Filthy Rich Santas

6. Lana

6

LANA

“Is that it?” I ask when Tristan puts on the blinker for an exit a few hours later, peering at the brightly lit sign for a familiar hotel chain.

“Sure is,” he says, making me sigh in relief.

Ryder catches my eye and raises his eyebrow, obviously having heard.

“Tired of us already?” he jokes.

I grin at him. Nothing could be further from the truth. “Just ready to stretch my legs.”

Next to me, Beckett huffs out a breath and if I’m not mistaken, actually almost smiles.

“Tell me about it,” he says, not quite grumbling.

I bite my lip as I let my eyes shamelessly wander over his huge frame. He’s got a point, and I’m sure we’re all more than ready to stop for the night.

This road trip has already been more fun than I’d hoped for when I thought I’d be doing it with just my favorite audiobooks for company. But still, being trapped in a car with the three of them for so many hours has been its own form of torture.

Spending so much time in the back seat, pressed up against one or the other of their large bodies, has had me fighting not to notice how good they each smell. And after the conversation drifted to kink, raising the temperature in the car by several degrees, I need a little breathing room for sanity’s sake.

After we park outside the hotel, Beckett steps up to handle the check-in process. As he turns away from the desk, he hands me a little plastic card.

“Here’s your key, little menace. You’re in room 1304.”

“Just me?” I blush when the question makes him give me a strange look.

He nods. “We’re in 1306 and 1308. So we’ll be close if you need anything.”

“That’s great,” I say quickly to hide my embarrassment over ever thinking we’d somehow all be rooming together. Heck, even with the three of them, they’re splitting into two rooms, so of course it’s crazy of me to have been low-key expecting, or at least hoping, that we’d end up in some kind of intimate sleeping situation.

As we all head to the elevators, I notice the guys talking quietly amongst themselves about something that sounds like it has to do with their club.

“Ten minutes?” Tristan asks the other two as we reach our floor.

Beckett is already headed down the hall, but Ryder nods at him, then slings an arm around my shoulders when he catches my curious look.

“We’ve got a little business to do,” he explains. “A video conference we scheduled with some of our key employees, since we left L.A. earlier than expected.”

I stop in my tracks. “You did what? But I thought you said you were already headed back to New Hampshire! Please tell me you didn’t all take extra time off just because Caleb guilted you into looking out for me.”

“We didn’t all take extra time off just because Caleb guilted us into looking out for you,” he quotes me, making me laugh and lightly punch his arm.

He grins down at me, giving my shoulders a quick squeeze before dropping his arm and moving farther down the hall, turning to walk backward as he moves away from me, so that he’s still facing me.

“Yes, we were already planning on heading to New Hampshire,” he says, easing some of my guilt. “We just moved the date up a little. No big deal, but this meeting might take us a while, so don’t wait for us, okay? Go grab yourself some dinner if you want.”

“Oh.” I tamp down a surge of disappointment. “By myself?”

Ryder spreads his arms with an apologetic look. “Or order in if you’re too tired? Because you know Beckett will turn into a drill sergeant in the morning and insist we hit the road early. He doesn’t just reserve his Dom tendencies for the club.”

Beckett can’t defend himself since he’s already gone into one of the rooms, and Tristan, who’s using a keycard to open the other door, overhears Ryder’s words and snorts a little. The three of us share a look and then all burst out laughing, because if there’s one perfect word to describe Beckett, it’s “bossy.”

I’m still smiling when I enter my room, but the emptiness of it drains the moment of good humor. It’s silly, honestly. I expected this trip to be a solo one, so it doesn’t make sense that I’m feeling bummed just because I actually am going to be on my own tonight.

I settle in, drawing for a while before my stomach starts grumbling enough to remind me that Ryder was right. I should definitely get something to eat.

I glance at the room service menu but decide I want to be in the company of other people, even if they’re strangers, so I head down to the front desk to ask for some restaurant recommendations. The concierge points me toward a bar just down the street, selling it to me when he mentions that they’ve currently got Christmas themed cocktails that are to die for.

I really do love this season, and the minute I step into the lively bar, I know I’ve made the right decision. Upbeat Christmas music plays in the background, seasonal decorations give it a festive feel, and it’s busy enough to tell me the food must be good.

I decide to eat at the bar since I’m on my own.

“Have you seen our cocktail menu?” the friendly bartender asks me after I’ve placed my food order, almost like he’s reading my mind.

I grin at him. “I do deserve a treat.”

He chuckles, tapping his finger on one of the listings. “Then you definitely need one of these Christmas Cranberry Cosmos. Unless you want something warm. Then maybe the Gingerbread Hot Toddy?”

“The Cosmo, please,” I tell him, and end up ordering a second one before I’m done with my meal, because just like the food, they really are that good.

“I don’t suppose you’d let me put that on my tab,” an unfamiliar voice says from just behind me when the bartender hands me my second drink.

I swivel around on my stool to face the man who just spoke.

“Too late,” I tell him, taking a sip and feeling more flattered than I’d like to admit at the attention when I see how good looking he is.

He grins at me. “In that case, maybe the next one?”

“Maybe,” I agree, flirting back a little as the drink loosens up my inhibitions enough to let the new, bolder version of myself that I’m trying to become rise to the surface. I know nothing will come of it and I’m totally fine with that, but it’s fun to have a little admiring attention on me.

Especially since I’m tipsy enough that the voices in my head that usually remind me of all the ways I’m not enough are quiet for now.

The guy sits down next to me and orders himself a Scotch, neat. Then he sees the shocked look I’m giving him and raises his brows. “What is it?” he asks.

I pick up the cute, laminated cocktail menu that lists all the seasonal drinks. “With all this to choose from, that’s what you’re going with?”

He chuckles. “It’s a classic.”

“But it’s not very fun.”

“You’ve got me there.” He swivels his stool around to face me more fully. “Is that what you came here for tonight? Some fun?”

I pick up the last thick-cut French fry on my empty plate and hold it up, grinning. “Actually, I came for this.”

“Ah. A good choice. They’re delicious. But that’s not all this place has to offer, you know.”

I tap the cocktail menu again. “That’s what I was trying to tell you!”

He laughs again. “Then I definitely need to buy you another.”

Before I can decide if I want him to or not, my phone vibrates on the bar top where I have it lying next to my second empty Cosmo glass. The man I’m chatting with signals the bartender, pointing to my drink, as I pick up the phone to see a text notification in the group chat the guys insisted we set up earlier today.

TRISTAN: Just wanted to make sure you got dinner. We’re still in our meeting, but we’re about to order something to be sent up. Should I send something to your room too?

“Aw.” I smile down at the message. “That’s so sweet.”

“What’s so sweet?”

I look up, belatedly remembering the man I was just chatting with. “My friends are checking up on me. One sec.”

I type out a quick reply.

ME: I’m fine, thanks! I just ate, am having some amazing drinks, and even made a new friend.

I look up to find the bartender handing me a fresh Christmas Cranberry Cosmo.

“Oh! Thank you,” I say, confused until I catch my new friend smiling at me.

“I did say I’d get the next one,” he reminds me.

I laugh. “Touché.”

I take a sip as my phone dings again. This time, it’s Beckett.

BECKETT: Who’s the friend?

It’s all too easy to read that one in the deep growl he would have used if he was asking me in person, and I bite my lips to hold in a smile as I imagine it.

“Who are you?” I ask the man next to me, the third drink making me feel flushed and free. “My friends would like to know.”

“Shane Ostrander,” he says, holding out his hand like it’s a formal introduction. “Cocktail snob.”

I laugh, shaking his hand. “Lana Reeves. Christmas junkie.”

“I never would have guessed,” he deadpans, making me laugh again.

My phone catches my attention with another ding. I haven’t answered Beckett’s question yet, and now the other two guys have also chimed in to find out who I’m chatting with.

“Oops.” I hold it up. “I need to report back.”

ME: His name is Shane Ostrander.

TRISTAN: What does he want?

ME: Scotch, neat.

RYDER: Boring.

ME: Right??

BECKETT: What does he really want?

I look over at Shane, holding my phone up like it’s a microphone, then pointing it at him. “Tell me what you want. What you really, really want.”

He grins. “Just to buy you a drink.”

I text that his answer to the guys, adding in that Shane’s mission is now accomplished, and get another message back right away—another one that I once again read in a certain someone’s favorite gruff, growly tone.

BECKETT: I thought you already had one.

ME: No, I already had two!

I giggle as I send that one off, feeling pretty proud of my own humor. Then I remember that I’m actually on my third now, so quickly send a follow-up text with the correction.

RYDER: What are you drinking?

TRISTAN: Only accept it if it’s in an unopened bottle.

BECKETT: Where are you?

TRISTAN: Or if the bartender handed it to you directly.

I reassure Tristan that he did, then finish off my Cosmo as the music changes from Christmas songs to current ones.

“I love this song!” I tell Shane, somehow accidentally swiping the little microphone icon on my screen that picks up my voice and sends it as texts as I fumble my phone in my enthusiasm.

RYDER: What song?

“Oops,” I say when I see Ryder’s question. “Let me ask my phone.”

That gets sent off to the guys too, and I fuss with my settings for a minute, trying to remember how to get my phone to do the thing where it recognizes the song currently playing. It keeps vibrating with more texts from the guys while I do that, and once I finally figure it out and send it back, the group chat feed is full of new messages.

BECKETT: What’s the name of the bar?

RYDER: I’ve got a great drinking game you can try. Too bad for Shane Bystander, though. It can only be played back at the hotel.

RYDER: Wait, are you at the hotel?

BECKETT: Lana, tell us where you are.

TRISTAN: When you say “new friend,” just how friendly is this guy trying to be?

RYDER: Never trust a man who takes his Scotch neat.

TRISTAN: Beckett takes his Scotch neat.

BECKETT: Beckett wants an answer to his goddamn questions.

I shake my head, grinning down at my phone.

ME: I thought you guys said you were still in your meeting.

I send that one off after I see the wall of text, just so they don’t think I’m ignoring them, then scroll back up to read through everything I missed.

“What was that?” Shane asks, leaning in as I snap a pic of the cocktail menu and send it off to the guys.

There. That answers Ryder’s question about what I’m drinking and tells Beckett where I am, since it’s got the bar’s name at the bottom.

I look up at Shane again. “I said, I love this song!”

I didn’t, but I should have, because I totally do. And when Shane points out that the little bar has a dance floor, I completely blame the Christmas Cranberry Cosmos for the way I slide off my stool and convince him to finish off his boring Scotch and come dance with me.

For once, I’m not even self-conscious about it. I’ll never see this man again, I’m full of cocktail confidence, and most importantly, I’m a brand new me. One who actually manages to live that old cliche, dance like no one’s watching, for once.

At least, for a minute or two.

Then heavy hands fall on my hips, and I open my eyes to the reminder that I invited Shane out onto the dance floor with me.

He smiles down at me, and I almost feel bad for instantly comparing his attractiveness to the three guys I’m road tripping with.

Beckett? Hotter.

Tristan? Also hotter.

Ryder? Yep, still hotter.

Shane leans in. “That smile of yours is amazing. What are you thinking about right now?”

“Um,” I stall, feeling a little guilty. Not to mention a little too tipsy to come up with white lie on the fly.

Before I have to, Shane is suddenly yanked backward, breaking us apart.

“Hey!” he shouts as another set of hands stabilizes me when I stumble.

“Hands off,” someone tells him. Someone who sounds a lot like Ryder.

“You’re a goddamn magnet for this shit, little menace,” a familiar voice growls in my ear at the same time.

“Beckett?” I ask, twisting to look up at him. “I was just thinking about you!”

“The lady was dancing with me ,” Shane says, sounding a little belligerent.

I turn back to him and realize that Ryder really is here. Tristan too.

“Hi,” I tell them, my stomach fluttering. “Is your meeting over?”

“Get lost,” Tristan tells Shane with quiet authority when he tries to move toward me again. “ Now .”

I blink, swaying a little. The guys seem a little tense. I’m still really happy to see them, though.

Shane doesn’t seem to feel the same way. He grumbles at them for a second, but then turns and leaves.

“You should dance with me,” I tell Beckett, since he’s still right behind me. I grab both his hands when the beat picks up, wanting to share the fun, happy feeling I’m floating on with him, but the stubborn wall of muscle refuses to move.

I frown at him, then turn to Ryder and Tristan. “Come on! No one can resist Shakira on the dance floor.”

Ryder grins at me, matching my rhythm for a minute, but when I hip-bump Tristan, he shakes his head. “We should get back to the hotel.”

“No, we should dance!”

“We’ve got to get an early start in the morning,” Beckett insists, grabbing on to my arm.

I catch Ryder’s eye and we both laugh. And then, because I’m suddenly a much more coordinated dancer than I ever have been before—thank you, Christmas Cranberry Cosmos—I use the hold Beckett has on me to swing myself around and shimmy up against him.

“Lana…” he growls, his grip tightening on my arm.

“Beckett…” I tease him, resting my hand on his massive chest as I mimic his tone.

He sighs, but I swear I see his lips tug upward a little.

“We really should get back,” he says, somehow managing to maneuver me off the dance floor before I realize what’s happening.

I whine in protest, and someone groans, but none of them agree to stay and dance, and by the time we get back to the hotel even I can admit that those three cocktails packed a punch.

“Do you need help getting to bed, love?” Ryder asks once they get me to my room.

“Yes, please,” happy-drunk me says, leaning my head against his shoulder and breathing him in.

Cinnamon and bergamot. I’d drink that cocktail.

“What cocktail?” Ryder asks.

I blink up at him, realizing I must’ve spoken aloud. “What?”

He shakes his head, smiling down at me. “Never mind. Let’s get you some water before you lie down.”

“On it,” Tristan says, handing me a bottled water from the room’s mini fridge.

I shake my head and push it back at him. “Nuh-uh. They overcharge for those.”

He smiles, opening the top and holding it out until I take it. “We can afford it.”

“Thank you.” I take a sip. Then another.

It’s heavenly.

But it’s also washing away some of that lovely, happy feeling and turning me a little melancholy.

“You left your meeting early for me,” I murmur drunkenly as it hits me, looking at the three of them. They’re all here in my room taking care of me instead of doing the business they said was so important. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Beckett gives me an intense look. “It’s fine.”

I sigh. “I just wanted to have a little fun. Go out and be the new me.”

Beckett’s eyebrows shoot up, but it’s Ryder who asks, “Who’s the new you?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. That’s what I’m trying to find out. I just know that I’ve been trying to reinvent myself ever since Wade and I broke up. Shake off other people’s expectations and figure out what my own are. What I really like. Who I actually want to be.”

“And who you want to be is someone who gets groped by strangers?” Beckett asks, glaring a little.

I stick my tongue out at him, and Ryder snickers.

Tristan elbows Beckett in the ribs. “I think that sounds pretty fucking healthy, to be honest, Lana. But just so you know, who you already are is pretty fucking great.”

I blink up at him, swaying a little. “Really?”

He gives me a small smile, brushing a strand of my hair off my cheek. “Really.”

“Thank you. I just… I feel stuck? I want more .”

“More what?” Beckett asks, crossing his arms over his chest as his eyes narrow a little.

I wave a hand vaguely, knowing I’m oversharing but unable to stop it after all the cocktails I had. “More… everything! More excitement! I want to know what kink is like! I want to know what good sex is like, because honestly, with Wade…”

I bite my tongue, not finishing that thought.

But all three men are staring at me now with undivided focus, and it’s as if their gazes pull the truth right out of me.

“I just want to explore,” I admit, plopping down on the edge of my bed and looking up at them. “It’s why I went to Radiance. It wasn’t a mistake, you know,” I add in a whisper. “I knew it was your club. I picked it on purpose.”

Beckett frowns. “You wanted us to see you getting hit on by other men?”

I shake my head. I can’t tell if I’m blushing or if I’m just flushed from drinking. “No, I wanted…”

Them.

Any of them. All of them.

My breath hitches, and a thick heat pools in my core as I look up at the three men who’ve starred in so many of my secret fantasies.

It’s a truth I’d be a fool to admit. Even drunk, I know that. But the loaded silence as they loom over me, all three of them staring down at me like I’m a puzzle they’re just now starting to piece together, makes me think that even without saying the words out loud, I just admitted to something I didn’t mean to.

I groan, flopping backward on the bed. “Ugh. I should’ve stopped after the first Cosmo.”

Tristan’s lips tilt up, and he leans down, brushing my hair back and pressing a chaste kiss to my forehead. “It’s okay. Get some sleep. You’re allowed to have a little fun.”

“Not with strangers,” Beckett grunts under his breath, sliding off my boots and then pulling the blanket over me.

I close my eyes, sleep starting to tug me under. I can hear them murmuring quietly to each other, and then the gentle click of my door as they leave.

And then I’m out.