Hitched: A Stepbrother Honeymoon Romance (17 page)

Oh, great, Monica’s here. Just what I needed.

I don’t look up from my notes, which are mostly scribbles. “Not full-time, just for the Coconut Classic.”

“Okay, well that’s something…” I can practically hear the gears turning in her head as she decides how nice she needs to be to me.

“So do you think you can get me a photo shoot with him? My photographer wants to do a couple of sexy shots on the bike.”

Yeah. Sure. I’ll schedule that photoshoot for two days after hell freezes over. I put on my best apologetic face and shake my head. “Sorry, only Travis’ real manager can set that up. You’ll have to talk to him.”

Monica looks pissed. “I tried. He never picks up his phone.”

A couple minutes pass, with both of us awkwardly pretending to watch the bikers practice. Then, Monica speaks up. “Are you sure you can’t do it? We could make it official promotional material for the Coconut Classic.”

I shake my head. “No can do. Travis’ manager very clearly told me not to schedule any photo shoots.”

Monica turns to me with a little bit of suspicion in her eyes. “Then what
are
you in charge of? What are you writing?”

I turn the page quickly, so Monica doesn’t see that it’s covered in scribbles, and start writing numbers. “Budget estimates.”

“Budget estimates?”

“Yep. I handle the money.”

Monica sighs, barely hiding her annoyance. For a second, it looks like she’s about to get up and leave, but as Travis races by us on his bike, I hear the gears turning in her head again.

“So…where are you two staying?”

I try to act casual. “Oh…you know…Royal Shores.”

Monica’s eyes light up. “Me too! I just checked in this morning.”

That takes me by surprise, even though it shouldn’t. I think about all the stuff we did this morning. We didn’t even get halfway through Kayla’s list, and now we’re not going to be able to do the rest because Monica’s going to be running around.

I guess the honeymoon had to end sometime.

“Cool. Yeah, we’ve been here all week. Travis wanted a quiet place to prepare, so Royal Shores was kind of a no-brainer.”

Monica laughs. “I’m sure that’s just what he told you. There’s only one reason people come to Royal Shores, and it’s not to get some peace and quiet. He’s probably shacking up with somebody.”

Okay, I really don’t like where this conversation is going.

I shake my head at Monica and shrug, faking disinterest. “Whatever. There’s a pool and a cheesecake bar, so I’m happy.”

Monica leans back in her seat. “Enjoy it while you can. Starting tomorrow, the whole place is going to be crawling with paparazzi.”

The tip of my pencil breaks against my notepad. “Paparazzi? Isn’t that impossible? Royal Shores background checks their guests to make sure no paparazzi can get inside.”

Monica holds out a finger. “Usually, they do. But when every other hotel in the city is full, and they will be thanks to this tournament, they have to open up their suites to the general public. It’s state law. And whenever that happens, paparazzi snap those rooms up and take over the whole hotel.”

Okay, I really, really don’t like the sound of that. “That’s crazy. How do you even know that?”

Monica rolls her eyes. “Remember when I got caught hooking up with that Brazilian soccer star?”

“Uh…no.”

Monica looks confused, like I just admitted to not knowing something that was common knowledge. “Okay, well, Paulo and I thought Royal Shores would be a safe place to…get to know each other. So we booked one of their special lovebird suites, and they went on and on about how private we would be, and then a couple days later, bam! A paparazzi takes a picture of us making out in the steam room and we’re on the front page of OMG. Apparently, the Pro Bowl was happening or something, and they had to let in guests without doing background checks. By the time we left, it seemed like there were more paparazzi than real guests.” Monica shakes her head. “I mean, it made me look good, because he was really hot, but still.”

Out on the dirt, Travis does an aerial handstand on his bike and the crowd goes crazy. “Travis isn’t going to like that.”

Monica smiles. “With his reputation? They’re probably going to camp outside his room. After all, he’s the reason why everyone’s out here, so if he’s doing anything dirty, it’s going to be the story of the month.”

Try story of the year. I can practically see it on OMG now.
STEPBUSTED: Travis Carter caught taking stepsister on steamy honeymoon.

That’s when Anna’s words from yesterday start playing in my head. I guess if you want something done right, you have to do it yourself. And if Monica knows about the law, Anna definitely does. It’s getting harder and harder to keep my cool around Monica as I imagine paparazzi offering cash money to guests for dirt on Travis.

Monica immediately notices my reaction. “
Is
he doing something dirty?” she asks.

I try to shrug it off, but my voice comes out a little shaky. “I don’t know. It’s not like we’re sharing a room or anything.”

Monica nods. “Well, if he isn’t, send him up to my room and we’ll give the tabloids something to write about.”

“At Royal Shores, they’re probably not going to need our help.”

Monica laughs. “True. After all, Nina’s going to be there, too.”

This time, I can’t even hide my reaction. “What!? What do you mean?”

Monica looks surprised. “I don’t know. Doesn’t she usually go to Travis’ events when they’re on TV? I just kind of assumed she’d be there.”

Okay, good. So Monica doesn’t actually know. But the more I think about her logic, the more sense it makes. A media frenzy? Her son on national television? A million paparazzi? Where else would Nina be?

I’m starting to feel faint. Three hours ago, I was up in a helicopter with Travis, my head on his shoulder, feeling like everything was right with the world. And now, when we go back to Royal Shores, we’re going to have to deal with Anna, Nina, and Monica? This can’t be happening.

Luckily, Travis starts to slow down, waves to the crowd, and steers his bike into the locker room. As soon as he’s out of sight, I get up out of my seat. “Uh…I have to go……send an email.”

And with that, I’m walking, practically running really, towards the stadium exit. I want to get away from the cameras and find Travis, and then I want him to hold me in his arms and tell me not to worry, that none of this matters, and that everything’s going to be okay.

Because I’m starting to get a really bad feeling about this.

Chapter 20: Travis

Thirty-two hours. In thirty-two hours, I’m going to ride out of that dirty black tunnel and go head to head with the best bikers in the world. And since I thought this was going to be a tiny, out-of-the-way little event up until yesterday, I don’t even have a freestyle routine planned out yet.

And I don’t mind that so much. Now, what I don’t like is how I’m stuck up in here in a honeymoon suite and not down at the track getting more practice time in. But thanks to the fucking paparazzi, I can’t even leave without having a million cameras shoved in my face all the way from here to the stadium. I’ve been hearing them out in the halls all day, and if the stadium is anything like it was yesterday, I won’t be able to show up there without it becoming breaking fucking news.

But you know what the worst part is? Laney’s not even here to help take the edge off. I could barely even get her to sleep up here last night, and the second she woke up this morning, she looked out the window, saw all the reporters down on what used to be a private beach before Hawaii state law kicked in, and she pretty much bolted out the door. She thinks it’s too risky for us even to be in the same room together, especially a room with one bed, so she’s hiding out downstairs somewhere.

And she might be right. After all, they’re still down there. I can see some of my mom’s people in the crowd now. They’re shooing away the honeymooners, fencing off part of the beach, and setting up for some kind of party. Some of them are pointing their telephoto lenses up the side of the hotel, trying to catch a glimpse of someone important in one of the windows. I step away before any of them pass over mine.

So, yeah, it’s not like Laney has no reason to be paranoid, but I’m worried that it might be more than just paranoia. I’m worried that all these cameras might scare her into thinking that we need to be “just friends” again.

Fuck. I need to focus, or I’m just going to sit up here going crazy. So, to try and get my mind off Laney, I get down in the middle of the room, close my eyes, and try to plan out what I’m going to do tomorrow at the Coconut Classic.

I see the track in my mind’s eye. I imagine myself riding it like I did at practice yesterday, visualizing every ramp, tunnel, and gap as I hit them, and I start planning a trick routine for the main event. Something that’s going to make the audience get up out of their seats and scream. Something that no one’s ever seen before.

And then, right when I’m in the middle of a standing quadruple backflip, there’s a knock on the door. This had better be Laney in a tiny little bikini.

Nope. It’s Kayla, holding a big plate of grilled tuna steaks. “I brought lunch!”

I look at the plate and furrow my brow. “I didn’t order food.”

“I know,” Kayla says, lowering her voice and darting her eyes back and forth, “But this place is a nightmare right now
crawling
with paparazzi right now, so I figured you two might not want to leave the room for a little while.”

“Well, shit, thanks.” As I take the plate from Kayla and set it down on the kitchen counter, Kayla slips into the room and closes the door behind her. I raise my eyebrows at her. “That bad, huh?”

“It’s
terrible
,” Kayla rolls her eyes, “They booked every single empty room. I think they’re mad they all missed the Jason Hayward story, and now they’re overcompensating. I literally caught a paparazzi sneaking back into the kitchen to take pictures of
me
. They’re out of control.”

Shit, I knew it was bad out there, but that sounds completely fucking insane. “Thanks for the heads up. Do they know this is my room?”

Kayla shakes her head. “I don’t think so. If they did, they’d probably have someone camped outside the door 24/7. They’re probably expecting you to be in the VIP rooms…not in the couple’s section.”

I figured this girl knew who I was, but that pretty much confirms it. And if she knows that…she probably knows that Laney and I aren’t real newlyweds. Kayla looks down awkwardly for a second, but then her eyes meet mine. “And I’m going to make sure it stays that way.”

I nod. “Sounds good.”

“Enjoy your lunch…and stay away from the windows.”

“Will fucking do.”

Kayla walks over to the door, takes a deep breath, and steps out into the hall, leaving me alone again.

A couple seconds later, I’m back on the floor and it’s back to the track, the tricks, and the screaming audience. But honestly, the more I think about it, the more I start to wonder if I should just fucking play it by ear. See what happens. It wouldn’t be the first time I dominated the competition without a plan.

I’m about to just give up and grab a tuna steak off the counter when I hear the door open. I open my eyes, and instantly burst out laughing at the sight of Laney. Somehow, without coming by the room at all, Laney managed to change into a ridiculous outfit. Black pencil skirt, white button-up shirt, glasses, hair in a bun, even a fucking pencil behind her ear.

Laney puts a finger to her lips as she slams the door shut. “Travis, quiet! They’re going to hear you!”

I push myself off the floor and look Laney up and down. “I didn’t know you had a slutty secretary fantasy, sis. Are you here for your
performance review
?”

Laney’s eyes get so wide that her glasses practically fall off her nose. “I do
not
have a slutty secretary fantasy.”

Well, judging by the look on her face, I’m pretty sure she does now. “Are you sure about that?”

Laney glares at me through her glasses. “I’m dressed like this because I’m supposed to be your assistant. This way, if anybody followed me up here, they’ll assume that we’re just having a nice, professional business meeting.”

“It’s that fucking bad?”

Laney nods. “It’s terrible. From what I can tell, there are about five celebrities who checked in for the Coconut Classic, and about fifty paparazzi trying to track them down. You haven’t been by the windows, have you?”

I look towards the window and shake my head. “Not long enough for anyone to see me.”

“Good. Because they’re watching the windows, patrolling the halls, and offering cash bonuses to random people in exchange for juicy gossip. I think some of them even know who I am. They definitely smell blood in the water, and I’m pretty sure we’re the blood.”

I shrug. “Alright, so we keep a low profile until the Coconut Classic starts, hang on for both days, and then, when the event’s over, Royal Shores kicks their asses out.”