Page 252 of End Game

Marble floors. Huge windows. Fresh flowers that probably cost more than my monthly grocery bill. People moving quietly through the lobby with the kind of confidence that says they have never once worried about whether parking costs extra.

Austin lives here.

Not just in Chicago.

In this hotel.

In the penthouse.

Because apparently rock stars are not required to participate in housing and real estate like the rest of us.

The woman behind it smiles. “Good afternoon. Checking in?”

“Yeah. Dexter—” He pauses. “Actually, Dex is fine. Reservation should be under Dexter Morgan.”

I choke.

The woman types.

Micah closes his eyes.

Dex looks at us innocently. “What?”

“You did not.”

“My parents made choices.”

The woman is professional enough not to react, although I swear there's a flicker around her mouth.

Then she looks back at the screen.

“Yes, Mr. Morgan. Mr. Fletcher's office has already taken care of everything.”

She pulls out three key cards.

“You're in a one-bedroom executive suite. Separate living room, dining area, and wet bar.”

Dex looks at me.

I look at Micah.

Micah looks at Dex.

Dex lifts both hands. “I said one king. He asked.”

I laugh. “You realize Austin now knows exactly how we're sleeping.”

“He saw us in Denver.”

“That's not an answer.”

“It is spiritually an answer.”

The woman slides the cards across the desk.

Dex takes them. “Thank you.”

Then, once we're safely walking away, he mutters, “He's lucky I'm secure in my lifestyle choices.”