I wink at her as we stop in front of the reception desk, taking my phone out of my pocket to show the concierge our reservation.
“How many keys do you need, sir? Two?” The man asks and I nod, distracted by a sudden movement to our side as the doors of one the elevators in the lobby open.
“Mom?”
I turn to look at the elegant woman in a little black dress that just came out of the elevator.
I recognize Gina DeLaurent, the Cove Angels’ co-owner and Lenley’s mom. The woman looks like the slightly older version of Lenley, with the same hourglass figure, shapely legs and delicate features; the biggest difference between them is that Gina is a blonde, while Lenley inherited her late father’s dark hair.
“What are you doing here?” the two women ask in unison.
I immediately notice that she doesn’t have any luggage either and the way she hesitates tells me everything I need to know even before Lenley’s mother finds the words.
“I—I had a dinner date and I was just—”
Right. Totally fucking busted, I think. No one goes to dinner after midnight; so even if her date started with a dinner at one of the many gourmet restaurants this hotel has to offer, we all know that the “date” portion of her night must’ve moved to one of the many rooms of the Grand Hotel. I guess at least whoever she’s fucking is classy and isn’t hurting for money, if he brought her here.
“I was about to come home. What are you doing here?” Gina asks.
I’m a couple of steps away from them, closer to the reception desk and I’m conflicted what to do.
We agreed to be discreet at first, rather than immediately rub Penn’s face in our friendship, at least while Lenley is “learning.”
We’re under no illusion that hanging out with the daughter of the owner of our rival team will attract attention and ruffle some feathers beyond Penn’s, including on our side of the fence.
So I stay rooted to my spot, because I don’t want to make things worse for Lenley in case her mother disapproves of her fraternizing with “the enemy;” but I’m ready to step in if she needs back up.
“I—huh, I was looking for a bathroom.” Her eyes flit briefly to me. “We went to the movies and I didn’t realize how much soda I drank until we were on our way home.”
Her mom’s eyes finally land on me and I step forward. “Hey, Mrs. DeLaurent.”
If she’s pissed off to see me with her daughter, she doesn’t show it; but it’s obvious that she’s uncomfortable by the tightness at the edges of her mouth when she smiles, offering me her hand to shake.
“Channing, right?” Her tone is friendly enough and I remind myself that this is a free country and while Lenley might be two years younger than me, she’s an adult.
“Yeah, Channing Ford, ma’am.”
Her smile widens, relaxing a little bit as she goes from Mom mode into a more professional demeanor. “You can call me Gina, Channing. I had no idea you knew my daughter.”
I tell her the truth, or at least part of it. “We met a couple of days ago at the Wild Horse party.”
Her expression remains friendly. “Ah, yes. It was nice to see your team joining us. I’m looking forward to giving you and your manager a preview tour of the museum dedicated to Lenley’s father.”
Right, she was talking to Peyton and Kenneth at the party and we got invited. “We’re looking forward to seeing it and hopefully your HQ. Patrick DeLaurent and the Cove Angels are legendary. Your late husband is still the man to beat in our sport.”
Lenley remains quiet, looking at the exchange between me and her mother with just a hint of nervousness evident in the way her hands are clasped in front of her.
“If you were on your way home,” Gina says, addressing both me and her daughter, “I can wait until you use the bathroom and you can ride home with me, save Channing an extra stop. Unless you had more plans?”
My eyes meet Lenley’s and I immediately know that our date is over. I’d be lying if I said that I’m not a little disappointed, but I understand that Lenley might not want to walk into one of the elevators with me in front of her mother.
“Sure, it’s very kind of you, Gina. Good night, Lenley. I’ll call you later,” I say, wrapping my arms around her in a friendly hug.
“I’m sorry, Chan,” she whispers into my ear and I give her what I hope is a comforting squeeze. “Don’t worry. We’ll talk later.” I smile, trying to make sure that she knows I’m not mad.
“Thank you for the movie,” she adds, before going to look for a bathroom in the lobby.
I sigh, debating if I should try to get a refund or go to the room I paid for and take care of my epic case of blue balls.