Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Delaney
My jaw drops when we enter Al’s suite. I expected a little sitting area and a bed. Instead, it’s like a mini apartment in here—one with all high-end furnishings. I close my mouth and brush it off. I assume his company paid for this. He must have a nice gig or be really high up the ranks.
“Do you mind if I change into something more comfortable?”
I snort… or chuckle. Oh my God, what was that? A combination of the two—a snuckle? Is that even a word? It is now.
Al lifts an eyebrow and tilts his head while he stares at me.
“You okay over there?” His lips settle into an amused smirk.
I clear my throat and hope that my cheeks aren’t bright crimson with embarrassment.
“Yep. Sorry about that.”
“Wanna share with the class what’s so funny?”
I fight another snuckle as it tries to escape me.
“Well, isn’t that what the woman is supposed to say?” His forehead creases, and his eyebrows draw inward in confusion.
“You know, like the woman says: ‘Let me go slip into something more comfortable.’ Then she comes out in some slinky lingerie.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “Slinky? Interesting.”
“What? Don’t you read?”
“I do. But I’m guessing maybe not the same things you’re reading.” He grins. “I assure you, by ‘comfortable,’ I mean anything other than this suit. I promise there will be no lingerie or banana hammocks. I left those at home.”
He winks at me and disappears into what I assume is the bedroom. It’s a good thing because now I’m picturing him in his underwear, and my vivid imagination does a bang-up job of it.
“Calm down,” I mutter to myself.
I’m about to sit down when there’s a knock at the door. After looking through the peephole, I open it and let the room service attendant in.
He enters, pulling a cart behind him. Within a minute, he has a small table set up with a linen tablecloth, two fancy crystal glasses, and a bottle of whiskey.
There’s a fancy charcuterie tray as well.
That’s a lot to do for a bottle of booze, but I guess when it’s the expensive top-shelf stuff, it’s warranted.
When he’s finished and moves to leave, I reach for my purse and pull out my wallet to tip him. I can spare ten dollars, especially since Al paid for my drinks at the bar. He holds his hand up to stop me.
“No, ma’am, please. The gentleman has already provided a most generous gratuity.”
“Oh. Okay. Um… well, thank you for everything.”
He offers me a smile and a slight nod of his head and walks to the door. Why I follow him—like a creep—is beyond me. But I do.
He opens the door, steps through it, then turns to close it without allowing it to slam shut. He jumps, his eyes wide, when he finds me just a few feet from him.
I give him a slight wave goodbye. Awkward much?
“Thanks for coming.”
The man nods again but takes off down the hall. I don’t blame him. He was probably worried I’d follow him to the elevator.
When I turn back to face the room, Al is standing near the whiskey cart in a black T-shirt that isn’t tight, yet somehow still highlights his lean, muscular upper body. On his lower half, he’s wearing gray sweatpants, and damn, they look good on him.
After I force my eyes back to his face, his grin makes it obvious he knew I was checking him out. So, I deflect. I cock my head to the side and smile smugly.
“Thought you weren’t coming out in something slinky?”
“Huh?”
Good, I’ve confused him.
“Are you really going to tell me you don’t know that gray sweatpants do to women what G-strings and sexy corsets do to men?”
His deep, hearty laugh makes me realize what it truly means to feel weak in the knees.
Given said weak knees, I walk across the room and sit on the opulent, yet cozy, couch.
“Please, enlighten me about this theory of yours,” Al says, as he opens the whiskey and pours us each a glass.
I tuck my feet under me and nestle further into the sofa.
“Um, it’s not a theory. Clearly, whatever you’re reading isn’t romance, Al. Every steamy romance reader knows gray sweatpants are a woman’s kryptonite.”
“Steamy romance, huh? We’ll have to come back to that, but first, it’s time to introduce you to the experience of drinking excellent whiskey. You’ll never be able to drink that shit you were drinking again.”
“Well, no worries there because I would never let it cross my lips again, anyway. It was horrible.” I grimace, remembering the taste and the burn as the cheap whiskey raced down my throat.
When he approaches and extends a glass to me, I wrinkle my nose but take it.
“No ice?”
I typically hate warm beverages. I have one glass of hot black tea in the morning with a splash of creamer, and that’s it. Every once in a while, I’ll have a hot coffee. Everything else is ice cold.
Al releases a fake gasp. At least I think it’s fake.
“Betty, are you asking me to dilute the flavor of this fine whiskey?” He says the words with a reverberating growl that’s a mix between playful and sexy.
Shit, I feel that in places I probably shouldn’t.
Of course, I noticed he was attractive before this.
Even in the dim light of the hotel bar, it was obvious.
Then, when we walked to the elevator, I realized from the way he towered over me that he’s well over six feet tall.
With the T-shirt and sweatpants combination, the five o’clock shadow, and his thick dark hair, the verdict is in: He’s hot.
Sweltering hot. Add in that growl and I’m a goner.
He might be the most attractive man I’ve ever seen in my life, and I’m not wearing whiskey glasses.
I catch myself tugging at my left earlobe.
It’s an unconscious habit I have when I’m nervous or…
or what? What exactly is this feeling? It’s reminiscent of excitement, but it’s been so long since I’ve had anything good to anticipate that I’m not sure if I can label it that.
Regardless, with sinking into this luxurious couch—and probably the whiskey I had at the bar—I’m feeling quite relaxed.
“Trust me on this.” His gaze bores into mine.
“Okay.” It comes out like a squeak.
He smiles, and it’s ethereal.
“Ready?” He sits on the couch a few feet from me.
I nod and lift the glass to my lips. Before I tip it to take a sip, the aroma fills my nose.
There’s a warm vanilla smell mixed with citrus and some other scents I can’t identify.
I tilt the glass back, hesitant because of my initial experience with whiskey this evening.
However, I do want to forget this day, plus, this is no cheap bottle of alcohol, so it’s bound to be an improvement over what I had earlier.
When a small amount of the amber liquid flows over my tongue and slides down my throat, I immediately understand what Al was talking about.
There’s still a burn, but it’s a good one, enjoyable even.
The taste, though, oh my gosh, it wipes away any memory of the shitty whiskey I had earlier today.
It’s smooth, with a slightly fruity edge, instantly ruining any other brand for me for the rest of my life. Maybe any other liquor, period.
“This is fabulous. I see what you’re talking about. With this out there on the market, I’m shocked more people aren’t walking around drunk.”
He smiles, and I swear I’ve never seen anything more spectacular.
I don’t know why, but I suspect it’s one he doesn’t let show often.
That makes me sad for him. It also makes me wonder when the last time was that I smiled as much as I have this evening.
I was sure nothing could pull me from the dark place in my heart after the day I’d had, but meeting Al did. At least some, anyway.
“I’m glad you like it and that I could introduce you to it. It would be a shame if you judged all whiskey by that sewer water you were drinking earlier.”
I return his smile and suddenly feel awkward. We sit in silence for a minute or two, sipping from our glasses, and I stare out the window. When I sneak a peek at him, he’s looking at me. He’s not smiling anymore.
“Betty? Are you okay?” His voice is kind, soothing.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just realizing that I’m halfway to drunk and followed a man that I just met up to his hotel room. That’s out of character for me.”
He leans forward as if he’s going to rise.
“We can go downstairs again. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.” He stands, and I grasp his forearm before he moves out of my reach.
“No. I want to be here. It should probably freak me out that I did this, but it doesn’t. I don’t understand why, but I trust you beyond your taste in whiskey. Which is damn good, by the way.”
I force a smile and try to turn my melancholy around.
“Plus, I snapped a picture of you when you weren’t looking and texted it to my friend, including your room number, height, weight, blood type, mother’s maiden name…”
Al laughs, and he sits. He’s closer to me, this time. I think a change of subject would be wise.
“So, you’re in the construction business or something? You seem like you’re here with the conference.”
He nods.
“Yes. I don’t normally come to these things. My brother—we work together—does. Except this year, he needed me to come.”
“Why does he usually get to come, and you don’t? It doesn’t seem fair. It seems like you guys should take turns.”
“Oh, no. God, no. I don’t want to attend most years. Enormous crowds like this aren’t really my thing. Truthfully, talking to a stranger in a bar, let alone a beautiful woman, is unusual for me.”
My stomach flips at his words. I haven’t felt beautiful in a long time. When you’re a caregiver for someone else, especially someone who lives with you, you’re never off duty. Self-care has taken a back seat to caring for my mother, but I’m honored to do it.
I guess none of that matters anymore, though. I force the thoughts out of my head.
“So does that mean you’re not in the habit of bringing strange women back to your hotel room?” I say it with a flirty air, aiming to make it light, but I really want him to answer, and I hope the answer is no.