The trip to the hotel is quiet. Things will be rocky until we find our way again. I’ll always be wary and fucking suspicious of anyone who even breathes her way after all that’s happened. It’s my duty to protect my girlfriend. I failed once and I sure as hell am not ever letting that happen again.
We pull up to the front of the hotel. It’s swanky enough that a valet clerk greets us. “Good afternoon. Would you like us to park your vehicle while you check in?”
The clerk brings over a cart and we load our things up. Baylee remains all but mute with her eyes downcast. I shouldn’t have flipped the fuck out at the department store—I know this—but I was pissed. That fucker, gay or not, was touching her. I’m responsible for her now and that means protecting her from everyone.
“Come on,” I tell her and pat her bottom as we walk into the hotel. The lobby is all brick on the inside but with an elegant, modern décor to give it a rustic yet restored feel. There aren’t hotels like this back in Oakland and I’m eager to spend some alone time here with my girl.
Baylee walks off to stare at a painting on the wall. It’s of the ocean. I’ll have to take her to the beach soon. Her shoulders have relaxed and she seems much calmer than she was in the truck where she looked like she wanted to rip my head off.
“Do you have a reservation, sir?” the slender woman at the counter asks.
She’s pretty, her blonde hair pulled back in some up-do thing. Red paints her lips making her look like a whore. An expensive one but still a whore. She doesn’t compare one iota to Baylee’s natural beauty. Upon making eye contact, she frowns. Her eyes skitter over my young, boyish face and she predetermines I can’t afford her pricey hotel. It’s written all over her face and it annoys me. I flash her an easy grin, despite my irritation, which causes her to smile back. Truth is, I’d love to throw wads of hundred dollar bills in her face but I can’t be an arrogant asshole. I need her help.
“Actually, no,” I say sadly, “but I really want to surprise my girlfriend with something fancy. This is her birthday present.”
The girl’s lips press into a firm line when she glances over to see Baylee, looking stunning as hell in her simple yoga pants and my hoodie. I’m sure she’s working out a way to nicely tell me no.
“I see,” she says softly and taps at the computer. “Unfortunately, sir, it appears we’re booked.” And there it is.
I raise an annoyed eyebrow at her in question but then quickly pull my lips into a frown, doing my best to give her the puppy dog look. It must work because she has the sense to look embarrassed and her cheeks turn pink. Do whores even blush?
“You don’t have anything available?”
She chews on her red lip. “Well,” she lowers her voice. “We have one of the VIP suites we keep open for emergencies. But it’s pricey, sir.”
I smirk at her. “I can handle it, miss.”
“Umm,” she says and then sighs, “it’s two thousand dollars a night.”
“Two thousand a night!” Baylee hisses as she approaches. “I thought you didn’t have any money! No, Brandon, we’re going to the Holiday Inn.”
A growl escapes me, startling both the women. I yank out my wallet and slap my credit card down on the granite countertop. “Book us for the week. The suite.”
The suite is huge and overlooks Fisherman’s Wharf, which is bustling with evening activity. There’s a crab restaurant that I want to take her to and maybe take her to one of the shops after to buy her an engagement ring.
The thought of sliding a pretty diamond on her slender finger sends a ripple of excitement through me. This is it. I always knew I’d marry her—I just assumed it would be after college. But, with us both high school dropouts now, there’s no reason to wait. Who needs college when you’re fucking loaded anyway?
I smirk down at the crowd below before turning to regard Baylee. She’s sitting on the small sofa in the suite with her purse in her lap. Her eyes aren’t roaming the beautiful space or gushing about how fucking cool it is. Instead, she’s wringing her hands together.
“What’s wrong? Do you not like it here?” I question and saunter over to her.
She flinches when I sit down beside her on the couch and just like every time before—which there have now been several—it irritates me. Everything I do is for her. All of it. If only she knew the things I’ve gone through. Endured. The things I’ve done. The dark paths I’ve taken.