CHAPTER 5: Anonymous69 Review

By the time I finally pulled up to the hotel, I was two seconds away from committing a felony.

Yes, you heard me.

Two fucking seconds!

Traffic had drained every ounce of patience I had left, and if one more dumbass had cut me off on the road, I might’ve just abandoned my car in the middle of the street and walked the rest of the way.

But I was here now.

I parked, killed the engine, and took a deep breath before stepping out.

The hotel was fancy—way fancier than anywhere I usually went. Glass doors, gold trim, sleek lighting. The kind of place that smelled like money.

I adjusted my jacket and walked inside, the cool air-conditioning a blessed relief after the nightmare that was my drive.

The lobby was all polished marble and overpriced modern art. A huge chandelier hung from the ceiling, casting warm light over the check-in desk, where a well-dressed receptionist was typing away at a computer.

I strode up, planting my hands on the counter. "Hey, I’m here to check in. Should be a reservation under—"

The receptionist looked up, and—yeah. I caught it immediately.

The way their eyes flicked over me, slow and assessing.

I knew that look.

I knew it all too well to be exact.

It wasn’t the ‘Oh, hello, valued guest, let me assist you with your stay!’ look.

Nope. This was the ‘I’d totally let you wreck me in a hotel suite look.’

I barely held back a smirk.

They cleared their throat, clearly trying to be professional. "Uh, name on the reservation?"

"Should be under Anonymous69."

Their eyebrows twitched just slightly at the name, but they didn’t comment. Instead, they typed something into the system, still sneaking little glances at me between keystrokes.

I could practically hear their thoughts.

I wasn’t full of myself, but I knew how I looked. I had the kind of face that got me attention even when I wasn’t trying, and right now? I was trying just a little.

The receptionist tucked their lower lip between their teeth before schooling their expression back into something neutral. "Ah, yes. Room 726. You can take the elevator to the seventh floor, and it’ll be down the hall to your left."

"Thanks." I drummed my fingers on the counter, giving them one last once-over. "I’ll try not to get lost."

Their breath hitched—just a tiny bit.

I turned and walked off, feeling their gaze follow me all the way to the elevators.

Yeah. They were definitely checking me out.

Not that I blamed them.

But right now, I only cared about one person.

And he was waiting for me in room 726.

I stepped into the elevator, jamming the button for the seventh floor, my heart hammering like a damn drumline in my chest.

This was it.

I was about to meet Anonymous69. The guy whose posts kept me up at night, whose messages had my brain short-circuiting, whose very existence had me spiraling into some unhinged kind of obsession.

The doors slid shut, and the elevator hummed as it carried me up. I exhaled, running a hand through my hair, trying to shake off the ridiculous nerves.

I wasn’t nervous. I was just… hyped. Ready. Excited.

Yeah. That’s what it was.

The elevator dinged.

Seventh floor.

I stepped out into the hallway, my sneakers sinking into the plush carpet, my pulse beating in my throat as I scanned the room numbers.

Room 724

Room 725

Room... 726

My feet slowed.

I swallowed, staring at the door.

This Was It. 

The moment I finally meet anonymous69 and see the face behind that beautiful body.

Taking a deep breath, I lifted up my fist and knocked. Three sharp raps.

Silence.

Then—footsteps.

The door creaked open, and I felt the air get sucked right out of my lungs.

Because standing there, in nothing but a fucking towel, hair damp like he just stepped out of the shower, was Andrew Parker.

My entire body locked up.

My brain completely stalled.

No. No fucking way.

I blinked. Once. Twice.

But he was still there.

Anonymous69—the guy I had been thirsting over, fantasizing about, worshiping online—was the pretty boy. The same smug bastard who had embarrassed me in front of my friends. The same asshole that looked down on me.

"What the fuck?" I choked out, my voice coming out strangled.

And the absolute worst fucking part?

Even with my entire body screaming at me to hate him, my traitorous brain was still processing the fact that he looked really fucking good in that towel.

"You?" He breathed out, his voice filled with genuine confusion.

I wasn’t the only one caught off guard.

I felt my stomach plummet. This wasn’t some twisted prank.

He didn’t know either.

Andrew fucking Parker had no clue I was his so-called mystery crush until this very second.

I let out a stunned breath. "You—" My brain was still trying to catch up. "You’re Anonymous69?”

He hesitated, then nodded.

Fuck!

I took a step back. "I—fuck this. No. Nope. I’m leaving."

I turned, ready to bolt, but before I could take another step, fingers curled around my wrist, tugging me back.

"Since you’re already here," he said in haste, his grip tightening, "why don’t we start the shoot?”

I yanked my hand back, seething. "Are you fucking insane?! You ignored and looked down on me at the bar! You think I’ll just let that go?"

Andrew sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Then I apologize."

I scoffed. "Like hell you do."

"Look, I’m serious. A collab would be huge—for both of us."

I narrowed my eyes.

I should’ve left. I should’ve told him to go fuck himself.

But my brain—the same stupid brain that made me fall for Anonymous69 in the first place—was already imagining the possibilities.

The attention. The engagement. The sheer fucking chaos it would cause.

My silence must have given me away, because Andrew smiled.

"See?" He loosened his grip on my wrist but didn’t let go completely. "You’re thinking about it."

"I’m not," I lied.

He leaned in, voice dropping. "Then walk away."

I should have.

I really, really should have.

But I didn’t.

And that was my first mistake