(A/N: Sorry about the delay in posting, if any one really cares, I just couldn't find the attention span to write more than like, two paragraphs at the one time… Hope you enjoy! Review with comments and favourite if you liked it! More soon! Thanks xo)
I sneak up behind Cooper, avoiding our suitcases and my guitar case lithely, and poke him in the side, causing him to jump upright. "Oh, Heather!" he exclaims, breathing out heavily. "You scared me a little." He smiles down at me, his luminescent blue eyes lighting up with happiness and mischief. "Just waiting for the room key; it's a busy weekend so everything is a little hectic. No big deal. There's been a mix up with our key, apparently it's missing. They're looking for the spare."
I smile up at him, and wrap my arms lovingly around his waist. He leans down and lays a small kiss on my forehead like he did that day my boss tried to kill me on the top floor of Death Dorm. My eyes flutter closed, before I lay my head on his toned chest and listen to the rhythmic sound of his heart's steady beating. Despite the slight drizzle from outside, he was as dry and warm as ever.
Our intimate moment is interrupted, however, by a portly man with a handle bar moustache and sideburns so dark they are almost black. I feel as though we've been transported back to the sixties. He clears his throat, as politely as possible, and leans forward to hand the key card to Cooper. "Thank you very much for your patience," he says, in an almost robotic voice. "I hope you enjoy your stay." I look at his name tag—you learn well, young padawan—and learn that his name is Robert.
"Thank you, Robert," I say politely, dropping my arms from Cooper's waist and smiling at him.
Robert's face shows an expression of absolute shock. "Y-You're welcome," he stutters, suddenly eager to sort out a small pile of paper work on the desk in front of him.
Cooper and I turn away from the desk and walk toward the elevator, him grabbing both suitcases, me grabbing my guitar. He presses the button and I look over my shoulder to make sure no one is listening. "What the heck was that all about? Why did he seem so shocked that I thanked him?" I ask Cooper, allowing my curiosity to seep into my voice.
"Uh, Heather, this is Los Angeles, the home of the rich and famous. What rich and famous people are really kind these days? He might have recognised you from your stint as a pop-star back in the day and expected you to be impolite." He shakes his head, almost sadly. "While it's an unfair stereotype, it fits for most people in that category."
I look down at my adorable baby pink peep toe wedges—I was expecting different weather—and frown. "I don't understand the stereotype at all."
Cooper chuckles and taps my chin to make me look up at him. "Fame never got to you. You've always been a down-to-earth person, but with some people, it's all about the flashing lights and money. With you, it was about making people happy. That's why you wanted to start using your own music; songs about people with sugar rushes didn't really inspire. You want to inspire."
The words that come out of his mouth make me melt all over my peep toes. "You really know how to get a girl in to the sack," I comment, grinning when he rolls his eyes. Okay, so I know it's not exactly well-mannered of me to say something like that, especially when he's standing there, all protective, but any one knows it's hard for me not to say what I'm thinking. If this wasn't the case I would still have a job working for Cooper's dad at Cartwright Records. Well, maybe twenty pounds ago.
And yeah, okay, maybe it is a little weird that we still haven't said those three words, three syllables, eight letters to each other yet, but I'm sure he's just a little… cautious. Yeah, that's it. He's probably a little scared that I don't feel the same way and he's waiting for me to say it first, so I'll just-
The elevator dinging snaps me out of thoughts and back into the hallway of the hotel. I hate elevators after what happened last year with my boss, but I walk in and grip hold of the gold bar any way, breathing hard. The elevator man—what is the actual term for an elevator man, anyway?—asks our floor, to Cooper replies, 'fourth, please'. On the ride up to the fourth floor an almost peaceful silence rang in my ears—except for my extremely heavy breathing, of course. With Cooper, silences are never awkward; I'm usually always comfortable with him, no matter the subject of conversation, or lack thereof.
The second the elevator doors open, I rush into the hall way and plant my feet on solid ground, my breathing finally returning back to normal pace. Cooper looks down at me speculatively, but knowing there is nothing he can do, he settles for hiking one of the cases onto his shoulder and linking our hands together.
I melt into his touch, feeling safe again, like I always do when I'm with him. He pulls me down a long corridor and stops in front of a door with the number '434' emblazoned across a small gold painted plaque. Isn't this the suite that Whitney Houston died in? Oh, great. If it weren't for bad luck, I wouldn't have any luck. I'm not sure which I'd prefer.
Cooper slides the key card into the slot and it makes a little tinkling noise before the door clicks open. We walk into the suite and I dump my guitar case onto the bed and I start checking things out. I pick up the chocolate on the pillowcase and split it half and half with Cooper, before asking if he'd like to join me in the shower… I mean, come on, it'd be such a waste of water… I'm just looking out for the good of the planet here!
He accepts my offer, so I grab him by the hand and I drag him, walking backwards into the bathroom, kissing him deeply. Sliding his hand behind me he pushes down the door handle and we continue to move together.
"Cooper," I start to say when we both come up for air. I open my eyes, and look up at him, wanting us to be staring lovingly into each others eyes as I say this, but instead of him looking at me, he's staring a little wild-eyed at something behind me. "I lov- What is it?"
I start to turn, but Cooper holds me still. "Don't," Cooper says, his quiet voice grim and his lips drawn into a tight line. "Don't look." The words seem to jam in his throat and he swallows, shutting his eyes.
"What is it?" I ask, starting to get a little worried now.
When he doesn't answer, I yank my arm out of his grip and turn around. That's when I see them hanging there; the two bodies that had been strung up and left for dead.