Page 34 of The Perils of Paulie
“Looks like we’re the last people,” I said, noting the cars already parked.
“Second to last. I think the Italian team is still behind us. At least, I haven’t seen them pass us.” Melody collected her things and left the car.
I stretched, greeted the woman who came over to take the car’s flat key, and asked if we were second to last.
“I’m afraid so,” the crew member said, giving me a cheerful smile. “But don’t worry—it’s only the first day, and you have a long way to go. You can make it up.”
“True that.” I chatted for a few minutes more, then went to find my hotel room. On my way there, a white car pulled into a parking spot ahead of me. I wouldn’t have noticed it except for the fact that, as I approached, the person inside the car ducked down. I caught the movement out of the corner of my eye as I was about to round the corner to the hotel’s lobby and paused to glance back.
A bald head bobbed up, saw me standing still, and disappeared again.
“He didn’t! Dad, this time you have gone too far!” Anger fired inside me at the sight of that bald head. Quickly, I walked to the car and wrenched the door open, saying as I did, “Boris, so help me god, if you think I was kidding when I said I’d tell the producers you were stalking—oh. Uh...”
A man sat up, a bald man to be true, but this one was most definitely not my father’s henchman.
One of his black eyebrows rose in question.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” I said, stammering a little when my words tumbled over one another in their haste to apologize. “I thought you were someone else. I’m so,so sorry. I’ll just shut your door now, all right? You can go back to... er... whatever it is you were doing bent over like that.”
I closed the car door and, with flaming cheeks, marched into the lobby, cursing myself under my breath, which continued mentally while I collected my room key, was informed that there would be a meeting the following morning at seven a.m. before the day’s racing started, and took the elevator to the fourth floor, where the production company had reserved the entire floor for racers and crew.
“What room are you in?” Melody asked, an empty ice bucket in her hand as she came toward me, clearly on her way to the ice machine.
I looked at the plastic key card in my hand. “Four thirty-eight.”
“Oh, good. I’m across the hall from you. Take a left at the end of this hallway. I’m just getting some ice for some cold drinks with the French team. You’re welcome to join us.”
“Sounds awesome, but first I’m going to get out of this corset and then take a long, cool shower. I may join you later, if that’s OK.”
“Absolutely. I’m going to hop in the shower as well. I feel all gritty from the open car.” She gave me a smile and tapped her chest. “There’s one benefit to being the bluestocking character, and that’s the fact that my corset is the Rational style, and not at all bad to wear.”
I wiggled my shoulders uncomfortably and continued my way down the corridor, saying as I left, “I sure wish I’d had the presence of mind to claim that character. This thing is ghastly.”
“I’ll lace you up tomorrow if you like,” she called after me. “And I’ll do it looser than wardrobe did for you this morning.”
“Just so I fit into the pretty clothes.” I toddled on to my room, immediately switching on the air-conditioning, pleased to see that my suitcase had been delivered by the production company. In addition, a wicker basket sat on the bed, as well as a large round hatbox. One of the production assistants handled mending and spot cleaning as needed, but for the most part we were expected to take care of our outfits ourselves. With the exception of our underclothes, which were collected every three days and returned to us laundered.
I removed the lace shirt and tried desperately to reach the cords of my corset, tied in such a way that I was supposed to be able to undo it myself (Melody and I had already agreed to be corset buddies and lace each other up in the morning), but I couldn’t get my arms twisted around to untie the laces.
“Dammit,” I muttered, spinning around to try to get at them. After five frustrating minutes, I gave up and peeked out into the hallway. It was empty, but there were two doors across from me, neither of which was directly opposite me. I frowned at them, hesitated, then figured that, even if I got the room that wasn’t inhabited by Melody, whoever was there would be able to help me.
I tapped at the door just as a man came around the corner. It was the bald man from the car. He stopped, gave me a hard stare, then did an about-face and returned the way he came.
“Well, that’s odd,” I said aloud.
“What is? It couldn’t be the fact that you’re all but baring your breasts to me, could it?”
The door had opened while I was staring after the odd man, revealing Dixon in a pair of jeans and an open shirt. I stared at his naked chest for a moment, all thoughts fleeing my brain except for the wonder and awe at how gorgeous his chest was.
“Paulie?” he asked.
“Hmm?” Really, he had the nicest chest I’d ever seen on a man. He wasn’t smooth shaved, but wasn’t hugely hairy, either. He had a nice light dusting of reddish brown hair across his pectorals, sweeping down in a line to his belly button. He had the faintest hint of a six-pack, not ripped like someone who spent hours at a gym but enough definition that my fingers itched to stroke down the silky line of hair. I took a deep breath, curling my fingers into fists in order to keep from reaching out and touching his chest.
“Don’t do that,” he said, his voice kind of rough.
“Do what?” I asked, wrenching my gaze from his chest to his face.
“Take deep breaths.” He closed his eyes for a second. “It... does things.”
