A/N - Thank you for all the amazing reviews! I know I may not respond to them all, but I promise I read and love each one! Here's one of the few chapters where Lily has taken a day off from work. Hope you enjoy!

Room Service

Chapter 7

Lily loses a precious hour of sleep on her day off from work—and consequently, one of the few mornings she can afford to laze around on—entirely because she finds herself unable to wrap her head around what a fucking idiot she's been.

Finding a guest at the hotel charming and fit was relatively acceptable; accidentally flirting with him a few times was a mistake; giving him her number and having dinner with him at midnight was inappropriate, but developing feelings, however unthreatening at the moment, for him—for the bloody owner's son—was downright reprehensible!

And she, Lily Evans, has done the reprehensible thing.

Because as much as she wishes she possessed an ounce less of self awareness at the moment, unfortunately, she knows herself well enough to recognize the fluttery stirrings in her stomach every time James so much as looks her way.

But if dinner with him last night has taught her anything at all, it's the fact that she's not okay with letting this thing between them build any more, at least not while she still works at The Golden Stag. And with no plans of quitting her job visible on the horizon, Lily knows the whole thing has only one solution: she needs to distance herself from him. As soon as humanly possible.

And so, she spends the next several hours of her free time chalking out a plan on how to avoid him the next time they meet. The result of this exercise shows itself in the conviction she's built into her mind to talk to him only when absolutely necessary, in a tone that's polite but detached—and that will be that. No more giggling over the front desk or texting with stupid smiles on her face.

However, the fact that James might not make this whole endeavour easy for her occurs to her in sporadic spurts throughout the day when her phone buzzes frequently with messages from him. A moment of weakness prompts her forefinger to go swiping down on the notification bar, bringing the first few texts he's sent her way into view.

James: Hi

Saw someone named Amelia at reception

She said you're on leave

Honestly devastated that you didn't tell me Evans

I might wither away…

Just as soon as a swoop of warmth flutters through her belly at those dramatic messages, she takes it as a bad sign and resolutely blacks out the screen—and then continues to do so every time her phone lights up with his name on the front again. But his perseverance is commendable, to be sure, because after many more fruitless attempts at texting, he gives up altogether.

And takes to directly calling her.

Lily's first reaction, stupidly, is to revel in the excited thrum that buzzes through her at the knowledge that he cares enough to call her when she isn't responding. And then, the very next second: stop it, you idiot! Because this is exactly the kind of thing she needs to put a break on. Now, if only James stopped fucking ringing her—

Ugh. Fuck it.

"Hello?"

"Evening, Evans," his voice greets from the other end, entirely pleasant like she doesn't have four missed calls from him lying in her phone log already. "How's your day been?"

"Can't complain," she says drily. "How was yours?"

"Good. Though it would've been better if I didn't have to feel like a total ponce, texting and calling you enough times to start feeling a bit like a creep."

"Then maybe you shouldn't have."

He falls quiet for a few seconds. "Why haven't you been replying?"

"I don't know." She resolutely keeps the guilt sloshing in her stomach away from her intonation. "I just—I didn't want to have to think about work today."

"Oh? So, talking to me is the equivalent of that, then?"

"It's certainly part of my duties, isn't it? Talking to the guests, and—"

"Evans," he sighs, and then silence stretches down the line tellingly when he stops there. Lily closes her eyes briefly, seated on her threadbare couch, naively hoping James will take the hint and give up on it, on her, if only so that she doesn't have to go through with this torment. But after a handful of seconds, he disrupts the quiet with another exhale, this one heavier with weariness. "What's going on? Why are you trying to—Is this because of last night?"

Her heart thuds. "What? No. It's nothing. Why would you think that?"

"Really? Then is there a reason why you're suddenly acting so distant and pushing me away?"

Oh, brilliant. He's getting right to it, then.

Lily sucks in a deep breath, shakes her head at no one. "Not particularly. I'm just busy right now."

"Oh, is that all?"

"Yes."

She hears him hum lightly through the phone, and for one disbelieving moment, thinks he's actually somehow satisfied with her dismissive answer. It's only after the thought settles into her mind that the consequent—and immediate—realization of fleeting disappointment slams into her chest. Jesus, why the hell can't she just let him go? Why does she want him to fight her on this?

James takes another pensive pause, and it isn't difficult to imagine that deep, intense expression that takes over his face sometimes. "Well, fine, then. But now that I have your attention… I wanted to thank you."

"What?" She breathes out. "For what?"

"For checking in on Sirius yesterday when I asked you to."

"Oh, that wasn't even—" But the words halt immediately, sense kicking into place as she decides that engaging him in a conversation definitely won't lead her anywhere good. And so she pushes the sentence back in and bites her lip. "You're welcome, Potter."

Almost instantly, he clicks his tongue. "'You're welcome?' Really?"

"Um—" The conviction rattles inside her. "Yes?"

"Even though—" he breaks off now, the frustration coating his words evident when he speaks again, "—even though Sirius all but gave away the fact that I'd already spoken to him before you rang?"

Air whooshes out of her at his confession, the confirmation of what she'd already suspected somehow hitting harder than expected because of the steely tone his voice has assumed. Lily clenches her jaw, unable to help it when her brows stitch in the middle dourly. "James..."

He doesn't let her finish. "Did I do something? Or say something? Are you mad at me? I wouldn't have bothered you so much, but I just feel like—like I might have done—"

But she's shaking her head again even before he gets all the questions out. "No, no, you didn't. I—it's nothing like that."

"Then what's the matter? Because last night… well, I thought last night was really fun." He sounds unsure now, almost sad.

"It was," Lily agrees, even though she shouldn't. Before he can read too much into her answer, and accurately at that, she sits up straighter and decides to be honest. "But I can't talk to you anymore. Not like before."

"What?" James asks. "Why not?"

"I just… I can't. It's not right."

"Oh, come on, Evans. Not again! I thought we were past this stage?"

"No, we weren't." She pinches her lips together in frustration, blinks her eyes rapidly at the ceiling of her flat. "Or we really shouldn't have been. You're a customer, and I—I work at the hotel. So that's the type of interactions we should maintain between us, and nothing more. Please, just, work with me on this."

"Let me get this straight," James enunciates slowly, every syllable measured. "You won't talk to me at all? Unless it's about stiff, boring, hotel-related matters? Simply because you think it's not right?"

She refuses to cower under the phrasing. "That's correct."

"In that case, Evans…" he says, and then—and then she practically feels the shift in his demeanour, despite the fact that she can't even bloody see him, just based on the way his tone and lilt and voice transforms. If given the chance, she'd bet anything that a smirk curls over his mouth as he utters his next phrase. "I will do as you ask. I will speak to you only as a guest would to a receptionist."

Her lips, parted already to counter any argument of his, closes back in unveiled surprise. That was… unthinkably easy.

But no—

She narrows her eyes, clutches the mobile tighter. "What are you planning?"

"I don't know what you mean." And here—a shit eating grin, for certain. "Besides, I reckon that's not a very professional question, yeah?"

"Potter—"

"Have a wonderful evening, Evans!" James sings, and before she can do much more than sputter in indignation, he disconnects the call.

A/N - Please don't be mad at Lily (or me). She's struggling with what she wants/should do.