1. Stuart #3
“I’m sorry he’s s..ee..ck, . . . um . . . but I’m glad you’re heeere,” she says slowly, leaning her head against my shoulder.
“Me too. Are you feeling better?”
She hiccups. “Uh-huh. The dark helps. Can’t see how close the . . . um . . . walls are. And this . . . um . . . whis’ey is really . . . um . . . good stuff,” she giggles.
I’m relieved she’s no longer panic-stricken.
On the other hand, the way she’s slurring her words suggests she’s on her way to being sloshed.
“I could use a drink myself,” I say, hoping to slow her alcohol consumption.
I would’ve intervened sooner, except in the darkness, I didn’t realize she’d still been drinking.
“Sure. One . . . more . . . teeny . . . sippy . . . for . . . me . . . um . . . first.” Hiccup.
Instead of telling her that’s a bad idea, I reach out in the dark. Feeling the flask, I gently tug it away, saying, “Thanks. My turn now.”
I shake the flask to gauge how much she’s had. It’s bloody empty. No wonder she’s slurring her words. It’s okay though. I’d rather deal with her being pissed than scared. She can sleep it off.
“Okey dokey.” She nuzzles her head into the crook of my shoulder, draping her arm across my torso. “Mmm. You smell nice. I . . . um . . . lick,” she mumbles.
Oh no. She’s sniffing my neck as if she’s planning to actually lick me. I’d definitely be up for this if she weren’t pissed. This isn’t good. She’s well beyond the ability to consent.
Before I can say anything, she adds, “Oops. I meant . . . to say . . . um . . . I . . . um . . . like the . . . um . . . waaay you . . . um . . . smell.” She snickers as I move her head to rest it against my jacket rather than my bare neck.
Sloshed Brooke is adorable, as evidenced by my hardening cock. Unfortunately, the timing is bad, so I attempt to redirect the conversation, asking, “How long do brownouts usually last?”
She sighs. “A while . . . long enough . . . um . . . for a nap. Wake meee . . . uh . . . up when i’s o’er.”
A few seconds later, she’s snoring softly with her head on my chest and arms wrapped around me. That’s probably for the best. I close my eyes to thoughts of how perfectly this beautiful woman fits in my arms.
I spend the next half hour holding this sleeping beauty, watching over her to make sure she’s okay. Eventually, I doze off only to be startled by bright lights and a sense of falling.
Opening my eyes, memories of my situation return. Brooke is still wrapped around me, fast asleep. The good news is that the power is working again, and the elevator is descending.
I whisper, “We’re moving. Wake up now.” I need her alert, so I can send her home in a taxi.
Nothing. She’s not waking.
Her address will be on her ID. I need to find her handbag.
Looking around, I don’t see it. Actually, I don’t think she had one when she stepped into the lift.
A lanyard attached to a plastic pouch hangs around her neck.
The pouch holds a badge with her photo and first name in bold letters, along with a credit card.
She must’ve planned to return to her office to retrieve her handbag after having drinks with the interns.
I’m not sure what to do. I can’t leave her asleep in the lift. The hotel reception won’t know anything about her, since she’s not staying there. I didn’t notice which floor we were on when she first stepped into the lift.
Shite. What am I going to do with her?
Maybe the security desk in the building’s lobby can look up information about her based on her badge. Yes, that’s it. They’ll know what to do.
I push the button for the first floor and wait for the lift to descend. When the doors open, I gently pick Brooke up. It’s eerie walking across the deserted lobby. My heavy steps echo in the cavernous multi-story space. Brooke is still asleep, only emitting an occasional sigh or moan.
Reaching the security desk, it’s empty. A sign says, “security is temporarily closed due to the power outage. In case of emergency, dial 9-1-1.”
Damn.
I rack my brain for a solution. At this point, I have no choice except to carry her to my suite and let her sleep off the effects of the whiskey.
Now that power is restored, I carry her back to the bank of lifts and use my keycard to access my floor.
Minutes later, we reach my suite, and I place her on my bed, remove her shoes, and cover her with a comforter.
Grabbing a bottle of water from the mini-bar, I place it on the bedside table in case she wakes up thirsty.
There’s no night light in the room, so I turn on the light in the adjacent bathroom and pull the door slightly closed.
I’d hate for her to wake up in the dark and think she’s still stuck in the lift.
She’ll be confused enough when she doesn’t recognize her surroundings.
That done, I’m left with another dilemma. Should I sit in the room with her to make sure she’s okay? I’m not sure whether she’d be frightened or reassured to find me watching over her.
Where did all this protectiveness come from? I barely know this woman, but it’s as if she’s already important to me. It doesn’t make any sense.