Bootycall

by J. D. Hawkins

  “Chad!”

  Another call comes. He rolls his eyes. “Be right back.” He heads towards the yelling, leaving me alone with an armful of white cotton. The uniform is immaculate, but I'm the champion of attracting bizarre stains. I’m guessing I’ll be covered in spots in five seconds flat.

  My nerves grow. To distract myself, I examine my cuticles and realize just how long it's been since my last manicure. Has it really been since the week of the funeral? Almost six months? No wonder my hands look like someone rubbed them with sandpaper.

  Chad finally returns. He gives me a once-over. “You may have noticed the dress code here is…fancier than some of the mainland hotels. Our clientele is high-end, so they expect the staff to be properly turned out.” His eyes flicker from my sloppy ponytail to my scuffed sneakers.

  I hide my hands behind my back and make a mental note to spend a few extra minutes in front of the mirror tomorrow. “Sorry, I just got in last night,” I flush.

  I may have only been in Miami for 48 hours, but I can already tell what the vibe is like. This is the land of oiled-up, tanned, perfectly polished bodies. If you want to hang with the beautiful people, you have to be on your game. And I've been letting my game go for a long time.

  “I’ll look better tomorrow, I promise,” I add with a grin. “Just give me a night in with some tweezers and I’ll be good to go.”

  Chad nods. “Great, great. And wear this until we get you a real one.” He hands me a badge on a purple lanyard that screams "TEMPORARY PERMIT" in bold, black letters. Great. Now not only am I a big magnet for dirt and all things that leave permanent stains, I'm a walking billboard for "New Girl".

  "You’re on room service today. I'll show you where you need to go."

  As we pass through the kitchen, he throws a warning over his shoulder. "They love to haze. Watch your back, and don't let them tell you newbies get the last lunch break. The last new hire waited until 3pm before saying anything and almost passed out."

  When we get to the room service station, three girls about my age, early twenties, are lounging around talking as an older woman inspects the trays in front of them. They stare me down as Chad leads me over.

  "This is Nicole.” He announces. “She's our new server.” Chad takes off, yelling something into a walkie talkie he pulls from his belt.

  “Hi.” I offer a weak smile.

  They stare me up and down, and again, I get the feeling again that I should have spent more time on my make-up, and less trying to wake up.

  “I’m Nicole,” I introduce myself. “I’m friends with Hailey?”

  They nod at Hailey's name, and all of a sudden all three light up with smiles.

  "I’m Rachel, and this is Vida and Liv,” the tallest one says. “Good to meet you. Hailey's the shit," she adds. "Hooks us up with unclaimed stuff from the lost and found sometimes."

  "Yeah, and always tells us when the celebs get here," Rachel adds.

  "She's the best,” I agree, relaxing. Hailey was always the life of the party in high-school, and it seems like nothing’s changed.

  Liv cracks her gum. “I gotta get this food out to one of the cabanas now, but when we get back, you'll tell us what brings you to Miami."

  "Oh, she'll tell us a story, but not that one, Liv." Rachel grins. "Nikki over here is going to be gushing about Mr. Perfect when she gets back."

  "Lucky girl," Liv groans. "He's seriously yummy. The kind of guy that the word hot doesn't even do justice for."

  “What guy?” I ask. They laugh.

  “You’ll see. Villa five. Take a spare pair of panties, you’ll need them!”

  Rachel hoists a tray full of food and introduces me to Carmen, the cook standing at the stove. She gives me a kind smile, and I return it.

  Rachel sets another tray in front of me, and a map. “Here,” she adds, circling a building. “This place can be hard to navigate. And don’t let the drivers take you the long way around, those punks are liable to take the scenic route and try and get lucky.”

  "Drivers?" I repeat, confused.

  She nods and waves her hand toward French doors that lead outside. "Probably already out there waiting. Can only take you so far, but it's close enough."

  I take a deep breath. "Thank you, Rachel. I'm a little lost in general right now, so I definitely need the help."

  "You’ll find your feet soon enough,” she smiles. “And hey, beats waiting tables on the New Jersey boardwalk, right?”

  #

  Sure enough, a golf cart is waiting for me when I step outside. It's a good thing, too. The tray weighs a ton, and I doubt I could walk and carry the food for long while trying to find my way. A kid named Jack is my driver. He's no more than seventeen and comes across as super shy, so I give him a break and stay quiet on the drive to the villas. We loop behind the golf course to a private glade, and Jack pulls to a stop.

  The foliage is dense and deep green, like a private hideaway, and the air is thick as I make my way down the path to villa five. There’s a note on the door.

  "Please bring room service inside if no answer."

  After no response to my knock, I obey the note and push open the door with my hip, carefully balancing the tray as I take a step up onto the marble floor of the villa.

  “Room service!" I call as I walk in. Then I take a breath.

  Wow.

  The decor is straight out of a design magazine or a photo shoot. The back wall is entirely made of glass, overlooking a sparkling pool and the ocean beyond. Inside, everything is sleek and luxurious: white leather furniture, a glittering modern chandelier, and bold modern art on the walls.

  My arms send a not so gentle reminder to my brain of the tray. I set it down on the chrome and glass coffee table next to a vase with a perfect white orchid. With the extra weight gone, and surrounded by luxury and the view of the private pool in front of me, I feel lighter than I have in months. Too bad I'm not the one on vacation.

  I'm not sure what to do with the bill since technically the guest needs to sign it. Do I leave it? Take it and come back later?

  "Room service," I call out again. Still no response.

  I'm still debating what to do when I hear a door open to my left. At first I'm so startled that I don't move. The man walking into the room is gorgeous. Not just gorgeous, but illegally hot.

  Now I know what the girls were joking about.

  My eyes scan over his body, taking him in. He’s got dark hair, still wet from the shower he obviously just left…at least judging by the drops of water running down his chiseled chest and over his abs. Tanned, golden. Hard. Only a thick, white towel keeps this from being a very revealing moment.

  "I'm sorry if I startled you. I didn't hear you over the water."

  I snap back to reality, my cheeks flushing hot. “Uh, yeah. Sorry. I just…the bill.” I hold it out, my hand shaking.

  Pull it together, Nikki!

  If the man notices me drooling, he doesn’t reveal it. He crosses the room and takes the check, then signs it.

  "I'm Xavier.” His dark eyes meet mine with a curious smile. “I haven’t seen you before. Are you new to Fisher Island?"

  "Um…yes.” I try to collect myself. “It's my first day."

  "Welcome." He flashes another devastating smile. Grabbing another towel, he reaches up and rubs it through his wet hair.

  His stomach flexes, his abs practically rippling in the sun.

  Holy shit!

  I try to drag my eyes away from his muscles as he turns back to me. "What was your name again?"

  "Um, Nicole…Nikki." I don't know why I said that. The intensity of his stare is making me lose all logical thought.

  "So, Nicole…Nikki." He grins. "What brings you to Miami?"

  "Family," I blurt out, then wish I could take it back, but Xavier doesn’t press me. He strolls over toward the food on the coffee table. As he unlatches the sides of the cover, I remember I was supposed to do that, but he doesn't complain. He opens the cover and inhales for a lon
g time before breathing out with a sigh.

  "The chef here makes the best ropa vieja I've ever had. Tell her thank you for me, will you?"

  "Sure," I say faintly.

  He starts arranging things on the table to eat, so I turn to leave him.

  "You here permanently or just passing through?" His voice stops me.

  "I'm not sure yet. At least a few months I think."

  "Good.” That smoldering smile is back again. “I see a lot of faces around here. I'm hoping I'll see more of yours."

  There’s a scorching look in his eyes. My pulse races. Is he flirting with me?

  No way. He’s probably being polite. "You must visit here a lot to know the place so well," I say.

  "It's my home away from home.” He shrugs. “I live here when I'm in Miami. Sometimes it's only a week, other times it's two months. I'll be around for a while this trip."

  It takes my brain a second to process that, but when I do, I almost choke. Two months at a time?! From what Hailey told me, the basic rooms start at $1,000. The cost of two months here is more than what most people make in a year. And a villa like this…? I’m dizzy just trying to think about the cash.

  “I’ll, umm, leave you now.” I back away, feeling intimidated now. I’ve never met a guy like this before, and definitely not when he’s half-naked.

  “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

  I pause, blank.

  Xavier smirks. “The bill?” He holds it up between his thumb and forefinger.

  “Oh, yeah, thanks.” I hurry over and grab it. Our hands touch, just for an instant, but I feel like I’ve been burned. Xavier’s gaze catches mine, dark and full of heat.

  “Your eyes have a little green in them,” he remarks, his voice deep and rich. “Like the ocean, right before a storm.”

  My mind goes blank. His physical presence is overwhelming, radiating heat mere inches away. If I just reached out and touched him—

  “Enjoy your meal!” I blurt, before turning on my heel and racing out of the villa.

  It's not until I'm outside, door safely closed behind me, that I let myself breathe. I glance down at the bill and stop.

  Xavier’s signed his name in a sexy scrawl, but it’s the number on the gratuity line that makes my head spin.

  $500.

  He left a $500 tip on a $50 meal? There has to be some mistake. I think about going back inside and pointing out the error, but then the memory of Xavier’s naked abs hits me all over again.

  Maybe later. Or else I’ll have the kitchen call back and check. For all I know, Xavier is getting dressed now, and that towel is nowhere to be seen…

  When I make it back to the edge of the glade, Jack and the golf cart aren't there. He had told me he might be called away, and I'm glad he was. I need the time to myself to get my brain functioning again after that strange – and sexy – encounter. Since a cold shower isn't an option, a cool breeze will have to do.

  Walking back through the resort, trying to forget the sight of Xavier’s chiseled body, I pause at a break in the trees. South Beach is framed perfectly in the opening, a gorgeous playground across the water with palm trees and multi-colored buildings. What many people would consider paradise. But not me.

  For me, South Beach is a puzzle, something to be solved. I haven't even told Hailey the real reason I'm here. No matter what the police say, Eli’s death wasn't an accident. Somebody murdered him. I’m going to find out who – and bring them to justice.

  What happens next? Nikki and Xavier’s story continues in THE SCENE: BOOK 1

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