing to sleep in and nothing clean to put on after bathing. Still, food was the first order of business. She looked up at Grant. “Hungry?” she asked.

She could see what he was thinking. He wanted her alone in that room more than he wanted food, but she wasn’t ready for that. As much as she was drawn to him, as much as the idea of a long, hot shower followed by long, hot sex with Grant appealed to her, she had to focus on basic survival first. She needed food and clothes. She needed her phone, her wallet, and her money. And she needed to tell him who she was. She needed to tell him about the sex tape. Then, if he even still wanted her, she could give in to the temptation of Grant.

“I’m hungry,” she added, before he’d had a chance to come up with a reason to say no. “Will you buy me dinner? I seem to have lost my wallet.”