Page 4 of Room 710 (The Scarlet Hotel #15)

Ziggy

“Hey, Mom, have you seen my work shirt?” I called, digging through the dirty laundry hamper, only half dressed.

“Paul called and asked if I could take his shift tonight.” If my shirt was in here, it would still smell like garlic and parmesan, but nobody would notice once I set foot in the restaurant.

Except it wasn’t here. I could’ve sworn…

“Mom?” I called again, but there was no reply. My phone dinged in my pocket, the trill of an incoming email, but I didn’t have time to check right now. I would need to get on a bus ASAP if I was going to make it to Lorenzo’s on time, and I really wanted that money.

The house was tiny, and there were only so many places Mom could be. I jogged down the hall, peeking into her room, but it was empty. Further down the hall, I rounded a corner into the kitchen, fully expecting to find her there getting a start on dinner, but she wasn’t there either.

The back door opened with a squeak, and my mom appeared, wiping her forearm over her forehead and smearing some dirt.

She loved tending to her little garden in the backyard, it was her post-work therapy after a shift at the hospital, though it wasn’t much more than a few pots on the back stoop.

I wished my job paid better so I could upgrade our postage-stamp yard.

This woman did so much for others, and she deserved the world on a platter.

“Hey, sweetie, I was just about to come find you. What would you like for dinner?” she asked, giving me a tired smile as she moved over to the sink to wash up.

“You don’t have to worry about me tonight. I’ll just grab a quick snack. I’m headed back in to work right away.” I opened the fridge and stuck my head in, looking for something I could eat on the go. My phone gave another ping, this time with a text.

When I closed the fridge, my mom was staring at me with a frown. “Honey, you just worked the lunch shift. Why are you going back in?”

“Paul called in hungover, and I need the money,” I said with a shrug. “It’s fine, I don’t mind.”

“What do you need money for?” she asked, and I knew with my birthday coming up, she was probably looking for gift ideas.

“Oh, not much. Just the castle you deserve,” I teased, slamming the fridge closed and giving her a quick kiss on the cheek, cheese stick in hand.

She tsked, cuffing me lovingly on the back of the neck. “I don’t need a castle. Too drafty, and all that dusting? No, thanks.” She glared at my snack. “At least let me make you a sandwich.”

“It’s fine, Mom. I’ll just grab something at work.” Yet more pasta, ugh. If I kept this up, I wouldn’t be able to poop for a week. “Maybe some soup and salad,” I added, wincing with a hand on my stomach.

She was already pushing me into a chair at the small Formica-topped table she’d picked up at the second-hand shop a few years ago.

The mustard yellow tabletop went well with the ancient olive-green appliances and beige peel-and-stick floor tiles.

“Nonsense. You can take five minutes to eat some proper food, and I’ll iron your shirt.

I threw it in the wash after you got home earlier.

” I opened my mouth to tell her I was in a hurry, but before I could say a word, she said, “And if you miss the bus, I can give you a ride.”

Seriously, I didn’t deserve her. “Thanks, Mom.”

It had always been just the two of us, and that was the way we liked it. My dad was nothing more than a distant blur in our rear-view mirror. Mom and I worked well together. Just call us the Dynamic Duo. Oh, wait… wasn’t that taken? How about the Fearsome Twosome. The Rad Dyad.

I was eating some leftover meatloaf and mashed potatoes when my phone dinged with another text, reminding me of the missed messages from earlier. It was followed with three more dings in quick succession. I dug my phone out of my pocket, frowning. “Dude, what the fuck?”

“Language,” Mom scolded without any real heat as she came back in the room with my ironed shirt. “Is that Levi?” she asked, her face lighting up. “How’s Asher doing? Tell Levi I need more pictures. Babies change so fast.” She draped my shirt carefully over the back of a kitchen chair for me.

Holding my phone out to read while eating, my chewing slowed, then stopped as I took in the confusing barrage of texts.

Levi: Did you hear the news?????

Levi: They just announced who the alpha will be on Lonely Alpha! GUESS!

Levi: You’re taking too long, so I’m just going to tell you. DEVON BLAKE!!!

Levi: Can you imagine being one of those omegas?? SWOOOOON!

Immediately, my mind conjured the actor’s face, which wasn’t hard to do since I went to sleep staring at his poster on my wall every night.

He was a guarantee for sweet dreams. Before I could text Levi back, though, my eye snagged on the notification for another unread text.

I clicked over to see a message from an unknown number.

Unknown: First, I want to start by saying congratulations and welcome to the LA team, Ziggy! We are so excited for the new season. By now, you should have received your orientation email…

It continued with a bunch of gibberish I couldn’t quite follow.

I felt like I was missing a big piece of this puzzle.

Was this one of those African prince scams?

What was all this about LA? Like, California?

But it’d mentioned an orientation email, so I quickly jumped over to my email app, and when I saw the subject line, I dropped my fork with a clatter, meatloaf landing with a dull splat on the floor.

YOU HAVE BEEN SELECTED AS A CONTESTANT ON LONELY ALPHA

LA… Lonely Alpha … I struggled to swallow, throat seizing and my breath coming out in a wheeze. Oh gods, the audition.

“Zig, honey? What’s wrong?” Mom’s voice had a tinny quality, buried beneath the static rushing in my ears, whooshing in time with my racing pulse.

“I-it’s—I mean, I—” I couldn’t find the words to explain, so I passed her my phone, still open to the email from some guy named Elijah Campbell, supposedly the director for Lonely Alpha .

I sat there, slumped over my half-eaten dinner as my mom read over the email, her eyes widening further with each word. “Ziggy,” she whispered. “Ziggy, is this true? Did you apply to be a contestant on Lonely Alpha ?”

“I mean…” I winced, shrugging. I hadn’t told her—or Levi either.

It wasn’t that I was embarrassed exactly, more like I’d regained my sanity once the interview was over.

I’d walked in there on a whim when I was feeling particularly lonely and sensitive after visiting with my loved-up bestie living his best HEA.

But I was fine now, all better. Hardly lonely at all!

And I certainly wasn’t anyone’s idea of a TV personality.

Mom was still staring at me, expecting an answer. “It was an accident,” I managed to choke out.

“You applied to be on the show… by accident?” she repeated doubtfully.

My phone rang in her hand. Levi’s ringtone somehow sounded more impatient than usual, and I hunched over to put my head on the table, narrowly missing my plate as my mom quickly slid it out of the way, saving me from getting meatloaf in my hair. “What have I done?” I wailed dramatically.

“You’ve become one of the contestants on my favorite show, that’s what!” she said, her voice rising in pitch.

My phone stopped ringing, but I knew it wouldn’t be quiet for long. Levi was a persistent ass.

I peeled my forehead off the Formica, and we locked eyes across the table. Mom was practically vibrating with excitement, hardly able to suppress her grin, and I had to admit, it was impossible not to get caught up in the vibe. Was this really happening?

“I’m going to be on TV,” I said hesitantly, disbelief being nudged aside by anticipation.

Mom reached across the table and gripped my hand hard. “You’re going to be on TV!”

I couldn’t believe this was really happening.

The car would arrive for me within the hour.

I was about to be sequestered, to avoid learning anything about the other competitors.

The orientation email had included a ton of paperwork, along with a packing list and what I could and could not bring to the Lonely Alpha house.

I had to be prepared to spend up to three months in the house, with no contact from the outside world—assuming I didn’t get evicted in the first week, which I probably would.

There was also a bio of this season’s alpha, but it wasn’t like I didn’t already know a ton of stuff about him.

I mean, I’d seen all his movies. Holy shit!

Was this really happening? When I looked up from my phone, his picture was still right there, on the movie poster taped to my wall.

I could recite his lines from Summer of Love word for word.

When he and his co-star, Max Shepherd, had shared their first kiss, it was so steamy and romantic. Ugh, my heart.

Would Devon be anything like his characters in real life? I mean, that seemed like an unfair amount of pressure on him. He was just a regular guy, after all. But… maybe he would he say something romantic to me .

“Do you have enough clean underwear?” Mom asked, coming into my room where I stood beside my bed, staring down into my open suitcase. “You could be gone for months, don’t forget.”

“Pretty sure they’ll let me do laundry, Mom.

This isn’t Survivor.” I was joking, but my nerves were tingling.

Was I really doing this? I told myself it would be fun.

This was who I was. Fun-loving jokester, always up for a good time.

I’d seen the show before, I knew what I was in for.

I was about to be surrounded by a bunch of supermodels, all vying for a chance to marry a Hollywood heartthrob.

Was I destined for love? Hell no! I wasn’t delusional.

I was the comic relief, a little spice to shake things up a bit. That was all this was.

Mom crossed her arms over her chest and raised an eyebrow. “Alright, then at least promise me you’re not bringing any with holes in it. You never know who might see you in them.” She pulled open my dresser drawers one by one, rummaging through to see what I’d left behind.

My mind immediately went to Devon seeing me in my undies—before skipping over to the millions of people who would be watching.

Oh gods, they wouldn’t show my ass on national TV, right?

I didn’t want to go down in history as the contestant with torn underwear.

Maybe I should’ve read the fine print on that contract.

“Fair enough,” I said after a moment, sorting through my briefs to make sure I had only the cutest pairs.

“How about these?” Mom asked, and when I turned around to look, I found her holding up a pair of lacy booty shorts Levi had bought me as a gag gift for my last birthday.

I gave an exaggerated gasp and snatched them out of her hand. “Are you suggesting your son should flaunt his assets on television?”

“I would never,” she said, but her grin was wicked. I knew there was a reason I’d turned out the way I had. She had a mischievous streak a mile wide.

“Liar.” I narrowed my eyes at her, then threw the pair into the suitcase just to spite her.

My teasing smile slipped as I let myself truly think about what I was about to face.

My legs shook, and I sat heavily on the edge of my bed.

My mom immediately picked up on my mood and dropped down beside me.

“You don’t have to do this,” she whispered.

“I’m sure they have backup contestants, if this isn’t what you want. ”

I knew without a doubt my mom had my back, but I wanted to have hers too. This could open a world of possibilities. Not every happy-ever-after had to end with true love. Maybe this one could end with me becoming an influencer and launching my own line of lacy red briefs.

“It’s okay, Mom. I want this. I’ll make some friends, play some games. It’ll be a blast.” I was determined to make sure of it.