Chapter 4
M y buzzing phone jars me from my semi-conscious state. With my heart pounding, I grab it. There's a part of me, a big part, that wants it to be Corey. I'm angry at him and hurt, but I want him to want me back, to come crawling back asking for forgiveness.
It's not that I want him, because I don't. I mean, I shouldn't. And it's not like I'd take him back even if he did ask. At least, I don't think I would. Definitely not without some serious begging and pleading first.
I look at the screen. Disappointment weighs heavy on my sinking heart. It's my mother. I never let her know I arrived safe and sound. It's not until this moment that I realize how pathetic I am, holding out hope that my ex will change his mind. That he'll want me back.
This totally freaking sucks. The only thing worse than having no hope at all is having false hope for something that will never happen. False hope that will sink your spirits over and over again until, eventually, it rises above your head and drowns you.
After the quick call with my mother, I spend the next thirty minutes tossing and turning in bed. The room is hot and sticky even though I lower the temperature, and sleep doesn’t come.
I take my shirt and panties off and toss them on the floor. I'm not one for sleeping in the buff. I don't have anything against it, but I'm so used to covering my body up, it never occurred to me to do it. Not even when I spent the night with Corey.
In fact, I was rarely naked in front of Corey. At least not for very long. Never naked and proud. My clothes would only come off completely when we'd have sex. Even then, I didn't feel comfortable. He'd often make comments about how I should be doing more sit-ups. Or how hot I'd look if I lost just ten pounds.
Even after I lost fifteen.
Instead of frustrating myself any further with thoughts of that shithead, I pad into the bathroom in my naked glory and grab the soft terrycloth robe from the back of the door. It feels luxurious against my bare skin.
Feeling thirsty, I take a bottle of water out of the well-stocked refrigerator. If I can cool down, I might be able to get back to sleep. I chug down some water. It's not refreshing enough. Even though it's cold, it needs ice. And if worst comes to worst and the water doesn't help, I can use the ice cubes to bring down my body temperature.
With a glance at the clock to check the time and a quick listen to the noise, or lack thereof, on the floor, I decide to do something crazy. Daring. Something I'd never dream of doing if Corey was here.
I grab the ice bucket, slip my key card into my pocket, and open my door in nothing but my robe and slippers. It's an act of defiance against my ex, even though he's thousands of miles away. A small act of defiance. It is close to midnight, and there isn't a peep on the floor. It's not like I'm going to run into anyone. But still, I'm making a statement. Even if just to myself.
I look down the hall from left to right and step out as if I'm crossing a street instead of going down the hall. Just as I expected, it's quiet and empty. No one is around.
I make it to the small room with the ice machine at the end of the hall unnoticed. I'm filled with a sense of pride. I did it. I took a risk. Did something wild. Wild for me, anyway. I have to admit it's a little bit of a turn-on.
Filled with a sense of accomplishment, I don't pay attention as I throw the door open, ready to head back to my room.
"Fuck!" I hear as something white billows up and drops to the ground.
I stare open-mouthed at the guy who is now bent on one knee at my feet.
"I'm so sorry," I say, finding my voice.
Hearing me speak, his eyes drift from what he's doing up to my bare legs, which he has a close-up view of. For a split second, my stomach drops, thinking he might notice stubble covering my calves, until I remember I was waxed two days ago: lip, eyebrow, legs, vajayjay. The works.
I kneel down to help him gather and fold the towels on the floor.
His soft caramel eyes meet mine, and I'm struck dumb by the intensity of them. It's like they can see right through me. Right through the bullshit front I'm putting up. Like if he looks long enough, he's going to see how insecure I really am. His eyes hold such strength and tenacity, it hurts to stare into them too long.
I drop my gaze but quickly force it back up to meet his. I can do this. Something happens to my heart; it’s as if it sprouted a pair of wings. Wings that race and flutter against my chest.
This time, the stranger’s eyes leave mine and trail slowly down my body, down to the towels on the floor. If I didn't know better, I'd think he was checking me out. But I do know better. Guys don't check me out. At least not according to Corey.
"I think that guy's staring at me."
"Trust me, babe. I love you, and I think you’re hot, but he's not looking at you. Not with that hot piece of ass behind you."
Why didn't Corey ever think I was the hot piece of ass being ogled by a strange man? I think I'm pretty. My brown hair is thick and long and makes my gray eyes really stand out. I'm certainly not hideous. I'm sure some men in this world are attracted to me. Wasn't Corey?
"It’s fine," the hottie staring at me says with a smile, showing off a set of deep dimples. "I should've been more careful. I figured I'm the only one up this late."
“It’s only midnight,” I say without thinking. My voice betrays my excitement that I have an opportunity to speak to this man.
“I’m a workaholic," he says, winking one eye at me. "And I didn’t sleep last night, so it’s pretty late if you ask me.”
I close my eyes tight and shake my head, hoping to break the spell his large eyes have me under so I might think of something to say and not sound like a babbling fool. My brain isn’t working. I stand back up to my full height and hug the ice container against my body. If only I could jump in and melt like one of the damn cubes instead of turning into a sloppy puddle at this man’s feet.
“I’m sorry.” Searching for something to do with my hands, I clench my robe lapel. “I’m a little clumsy.”
“Ever think I’m the clumsy one?” He sounds playful. I can handle that.
“Clumsy? I thought you were trying to impersonate a ghost.”
“Ha. Here I am trying to make you feel better, and you’re trying to make fun of me.” He doesn’t sound upset or condescending. He sounds... flirtatious ?
“I really am sorry for the mess."
"Don't be sorry," he says. The stranger drags his eyes up and down my body. Slow and steady, as he gets to his feet with the stack of towels in hand. "You made me smile. That's not easy to do. Especially not when I’m this tired."
I don’t miss how his eyes linger on my chest as he looks me over. He is checking me out, and I like it, even though it makes me incredibly nervous. Especially since three times in the last ten seconds, his eyes have met mine, then dropped to my cleavage. And I'm all too aware that I have nothing on under the robe. I wonder if he knows, or at least suspects.
Is it wrong that I want him to keep looking? That I'm tempted to adjust the robe so it's open a bit more, just enough to tempt him? I mean, how wrong can it be to want to turn him on? It's been a long time since anyone showed this kind of interest in me. Any kind of interest in me.
I don't know if it's because I’m in a strange environment or because I'm standing in front of a total stranger in nothing more than a robe that can easily be discarded, but something in my belly stirs and swirls. My nipples tighten beneath the terrycloth. Tingles form between my legs.
"If I'm completely honest," he says, placing his hand on the small of my back and leading us back down the hall, "you made my night."
"Why's that?"
"I feel like running into a beautiful, almost naked woman is my reward for working my ass off the last few days. You've awakened parts of me that I’ve thought were too tired to work. And all of this serves as a giant reminder that I need to balance my work life with some fun."
"What kind of fun?” I ask, hopeful. We are feet from my room, and I'm looking for a way to keep him talking. To keep him near.
"If I weren't so tired, I'd invite you up to my suite and show you," he says, raising his left eyebrow and pulling the side of his mouth up into a half-smile. "Instead," he says with a sigh, "I'm standing here forcing myself to let you return to the lucky guy you're here with."
"There is no lucky guy."
"There has to be. You're too beautiful," his warm eyes run up and down my body like a pair of strong hands caressing me. "You're too scrumptious to be single."
His words spark and crackle, heating the air around me. It's hard to swallow. I don't answer. I can't. Instead, a hot wave washes through me and settles into my cheeks.
"And I'm just not that lucky," he teases. "Actually, I'm wrong. That's exactly my luck. I would meet you tonight when I'm too physically exhausted and mentally drained to do anything about it."
He's turning me down.
I'm not even propositioning him, and already he's turning me down. I do my best to keep the emotions off my face. A skill I've mastered during my time with Corey.
"Oh well," I say, key card in hand, turning toward my door. "Guess it sucks to be you. Because I am single.” I turn to look at him over my shoulder. “And I'd love to have some fun."
Did I just say that ? Out loud?
"Wait!" He closes his eyes and scrubs his free hand over the light, stubbly beard covering his face. "Is this your room?"
I nod.
"Tell me this isn't your last night here."
"It's not. We just got here."
"We? I thought you said there was no guy."
"There's not."
"Is there a girl?" He looks energized as mischief glints in his eyes.
"No. I'm here for my best friend's wedding."
"Well then, perhaps my luck has changed." He breaks out into a full smile. And for reasons I don't understand, his reaction reassures me and sends my heart soaring.
"Why's that?"
"This means we'll see each other again." He cups my face in his hand and pulls his thumb across my bottom lip. "And when we do. I'll be sure to show you how I balance my life with fun."
*
I lay in bed with a smile on my face. My lip still tingles where the handsome stranger touched it. Too bad it was only his thumb brushing against my skin and not his mouth. I close my eyes and see his face. I imagine his lips closing in on mine.
I didn't get his name or room number. He made it seem like seeing each other is a done deal, but I have no way of contacting him. I have to rely on him coming after me. I don't have a lot of faith that he will. But if he does, I'm going to make the most of it.
Nestled under the blanket, I pretend I'm tucked into the warmth of his embrace instead of the covers. I'm tempted to let my hands roam over my body while I think of him. Even though I'm alone in my bed, the thought embarrasses me. Instead, I hug a pillow close to my chest as I'm lured into a state of slumber.
I awake with a start. My heart races. My hoo-haa throbs.
I can't remember my dream, not at all, but the pillow isn't anywhere near me. Instead, my hands are on my breasts, and my nipples are hard and tight. I feel dampness between my legs. Nothing like this has ever happened before.
Did I have a girl version of a wet dream?