39-Zach
The post-show ritual is exactly the kind of chaotic nonsense I expected.
I step outside and light my cigarette, when a voice behind me asks, “Got a light?”
He has neatly styled black hair, his maple-brown eyes a little glassy from alcohol. Slacks, a button-down with the sleeves rolled up, and his tie loosened; the classic ‘I just left the office and need a drink before I lose my mind’ look.
We’ve been making eyes across the bar since I got here, and he even covered mine and the girls’ first round, making note to ask the bartender to put extra cherries in my Shirley Temple. I take a slow drag, flicking the ash to my boots.
“Do you really need one, or is that just a pick-up line?”
He smiles; slow and confident, leaning against the cracked brick. “What about both?”
I chuckle, grabbing my tiny green lighter as he puts a cigarette between his teeth.
“You should come back to my hotel,” he says through a drag as I light it. “I’m only here for the night.”
He’s handsome, and it’s been a while. I’m tired of treating my body like a museum exhibit I never let anyone touch. I picture a hotel room, and Kit appears in my mind, telling me to tempt him.
It’s more electric than the stranger’s body could ever be.
“Sorry.” I shake my head, and he blinks, surprised, then shrugs.
“Figured I’d shoot my shot,” he slurs out, then he wanders off down the alley, humming to himself.
I suck in a deep, full drag, laughing as I exhale. “Well, guess I’m not getting laid anytime soon.”
I flick the last of my cigarette away, trying to reset my head. The girls spill out of the bar a moment later, Liane a little more intoxicated than she should be, considering they’ve got another show tomorrow.
“Right,” Whitney says, slinging an arm around my shoulders as she points a thumb at Liane. “Let’s get this one to bed before she starts croaking show tunes.”
“I do not croak show tunes,” Liane protests, her lids half-closed.
“You absolutely do,” Pamrata says, shifting her weight to keep Liane upright.
We get back to the hotel and get Liane tucked into bed. She’s giggly and affectionate, hugging me three times before finally going to sleep.
“Love you, Zach,” she mumbles, face buried in the pillow.
I kiss her silky blonde strands before swiping them from her face. “Love you too, Mama.”
I leave their security standing guard soundlessly, closing the door behind me. The hallway is quiet. Carpet absorbs the clack of my heels as I head toward the elevator. On the way down, I reach into my clutch for my room key. Nothing.
“Oh, come on,” I groan as the doors ding open.
Closing the doors, I make my way to the front desk. Of course, I’d lose it tonight, when my head’s still spinning from him. Tea tree and lemon polish fills the lobby from the late-night cleaning.
“Lost your key?” The woman behind the counter smiles politely as I approach, her brown gaze bright despite the late hour.
“Yeah.” I sigh, making one last-ditch effort to find it in my clutch. “Sorry.”
“No problem. Can I see your ID?”
I hand it over, and she types something into her computer. “And what room are you in?”
“1523,” I say, and she nods, her gem-studded nails clacking away.
Swiping a new key, she hands it to me. “Here you go. Is there anything else I can help you with?”
“Nope, thanks.”
“Have a good night.”
“You too,” I say, already turning back toward the elevators.