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Chapter Nine
“... your official trend-hunter who’s dedicated to scoping out all the latest and greatest Chicago has to offer, trust me when I say a star was born in the world of nightclubs this week. Be sure to check out all the deets on the Thunder Club, located in the historic Carbide and Carbon Building, by clicking on the links below.”
Wearing nothing but partially fastened jeans, Dalton could hardly believe his ears as he rolled a linen-covered room service trolley into the bedroom. He lifted a brow at Hannah as she spoke into her phone while lying in bed, her breathtaking nakedness haphazardly covered by a sheet. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Please tell me you're not actually livestreaming now.”
“What? Good grief, no.” Her lilting laughter rang around the room as he settled on the side of the bed next to her. “I make notes to myself if I get an idea for a new vlog or article and I don’t have anything else to write with. I'll delete this later, I promise.”
“Glad to hear it, though I’m not sure I’m cool with you thinking about work right now.” With a wry shake of his head, he removed the metal domes from their midnight snack. Like magic, the room filled with the mouthwatering scents of perfectly a grilled hamburger on toasted brioche buns, the tang of whatever the hell the hotel’s special sauce was, and the salty grease of fresh, piping hot French fries. “I want all your attention for myself.”
The smile she gave him was something dreams were made of. “You have it.”
“I also wouldn’t put it past you to indulge in your habit of oversharing to all your followers just how many times you’ve orgasmed tonight. It’s four, right? Four and counting.”
Her expression was hilarious, a mishmash of irritation, sheepishness, and that sultry lust that never failed to knock him sideways. “You don’t really think I have a habit of oversharing, do you?”
“Baby, I don't think it. I know you do. Though I suppose I don't have much right to bitch about it,” he added fairly before plucking up a French fry. “I was able to learn all about you thanks to your compulsive need to tell the whole friggin’ world every last detail of your life. Open wide.”
She gaped at him, and he took advantage by sliding the fry into her mouth. “What do you mean, you learned all about me?”
“I mean that from the night we first met, I’ve watched every video you’ve ever put on your channel. Go ahead, quiz me. I’ll bet that within five minutes I can convince you that you overshare the hell out of your life—a fact that I hope scares you enough to reconsider what you put out there for all the freaks and stalkers to jerk off to.”
“Funny, the words freak and stalker were the two words going through my head,” she muttered, giving him a spectacular side-eye. “But okay. I’ll play. Who was my first official boyfriend?”
Heh. Easy. “Tony Wildman, when you were fourteen. You didn't love that his eyes were too close together or that he snorted when he laughed. But you were gaga over the idea of having the last name Wildman, because you thought it was at least as cool as Raven.”
The way her eyes widened was lowkey hilarious. “Fourteen-year-old girls aren't exactly known for their depth, and wow, that's a lot of detail you memorized.”
“Not memorized, just paying attention. Something I've been doing a lot of since we met.”
“If you've been paying attention, you know what my favorite color is.”
“Trick question.” He handed her a burger, wrapped in a fussily folded sleeve of waxed paper. “Throughout the years you’ve kinda fluctuated between pink, burgundy and purple. And when a new purse designer sponsored you, you lost your mind over a mint green bag, declaring it your ‘ultimate’ favorite color.”
“it's still my ultimate favorite color, at least until I find something new.” She bit into her burger with gusto, making him smile. Thank God she was a real woman who knew how to eat. “This sucks. I've run out of things to quiz you on, but I still don't think I overshare. I just... share.”
“You share, all right,” he agreed, attacking his own food. “But there's gotta be a limit.”
“I don't get paid for limits. And I don't share everything about myself.”
“You hate horror movies except on Halloween. You've tried to be a vegetarian twice, but you’ve learned to accept that your love of bacon is absolute. And your ability to party-hop until the sun comes up has convinced me you don’t need the same amount of sleep that normal humans do.”
“I've got tremendous stamina, and an oversized FOMO.”
He stared at her. “What the fuck is FOMO?”
“Fear of missing out. If something amazing is happening in the lives of the people of this city, I want to be right there to record it all.”
“What about the amazing things that happen in your own life?” Polishing off his burger, he pushed his plate aside, watching her all the while. By far, she was the only damn thing in the suite worth looking at. “Has it ever occurred to you that you're missing out on that?”
She paused in reaching for a fry. “Missing out on what? My life?”
“Yeah.”
She shook her head. “My life is great. I'm doing exactly what I want to do.”
Which is?”
“Well,” she said, at last grabbing up a fry and munching thoughtfully, “I've got my video channel and my job at the paper. I'm paid to go to parties. Who wouldn't want a job like that?”
“Yeah, but they’re other people’s parties. What about you?”
“What about me?”
“When was the last time you threw a party to celebrate a milestone in your life? Even something as simple as a dinner party, or a movie night, or a weekend getaway. None of that has ever shown up on your YouTube channel.”
She waved a dismissive hand. “I never post about the personal events that happen in my life.”
“So they do happen?”
“Of course.”
“When was the last time you threw a party, or went on vacation where you didn’t vlog about it for work? Yeah,” he nodded when she frowned, clearly not able to come up with an adequate answer. “That’s what I thought. While you’re out there documenting milestones of other people’s lives, you’re forgetting to celebrate your own.”
