Page 4 of Book Boyfriend
“Let’s just say if Chris Hemsworth had a dark-haired brother, it would have been him.”
“He does have a brother. Two of them. Liam and Luke.”
“No, not Liam, and he was way taller than Luke. A twin then; a dark-haired replica.” How in the hell does sand reach every fricking little crevice?
“I thought you said he wasn’t cute.”
“He wasn’t cute. He was drop dead fucking hotter than fuck.”
I hear her squeal, as I turn off the water and step out of the shower. Just as I’m about to lather on some lotion, there’s a knock at my door. “Hold on, Luna. Someone’s at the door.”
“Take me with you. We’re not done talking.”
I throw on the hotel robe and rush to the peephole. I can see the uniform. It looks like someone who works here. “Can I help you?”
He turns and he’s holding a vase of at least two dozen roses. “I have a delivery for Greer Hanson, room six-fourteen.”
“What did he say? A delivery?” Luna shouts from the table.
“Shh. Hold on a second.”
“No problem, miss. Take your time.”
“No, not you,” I say to the door.
“Not me what?” Luna asks.
I open the door quickly to avoid any more confusion. Shocked isn’t a strong enough word to describe my reaction. “For me? Are you sure?”
“You’re Greer, right?”
I nod and he smiles. He has me sign a little card before I take them. They’re beautiful and fragrant. Each rose is just as perfect as the one next to it. I’ve never ever received flowers like this. It almost makes me blush. I lift a finger to the delivery man. “Hold on a sec.” I rush to find my purse and he stops me.
“Oh no, miss. My tip was covered. Have a great day!”
I close the door behind him and carry the flowers to the table. “Did you do this?” I ask into the air, directing my question to Luna.
“Do what? What did you get?”
“The most beautiful flowers I’ve ever seen.”
“Hell, no. You want flowers from me, write me a damn book. Is there a card?”
I use the back arm of my robe to wipe the trickle of water from my wet hair out of my eye. Then I reach for the card. “Who would send me flowers?” I ask. “It was you, don’t lie.”
“I swear it wasn’t. Open it! Read it out loud.”
Tearing open the paper a little too anxiously, I read, “Greer, I know we just met and this is crazy, but I’d love to see you again. Dinner maybe? Fisher.” I slump down into the chair by the table and re-read the card again. It’s cute in a dorky sort of way. He left his number. What the actual fuck?
“Fisher? Who the hell is Fisher?”
“The guy who knocked me down. He must really have a guilty conscience.”
“Are you for real? Did he leave his number?”
“Yes.”
“Call him!”
