The story is live.
I hear the sound of the key, the door unlocking, and then Alec is making his way down the short hallway.
“Gigi?” he calls out.
Relief and excitement hit with laser precision right at the center of my chest. I’ve been reading a book—getting my mind off the comments flowing in online, the reactions from the community and the LA Times staff—but I drop it onto the coffee table just as he emerges into the suite’s living room. His face erupts in a relieved smile.
“You’re here.”
I bite my lips, attempting to tamp down my urge to scream in happiness. He’s wearing what he had on at the signing, but it feels like he’s changed; everything about his posture is somehow more relaxed. Relieved, maybe. “Hey.”
His gaze tracks around the room as he clocks my shoes at the end of the hallway, my suitcase tucked against the wall, my book facedown on the table. “Good,” he murmurs. “You brought things.”
What a weird feeling this is. We’re going to be staying together. Living together, in this suite. Meals and sleep and showers and work. We can’t commit to anything beyond this, but we’ve committed to this much, at least. Temporary cohabitation but indefinite infatuation.
He comes over, bracing his hands on the back of the couch as he bends to kiss me. “I’ll be right back.” Disappearing, he heads into the bathroom and I hear the water running. Alec Kim would never dream of touching me with dirty hands.
But when he returns, we don’t immediately strip down. Instead of being rushed and heated, the vibe in the air is wide-open, full of oxygen and space and time. He crosses the room to the minibar, bending to retrieve two bottles of water. “How was your afternoon?”
“My story went up.”
He turns, eyes wide. “Wait—today?”
I nod, beaming.
Alec pulls his phone from his pocket. “Drop me the link.” When I do, I watch as his eyes scan the story before jumping back to the top to start all over. “This is good.”
Pride is a warm hit of sunshine. “Thank you.”
“I mean,” he says, and comes to stand closer, “this is a really well-written story on the subject. Informative but not rubbernecking.”
I fight the urge to deflect the compliment, saying only, “Good.”
“How’s the response?”
“Great so far. My phone was blowing up, and I started to feel restless in my own skin, so I put it down to read for a while out on the terrace.” But then I came inside, I don’t say, knowing you’d be here soon.
Alec looks up. “It’s nice, isn’t it?”
“The terrace?” I laugh. “?‘Nice.’ Yes, it’s nice.”
He collapses beside me on the couch, unscrewing the cap on his water and tossing it onto the table. “On a scale from it-was-perfect to you-almost-never-called-me-again,” he says, “how much did you hate the signing today?”
Reaching over, I pull a tiny piece of paper confetti from his collar. “I didn’t hate it.”
“Liar.”
“I didn’t,” I insist. “I’m used to being around important people, but in a professional capacity. There I felt a little bit…” I try to find the right word. “I felt a little dismissed because I was ‘just’ there as a fan. It was a weird experience.”
Alec takes a long drink and nods as he swallows. “I get that. It’s the thing I probably like least about the culture.”
“Let’s just say your celebrity status is not why I’m with you.”
His dark eyes shine when he looks over at me, smiling. “Why are you with me?”
I poke a finger in his dimple, drag it over his lips and down his throat.
“Of course.” His laugh vibrates against my fingertip, and he sits up, reaching for my book on the table. “What’s this?” I don’t answer because he’s already looking for himself. “Is it good?”