Back at the hotel I went and checked the suite to see if there was anyone hanging around. Apparently I had just missed Louis and the video of that night’s show. Carynne and Bart and Michelle were still there. I could hear Digger’s voice through a closed door, like he was on the phone with someone.
I didn’t see Chris. “Everything okay?” I asked, sitting down on a leather couch. It creaked under me.
“Yep,” Carynne said. “So far anyway.”
I raised my eyebrows at her and didn’t have to ask specifically.
“Chris is already in bed,” she said. “If you can believe that.”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Not really. But I believe him this time, anyway.” She shrugged. “Right now, he seems more embarrassed about falling off the wagon than anything else.”
“How’d the video look?”
“Good,” she said at the same time as Bart.
Bart added, “They did a bit extra with the lights here, knowing we’d be two days with the same rig and they had extra time to set up.”
“I will admit, I didn’t really notice from the stage,” I said, leaning forward on my knees.
“I did a teensy bit, but it’s mostly stuff for the audience to see, you know.”
“I suppose that makes sense. Did it sound okay to you? It felt a little flat.”
“It was fine, Daron,” he said with a yawn. “Really.”
“Okay. I’ll hold off worrying about it for another day.”
A knock came at the door then. Carynne opened it. “Oh.” She sounded surprised. “Um, put it by the table, I guess.”
The cute caterer I’d flirted with yesterday came in carrying one of those ice buckets with a built in stand. In it was perched a bottle of champagne.
He caught my eye as he crossed the room. Okay, caught isn’t the right word. He was giving me the eye.
He set the thing down and turned to Carynne. “Would you like it, um, popped?” he asked.
“Um, no thanks, we’ll do it. Do I need to sign for it?” she asked, still looking confused.
“No no,” he said. “It’s paid for.”
“Who is it from?” she demanded.
“A secret admirer,” he said, and then fussed with the napkin that was threaded around the handles of the thing. “It’s… not uncommon.”
But he blushed when he said it. Or maybe he was blushing because of the way I was staring back at him. I don’t know. It gets kind of fuzzy after that.
I do remember trying to wait a sufficient amount of time so as not to seem suspicious. I do remember being anxious I waited too long.
I do remember being half-breathless when I reached the little bend of the elevator lobby and saw him waiting there.
I wanted to ask why he changed his mind. I wanted to know what was different. But he just held my gaze and pushed the button on the elevator.
We got in together. I wondered if he expected me to make a move right then? He had that sort of forced casual look. I wondered if that was what I looked like when I tried to pretend I was unconcerned.
I followed him out a few doors below. We went to a room and he tried a key, then cursed under his breath and pulled out another one, and then the door opened.
A regular hotel room, unoccupied, beds freshly made.
I finally spoke. “Who’s room is this?”
“No one’s,” he said as he turned to me. “Brilliant, no?”
“Sure,” I said, still trying to figure out how to work up to the questions I was supposed to ask, about whether we were safe to do this in other ways. But his hands were on my fly then.
He sucked me off with me pressed against the full-length mirror on the wall, tugging my jeans down just enough so he could get a hand between my legs to play with my balls.
He was good. In my memory he made it last and yet he got me there with ease. My brain was completely locked up by that point, so much so that I couldn’t even freak out about what might happen next.
What happened after I came was I looked down and discovered he’d put a condom onto me and I hadn’t even realized it. You’d think I’d drunk that bottle of champagne first.
He steered me to the edge of the bed, which was good, because my legs were pretty much jelly, and then got a damp washcloth and cleaned me up. He then returned to the bathroom and returned without the cloth.
“I thought you could lose your job,” I finally said.
He leaned over and kissed me on the forehead, with a smile, the way you would kiss a precocious child. “You don’t even remember my name, I bet,” he said.
I thought it might be Michael, but I wasn’t sure. I might have been making that up. He just smiled like I’d proved his point when I didn’t protest right away.
“Thanks,” he said. “I’ve got to go now.” He moved toward the door.
I stood. “What? I mean–yeah, I mean ‘what.'” I shook my head. “You don’t want a turn?”
He shook his head.
“You’re sure? I should be the one thanking you, don’t you think?”
He chuckled. “You’re very welcome, and I mean that.” He wiped his mouth with an exaggerated motion of the back of his hand.
“I’m serious,” I said, trying to figure out how to explain it. “I’m not one of these self-centered celebrity types. I would be happy to get you off.”
He just shook his head again, slowly. “And I’m not your lover,” he said. “This was plenty, thanks. Have a good trip.”
And with that he was out the door, giving me one last wave after it closed behind him.
I waited what seemed like a reasonable amount of time before leaving myself, to be sure we wouldn’t end up waiting for the elevator together. As disquieting as the situation might have been, he seemed happy. And my dick was happy. I hadn’t even jerked off in two or three days, plus getting off with the help of another person always made me feel more relaxed than just doing it myself.
Wouldn’t you know it, I slept well.