“Okay, how about that I can tell them their horoscope because I’m majoring in astronomy?”
Vanessa laughs. “I knew you were going to say that.”
“Because it happens every time anyone asks what I’m studying!”
Vanessa laughs even harder. “Last week, she was explaining the difference between astronomy and astrology to Kira from high school, and after like a five-minute explanation, Kira told Chloe she was a Capricorn and asked if she could tell her astrological predictions for the year.”
“This doesn’t surprise me,” Cooper says. “I had to be lab partners with her.”
“Chloe gave her a fake horoscope filled with warnings about this fall and told her that listening was going to be imperative and…” She looks at Chloe. “What else did you tell her?”
Chloe laughs, shaking her head. “I don’t remember. But I know I’ve explained to her what astronomy is at least three times, and I think all she hears is stars. It was mean. I blame it on the tequila.”
Vanessa laughs again as she nods. “That was a fun night.”
Chloe flashes another smile as she fishes more whipped cream from her cup and licks it off the tip of her straw, distracting me from the road and how normal she seems in these stories compared to the shy, standoffosh girl I generally encounter. “Okay, my turn. Cooper, truth or dare?”
Cooper blows out a breath. “Dare.”
She smiles too fast, reaching forward with a balled fist. She smells like oranges and coffee and something floral that makes me think of that night freshman year, recalling the way her gaze had blazed seconds before she leaned forward and kissed me.
“Oh, God. What is it?” Cooper asks, reaching to take what she’s offering.
In the back seat, Vanessa’s already giggling.
“Ketchup?” Cooper says, smoothing the small packet.
“I dare you to drink it all,” Chloe tells him.
Cooper cringes, and the laughter between us grows.
“I have to record this,” Chloe says, reaching for her phone.
He flips her off as she starts recording him, giving a brief summary. “How did you have ketchup on you?” he asks, tearing the top open.
“Someone dropped it in the parking lot. I picked it up.”
“Oh, great. So, it was probably injected with heroin.”
Chloe’s smile spreads as she reaches up, brushing her hair over her shoulder. “Likely. Now do it.”
Cooper tips his head back, squirting the contents into his mouth. He gags and chokes, making us laugh again.
“Don’t spew in here,” I warn him.
He coughs, pounding his fist against his chest a couple of times as he breathes through his nose. “God. Where are those drinks you bought?” he asks, reaching for the bag Chloe had given him, digging out a purple juice that he downs half of in one drink.
“That was the best,” Vanessa says.
“That was terrible,” he replies, taking another drink.
The game continues, and with each new truth or dare, the mood in the car lightens. I’m cautiously optimistic that this trip won’t be as bad as I thought. When we reach the I-10 Twin Span Bridge, Chloe skips her turn, staring out at the ocean with a peaceful look in her eyes.
“Is this the bridge you were talking about?” Vanessa asks.
Chloe nods. “This is the longest bridge in the world.”
“Doesn’t it seem like the guardrails should be a little higher?’ Cooper asks.
“You sound like Chloe,” Vanessa tells him.
“Are we close?” Cooper asks.
“Another thirty minutes or so,” I tell him, pointing at the GPS.
Cooper groans with his protest. “I’m so glad we have a couple of days off before we drive again.”
The rest of the drive is mostly silent, save for Vanessa’s occasional grumblings about the scenery’s lack of diversity.
“New Orleans,” Chloe announces, pointing at a sign as we near the outskirts of the city.
Traffic is congested; the weekend draws large crowds to the city. Cars are honking and changing lanes erratically, working to beat the traffic. I slam on my brakes when a car cuts in front of us, the driver one of the many arseholes trying to leap forward a mere foot.
I punch my horn and throw both hands into the air. Few things get under my skin as much as bad drivers and busy roads. “Make that an hour,” I tell Cooper as we creep forward, and then come to a full stop as the GPS announces an accident ahead.
Chloe
Tyler wasn’t far off. It takes us fifty-five minutes before he pulls up to the hotel. It’s massive, sprawling across a full city block and towering several stories into the air. Tyler comes to a stop under an extensive covered area that’s made of stone and six car lengths wide. Broad wooden pillars are adorned with lanterns that warmly flicker, creating a warm ambiance. Two men from the valet dek and are dressed in black suits approach the car.
“Greetings, Mr. Banks,” a man with raven-colored hair combed to one side greets him personally. “How was your trip, sir?”
I glance at Vanessa, who’s already looking at me, her eyes wide with excitement and amazement.
My door opens, and the other valet smiles and offers his hand to me. “Welcome to New Orleans, Ms. Robinson.”
This is so far outside of the economy hotels we generally stay at that I have to blink back my surprise at him knowing my name.
“Would you like all the bags brought up to your rooms and unpacked?” another valet asks, joining us.
Tyler nods in response, and though I want to ask how in the world they’ll be able to tell our bags apart, I keep this question to myself as they begin unloading the bags out in record time.
A woman with white-blonde hair and an elegant suit approaches us with a smile, greeting Tyler again by name.
I stare at Cooper until he feels it and turns to look at me. “Is this a prank?”
Cooper shakes his head. “I think this is how the other half lives.”
It’s difficult to wrap my head around the possibility that enough people can afford to stay at this hotel to allow it to not only remain open but be in nearly every major city across the world.
We step through large glass doors and are greeted by the air-conditioning, which is welcome compared to the humid night. The air smells like vanilla and citrus—rich. I never knew rich had an aroma, but now I’m sure of it as we enter the expansive and elegant lobby, my shoes too loud against the white marble floor. Vaulted ceilings make me tip my head back to see the coffered ceiling several stories above. A round table that could entertain fifty is covered by a bouquet of exotic flowers—real flowers. I don’t think I’ve ever stayed at a hotel with real flowers or with perfumed air.
I lower my gaze to keep myself from openly gawking and follow the others to the front desk to check in.
“You’re staring,” Cooper whispers.
There’s too much to see to look at him. “Why aren’t you? This place is crazy.”
He chuckles, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “Way better than the trip you were planning with Meredith, am I right?”
“Too soon,” I tell him, shrugging off his touch.
“Greetings. Welcome to New Orleans! I hope you all had a nice trip here. My name’s Natasha Benting, and I’m the general manager. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Banks.” A woman wearing a pristine navy suit and coral blouse greets us, her dark hair flawlessly curled. She’s probably forty but looks twenty as she smiles at us with a practiced grace that makes her look like she walked off a Hollywood film set. Paired with her Southern accent, it makes her the definition of a Southern belle. I’m not even remotely shocked to find Cooper and Tyler both staring at her for a full second while the woman recites a list of things about the accommodations and the hotel before confirming Tyler’s meetings tomorrow.