Page 8 of MOM

5

Rocky

"Come on, let's get a burger."

Decker folds his arms over his chest and leans against the doorframe to his suite.

It's been an hour since he informed me of the unexpected interruption to our plan, and he's changed into something more casual: a camel cashmere cardigan paired with dark chinos.

He's been in his suite 'working on things.'

I hit up the hotel gym to 'work things out.' Namely, my insane attraction to the guy.

Am I bummed we can't start implementing my redemption plan today? A little, yeah. I want to get my life back on track ASAP.

But do I mind the opportunity to spend some time alone with Decker, to see what makes him tick, maybe even get him to smile?

Not. One. Bit.

"You mean room service?" he clarifies.

"No. I mean out, at a restaurant. I hear there's a great Sandy's Surf Shack down the block."

His lips twitch. "Going out probably isn't a good idea."

"Oh, come on. I've either been stuck in hotel rooms or haven't left my house for close to two weeks. We'll both put on glasses, and everyone will assume you're a celebrity and I'm your bodyguard."

"I don't know…"

"Unless you're embarrassed to be seen in public with me?"

"Yeah, that's exactly it," he replies, matching my humor beat for beat. "Fine. I actually feel like a burger."

"Well, there you go. Are you ready now, or do you need some time?"

"I can go now." He smiles, and I want to make him smile again and again and again. "Let me just grab my celebrity shades."

6

Decker

A brisk walk-slash-borderline jog later, we enter the Deer Lodge. I'm just glad we survived the short trip from the hotel without being recognized, which is kind of ironic since this whole charade was originally about getting as much attention as possible.

It's not Zane's fault he wasn't able to make it, but I feel terrible about wasting Rocky's time. He's itching to clean up this whole mess just as much as I am. Still, the guy seems remarkably upbeat despite the delay.

The place is dim but cozy with plank walls and a long, well-worn bar creating a rustic feel. I breeze past the communal tables—eating with strangers? No, thank you—and I'm relieved when I find an empty high-backed booth in the corner.

"Happy here?" I ask, not waiting for Rocky to reply as I slide in.

"Sure," his deep voice booms behind me, sending a warm shiver through me.

"Menus," I say as I shove one awkwardly toward him, hoping the distraction of choosing something to eat might reset me.

I can't pinpoint the reason for it, but something about Rocky puts me on edge more than most people do. Given my background, I'm wary of newcomers anyway.

But I don't think it's that. It's something else. And I haven't figured out yet if it's a good thing or not.

The waiter comes over and takes our orders. We've both taken off our sunglasses inside, but the waiter doesn't give any signal he's picked up on who Rocky is. That's good. I want to remain as incognito as possible.