7 - Hotel Hoppin'

Lilah thanked the taxi driver who unloaded her suitcases in front of Dublin’s Four Seasons hotel.  “Don’ ya need some help with those bags?  They’re awfully big for the likes of you.”

The older gentleman was being very considerate, but she’d hoisted those suitcases through a forgotten number of airports, train stations and hotels in the past month.  From this curb to the room that waited upstairs was nothing. 

If she had been worried about hauling around her luggage, she would’ve just stayed at the Burlington for the rest of the week.  It was more fun to be in a different hotel every couple of days.  The way each was the same, yet different, intrigued her.  Each new hotel was a new adventure.

You’ve got to be one of the most boring people in the world.

She offered him a reassuring nod and confident, “That’s okay, I can get ‘em.  Thank you.”  Affixing the strap that would piggy-back her two suitcases together, Lilah hoisted her purse and laptop bag onto her shoulder and wheeled through the hotel’s main entrance. 

Before she could make it through the doorway, the sound of a motorcycle pulling up to the curb caught her attention, and she glanced over her shoulder.

Lilah knew almost nothing about motorcycles, and had been on the back of exactly one, as a teenage girl.  It scared the bejesus out of her.

However, now, as a mature woman, she had a developed more of an appreciation for them.  For example, she did know that the piece of machinery at the curb looked amazing between the denim-covered thighs of the man riding it.  Black leather jacket, biker boots and a shiny black helmet all complemented the metallic black beast, and gave both man and machine an air of danger. 

Bad boys on bikes had become a secret fascination for her, mostly because of the theory she’d been developing in her mind.

From her observations, men who rode such masculine contraptions fit into three categories:  The first category was the most overpopulated one, in her opinion.  Those who needed the motorcycle to help them look cool, be younger or feel good about themselves.  Second were the ones who rode the ‘crotch rockets’, or racing bikes.  Those were just punk kids for the most part, and she didn’t waste too much time speculating on their reasons for riding. 

Then there was that third group of men – the rarer ones who fascinated her the most.  Those were the guys for whom the bike was a natural extension of their persona.  They were confident, yet not egotistical; capable, yet not overbearing.  She would guess that most of them had a wild streak that ran deep, but time had taught them to harness that streak.  You could still catch glimpses of it below the surface, but it was held in reserve until the situation called for it – the protection of a loved one, a lesson in manners taught to those who needed it, or an unbridled passion in the bedroom.

Or at least that was her current Cinderella fantasy about biker boys.   

She turned away before the biker dismounted.  There was no need to study him any longer.  The way he comfortably sat astride his ride told her at a glance that he was a Category Three. 

Rolling her luggage the front doors of the Four Seasons, Lilah thought absently, Maybe I could explore my theory this week.  That would give me something to do.

“Welcome to the Four Seasons, Dublin,” the pretty young girl at the reception desk greeted Lilah. Her name badge identified her as Colleen.

“Thank you.  I have a reservation for Bennett.”  She kept her leg against the biggest suitcase, knowing that she hadn’t packed it very evenly and it might well tip over.

Colleen checked her computer and lifted her elfin chin with a pre-programmed customer service smile.  “Aye, Ms. Bennett.  I see that we’re expectin’ ya to check in at three o’clock.  We’ve been at full-capac’ty  with the concerts at RDS th’ last two nights, so I’m afraid yer room hasn’t been done up yet.  I do apologize, but our housekeepin’ staff is a wee bit overloaded.  It likely won’t be ready until the stroke of three.”

It wasn’t exactly a shock to Lilah.  She’d known in her bones that the room wasn’t going to be ready, and mentally prepared herself for it.

“That’s fine.  Do you have somewhere that I could store my baggage until check-in?”

“Aye, we do.  The bell captain’s desk is right across th’ way…”  she pointed to a desk on the other side of the lobby.  “Tommy will be glad t’take care of yer luggage.”

“Great.  Thank you.”  She whirled her suitcases around without a care, her eyes fixed upon the bell desk.  Her single-minded focus earned her a near-collision with the man who had been riding the motorcycle.  Her nose was mere inches away from his black leather bicep when she got the heels of her tennis shoes dug into the floor tile.  “Oh shoot!  Excuse …”

The rest of her apology faded away as she looked up into the man’s face.  Hell if it wasn’t Tony Bongiovi.

That’s not one sign but two, Lilah Jane!  The motorcycle and then the hotel!

Gone were his regular glasses, replaced by what she assumed were prescription sunglasses.  They wrapped around his eyes so that she couldn’t read his expression, but his eyebrow still managed to find its way over their rim.

“Checkin’ in or out?”

The leather jacket had her near to speechless.  Black leather jackets looked good on any man, but this particular fella was born to wear black leather. 

Definitely a Category Three.

“In.”

“Of course you are,” he mumbled shaking his head with a bemused twist of his lips.  “How did you find me?”

He thought she was following him.  Lilah could hardly fault him for it since, if she had known where he was staying, she would have.

“I didn’t.”  She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling and cocked her head to the side.  If she hadn’t found him, he wouldn’t be standing here.  “I mean, I guess obviously I did, but it was sheer accident.  I made reservations months ago.”

“Really?” 

“Yes, really,” she declared firmly, with a piqued wrinkle of her nose.  There were a lot of things you could call Lilah and she wouldn’t flinch, but a liar wasn’t one of them.  “I’m staying in Dublin until the next show.  The Burlington is nice, but I like to hotel hop.”

Tony took  a quick glance over her bright blue University of Kentucky sweatshirt, fitted jeans and tennis shoes.  She wasn’t wearing much makeup, if any, and her hair was tied back in a ponytail.  Too casual for a planned stalking, he thought, before noticing the lack of key or paperwork in her hand.  “Kinda hard to check in without a key isn’t it?”

“My room isn’t ready.  It’s being cleaned.”

What would be the chances of her ending up on his floor?  Tony hadn’t had a real reason to go back home, but Rew and the rest of the senior crew who had been staying in the rooms around his had all gone home for the break.  He, Jon and Dot were the only Bon Jovi stragglers left in the hotel, and they would be there for a few more days.  At least until Jon got well enough to travel.

“Makes it even harder to check in.”

Her shoulders relaxed from their defensive posture and her mouth curled up a little at the edges.  “Yeah, it does.  Uh…  I’m glad I ran into you.  I asked Jon about going backstage with you.”

Tony slid his sunglasses to the top of his head.  Seeing as they were only a few feet apart, he could clearly make out her face, but everything beyond her was blurry. 

“I heard.”

“You… don’t seem happy about it.”

Happy?  Not particularly, but he wasn’t pissed either.  Resigned to his fate was more accurate.  Tony could get along with pretty much anybody.  He just had to talk himself into it.

“I’m fine.  A little surprised that you pulled it off, is all.”

His gaze flicked around the lobby a little restlessly.  He didn’t really see much without his glasses on, but he was in dire search of a distraction.  If he continued to stare at her, he’d be forced into acknowledging that he was curious to spend some time with her.  To see if she got any flakier, or was just the slightly awkward woman she appeared to be.

“Me, too,” she admitted ruefully, and then cocked her head again, this time with a funny look on her face.  “Tony?”

He stilled his shifting eyes and risked taking a look into hers.  “Yeah?”

She didn’t say anything for the longest time, just stared at him.  Right about the time he was ready to ask again what she wanted, Lilah observed quietly, “You look like you need to escape.”

Lilah Bennett was too fucking perceptive with those all-seeing eyes of hers.

He’d been cooped up in a hospital since early this morning.  Jon’s surgery had gone well, but the confinement and waiting had taken their toll on Tony, making him antsy.  It’s what had driven him to stop by Celtic Riders and rent the Harley for a couple of days.  The rumble of a bike between his thighs and the hum of the pavement could always be counted on to settle him.

He would be out in the Irish countryside right now if he hadn’t swung by the hotel for one of his cameras. 

“I won’t keep you,” she continued, pushing a polka-dotted laptop bag further up onto her shoulder.  “Could you just leave a message for me at the desk as to how and when to find you before the next show?”

Really?  The pit bull is going to drop it that quick because she thinks I need to ‘escape’?

Lilah smiled gently as she bent for the handle of her suitcase and tipped it onto its wheels. “I know you’re surprised, considering what a pain the ass I’ve been, but it really is that easy to get rid of me.”  Rolling toward the bell desk, she offered a gentle, “Have a good afternoon,” over her shoulder, and left him standing alone in the Four Seasons lobby.

Tony would be hard put to explain the funky feeling he had.  The restlessness had just multiplied, but his feet were rooted to the floor as he watched her offer the bell captain a friendly smile and sweet Southern, “Hi.”  They continued to stay glued to the marble lobby tile while she transferred custody of her belongings and got her claim ticket. 

After thanking the man, she turned away from the desk, clearly surprised to find him still standing there.  Hell, for that matter, so was he.  

“Is something wrong?”

Ignoring her gently concerned question was easier than figuring out the answer.  “How long until your room is ready?”

“Two or three hours,” she speculated with a little crease of confusion between  her eyebrows.  “Why?”

Another question he chose to ignore.

“What are you going to do until then?”

Lilah shrugged the shoulder that still held her laptop bag.  “Find a quiet corner and surf the Internet.”

There was no rhyme or reason for what he was about to do.  Maybe it was to find out if the woman who was going to invade his work space was psycho.  Maybe it was because she looked resigned to solitude, and he felt a little sorry for her.  Maybe it was any one of a dozen other things. 

The bottom line was that there was something about her – something weird, yet kind of intriguing, and it compelled him to ask, “Have you ever seen the Irish countryside from the back of a Harley?”

Next post: Wednesday, October 17