"Yeah, maybe," I reply. "I probably won't get done until late though!" I yell back through the shower. This hotel is fancy as shit, the shower and the bed feel incredible. I shower the sticky sweat off of me for the second time today. I turn the water off and hop out. Once I'm back in my uniform of jeans and a black shirt, I grab my leather jacket and helmet.
"Promise you'll call when you're done?" She's lying, still naked, on the bed posed like a pin-up girl. If she wasn’t so whiny I'd probably stay, turn her over, and fuck her brains out again. She looks at me, bats her eyelashes and bites her pink pouting lip. On second thought...
I toss my jacket and helmet aside, and am balls deep inside of her before she even has the time to squeal. Only this time I fuck her so hard she'll be too sore to want me to come back later.
4
–– Amelia ––
"Amen." We finish the Lord's Prayer together before we start eating dinner.
My mom made chicken, green beans, and wild rice. Josh being the disgusting fourteen year old he is, starts shoving his face with food using his hand, and his fork at the same time. I watch him for a few seconds in awe, half expecting him to start choking any second. I finally look away, and tend to my own plate.
We eat dinner together every night, no matter what. Josh and I aren't allowed to be excused until we ask. Even now I'm obligated to attend family dinners, and I still have to ask permission to leave when I'm finished eating. I really didn't mind it in high school, but now that I'm older I really just want to eat whenever I want to eat, and not on somebody else's schedule. Living away from my parents liberated me in many ways, and eating dinner whenever I want is one of them. It may seem like a small thing, but to me it isn't. We eat in silence for the first few minutes.
"Josh, how was Blake’s house?" My mom asks, before taking a bite of chicken. He looks up at her confused with his cheeks full of food.
"Oh, um, Blake’s was good. You know, we just played video games all night," he lies through all the chicken in his mouth. He swallows, and I swear he turns purple. He then starts taking big swigs of milk, and I almost gag.
"Jesus," I mumble, staring at him, thoroughly disgusted.
"Amelia! Language!" My father shouts in his Boston accent. Both of my parents grew up in Boston, but he’s the only one that has the accent. He shoots me a stern glare.
"Sorry," I mumble again. I can't even say what I want to say in my own home. It's a miracle I made it through my teen years so complacent, and rule abiding.
"Well, I'm glad you had fun, sweetie. Just make sure you aren't eating too much junk food or playing those X-rated games," my mother says.
"We never play those games, Mom. Come on, you know Blake and I are good kids," he reminds her, smiling. I want to call bullshit so bad, and when he winks at me I almost do. He could get away with murder.
"We know you are, kid," my dad says. I roll my eyes.
"I have a girlfriend," Josh blurts out after taking a swig of milk. My jaw drops, and my eyes feel like they’re going to bug out of my head.
"What?!" I practically shout.
"Sweetie, you have a girlfriend?" My mom asks pleasantly.
"Hey! Good for you, kid! When do we get to meet her?" My dad asks proudly.
"I'm sorry but did you say you have a girlfriend?" I ask, still in disbelief. "As in you're dating somebody?"
"Yes, Amelia. I have a girlfriend, and yes, that means I am dating her. I thought you were in college," he retorts with a smirk.
"Aw, sweetie, tell us about her!" My mom is nearly giddy with excitement.
"No. Hold on. He is fourteen. I wasn't allowed to date in high school. He's fourteen, and he's allowed to date?" I challenge my parents. I'm freaking pissed. "Hell, I still don't even know if I'm allowed to date!"
"Language!" Both parents yell at me while Josh just laughs.
"You've never dated anybody? You're twenty and you've never dated anyone?" He hackles.
"Shut up!" I yell. I could kill him, I am so livid. I was never allowed to date in high school so barely spoke to boys in school, and once I went to college I knew I was out of my league. I have no idea how to communicate with men or flirt or kiss or date or...other things. All because my parents wouldn't let me go to freaking dinner with the opposite sex. Yet here Josh is, not even a Sophomore in high school, and dating a girl that my parents are ecstatic about without even having met her. She could be a serial killer! Okay, statistically I know that's almost impossible but still! "It's not fair!"
"Life's not fair," my dad replies quickly.
"Enough of that, Amelia. And of course you can date. Don't be ridiculous."
"Yeah, Amelia, don't be ridiculous," Josh mimics.
It takes everything in me not to reach across the table, and punch his ugly face. "Fine. I'll date then." I cross my arms.
"Honey, we've established that it's fine," my mom reiterates. "Now tell us all about her, Josh!"
"Her name is Monica..."
I spend the rest of dinner wanting to stab my ears repeatedly with my fork so I wouldn't have to hear about how precious Josh and Monica are. If I started dating they'd want to lock me up in a nunnery, I swear. It's so unfair that there's a double standard. I suddenly want to date every single man in this town just to stick it in their faces. And to make up for lost time.
Now, I just need to find a boyfriend...it can't be that hard, right? I sigh before taking a sip of my water, and asking to be excused.
I should have been better at staying in touch with my friends from high school. Not that I had that many, but still. If I had, I probably wouldn't be drinking alone at The Oregonian Hotel on a Saturday night. I also probably would've known a better place to go have a drink. You know, like an actual bar. Everything on Yelp looked a little intense, and I figured something higher class would be safer, considering I've never been to a bar.
The only reason I have this fake ID is because my roommate made me get one with her, because she was too chicken to go alone. In the end, she chickened out when it came to actually going in the store, and buying the bottle of wine we planned to drink that night. I had to do it, and I still can't believe I did. I thought I might pee my pants and puke at the same time. I was shaking so bad I can't believe it even worked. She told me they really are good fakes because we paid a lot of money for them. Afterwards I felt completely elated. It was such an adrenaline rush.
Tonight, now that the adrenaline rush is gone after having ordered my first drink, I'm not really sure how to act. I told my parents I was going out to dinner and a movie with Christine, a girl I used to be friends with in high school. I don't even know if she still lives here. I guess it couldn't hurt to try and actually reach out to her so I at least have someone to hang out with this summer instead of just my camera.
I look around, and take in the dark wood, deep red plush sofas, and arm chairs. The short round cocktail tables have small cream color lamps that almost look like mushrooms. The wall sconces, and lamps create a dimly-lit, speakeasy type of vibe––at least, how I imagine a speakeasy would look––especially considering the vintage cash register, and dark ornate wooden bar.
As far as men go, I'm not really sure what I was expecting to find here. Everything is calm, and there are a few older businessmen having drinks. Every now and then the elevator chimes, and a few more rich people either get on or off the elevator. I make eye contact with the middle-aged bartender, and he looks at me as if I'm pathetic for sitting here, drinking alone. Maybe I am pathetic. Todd's words from yesterday burn into my mind. I slowly twirl the stem of my wine glass as a frown naturally takes over my face. I definitely didn't come here to wallow, but I haven't been able to stop replaying my interaction with Todd.
Todd was two grades older than me at Mount St. Mary's. I was a sophomore when he was a senior. I never knew him but I knew of him. Most people did. He was a partier. A drinker. A smoker. A...philanderer. He got in on a lacrosse scholarship, which makes sense, because he never seemed like the scholarly type. Out of eve
ryone in his graduating class, he was the only one who decided not to go to college. Typically, when you graduate from a private Catholic school you tend to use that private education for higher learning. People were surprised, but they really shouldn't have been. School just never seemed to be part of his MO. Who knows what he does now...other than rudely splash girls in gutters, and then call them pathetic.
If I'm being honest, his words hurt, because I'm afraid they're true. I might be less pathetic when I'm at school and on my own, but while I'm here with my family, and in this town...I feel pathetic. No, I take that back. I feel like my entire life is pathetic. Todd is right. That smug asshole is right. Not only did he call me pathetic, and leave a major hole in my ego, but he did it while soaking wet and looking like Adonis. I've heard girls refer to him as a golden god, and they're not wrong. Yesterday his golden hair looked more brown than blonde from being pelted with rain, his normally bright caramel eyes were a dark amber color (most likely out of frustration), but he looked every bit like a god. His white t-shirt was see-through and clinging to him desperately. I could make out every single groove of his abs. I seriously didn’t even know there were that many stomach muscles. The rain made his jeans heavy and caused them to sink lower on his body, and I could make out his muscles cutting a V shape into his hips.
Under normal circumstances I would've been too shy to even look at the guy, that's how freaking gorgeous he is. Yesterday, however, I was in rare form. I can't remember the last time I was that angry, and in that much pain. I would say the poor guy got the brunt of it, but it's his fault I was in that position to begin with. I sigh. Okay, so I had already fallen and twisted my ankle, but that wave of street water nearly choked me to death. Fine, I guess that’s a slight exaggeration. At least he did stop and help me. But it really was the least he could do. He should be more careful. I mean, what was he even doing riding a motorcycle in the rain? Motorcycles are dangerous enough on dry roads. A twinge of anxiety runs through me just thinking about a potential accident.
What––now I'm concerned for the guy's safety?
I shake my head, and take another sip of wine.
Out of the corner of my eye I see someone rush out of the elevator. I have to do a double take to make sure I'm seeing correctly even though I know I am. Who else would be walking around looking like a Greek god in a leather jacket with a motorcycle helmet? My mouth drops to floor when I noticed that he's switched his white shirt out for a black one. How could one bland color exchanged for another bland color make such a massive difference to ones looks? I stare a second too long, because he turns his head, and before I can look away we make eye contact.
Crap.
I turn away, and take a massive gulp of my wine. The gulp is too big and as I swallow I cough, some wine slipping out the corner of my lips. I cough again, and grab my napkin to wipe the wine dribbling down my chin, but I completely freeze when I hear his voice next to me.
5
–– Todd ––
There’s only one woman at the bar so she’s kind of hard to miss. Add in her sexy black dress and long wavy brown hair, and she's impossible to miss. I catch her staring at me with her jaw open like she's seeing some kind of ghost. She looks away quickly, mortified that I caught her staring. I chuckle. I get that look from a lot of women. I know I just came downstairs from boning a chick but this girl is too cute to walk away from. I guess I could use a drink.
I walk into the bar and lounge area, and am immersed in a dimmer, softer light than in the lobby. I walk right up next to her at the bar, and she still refuses to open her shoulder up to me. Her coyness makes me grin as do her legs in the modest yet sexy dress she's wearing. The bartender, dressed in his old time-y uniform complete with suspenders, approaches me.
"What'll it be tonight, sir?"
"I'll take a whiskey straight up and," I pause and look at what she's drinking, "a glass of red wine for the lady." Her shoulders immediately seize up just as he nods, and walks away. "So, what brings you into town?" I see her shoulders drop and she slowly turns around.
No way.
"You?" I ask with my eyebrows raised. "I thought you lived here." Her eyebrows cinch together, and I can tell I've already said the wrong thing. I brace myself to get reamed again.
"Yes, me and yes, I live here. Why are you here?" She counters.
"I asked you first," I retort, matching her attitude.
"No, you didn't."
"Yes, I did."
The bartender sets down our respective drinks, and I slide over some cash.
"No, you never asked, you just made a statement."
I roll my eyes. "Fine. What are you doing here?"
"I asked you first," she states. I shake my head, but I can see out of the corner of my eyes that she's grinning, finally finding some confidence. Too bad I'm finding it completely annoying.
Considering I no longer have the desire to try and pick her up, I tell her the truth. "I was dipping my pen in some ink." She looks at me confused. If I didn't know her I would think the look was cute. It still sort of is. Her look screams “young and innocent” from miles away. "Wait, how old are you? Are you really old enough to be drinking?" Her eyes grow into a panic. I chuckle. "I never would have guessed that you have a fake ID."
"Ssshhh! He might hear you," she whisper-yells at me while nodding her head toward the bartender. I look over, and he's preoccupied with his phone.
"Calm down, sweet cheeks, he doesn't care."
"Don't call me that."
"So, why are you here?" I ask, and she immediately blushes, and shrugs her shoulders. My guess is that she is supposed to be meeting someone from Tinder or some other dating site.
"I just wanted to have a drink." She looks down at her napkin and fidgets with the corner.
"You're lying."
"What kind of business were you doing?" She takes two big gulps of her first glass of wine, finishing it.
"What do you mean?"
"You said you were dipping your pen in some ink. Isn't that some kind of business phrase?"
I nearly choke on the whiskey, and start laughing. She closes in on herself, growing even more insecure. "I guess you could say that." I lean in toward her, and notice her grip on the wine glass tightens. I whisper in her ear, and told her exactly what kind of business I just finished. Her eyes grow wide, and her entire face flushes. I smile at how easy it is to get a rise out of her.
"You're disgusting!"
"Don't be jealous, sweet cheeks. It's not cute," I tell her blatantly. Her eyes narrow.
"I'm not jealous!"
"Yeah, okay, whatever you say, sweet cheeks." The whiskey is making me warm so I take off my leather jacket, and set it on the table while she drools just watching me. Not jealous, my ass. "You know, you can always take a picture. It lasts longer," I chide, calling her out on her staring. She turns pink, and I smirk. "And hey, you can even get it framed! I know a great place. It's called Jimmy Frank's Framing and–"
"Just stop, Todd. You're being an asshole. Did you really just come get a drink to harass me?"
"No," I say quickly. "How do you know my name?" She tenses, and peers sadly into her wine.
Oh no.
"Have we had sex?"
Her head bolts up right, and she looks at me in horror. "No! I've never–I mean, I–no, we haven't."
She's a virgin. I'm not surprised. "Okay, sorry, relax. I just don't know how you know me," I explain.
My eyes wander down to perfectly dark red manicured fingers, twirling the glass. She did her hair. Well, I think she did. The only time I've seen it is when it was wet, but I doubt her hair looks this sexy naturally. Damn, I am an asshole. She's wearing a black dress that's flirty at first glance, but it shows just enough leg and just enough back that it's sexy. Forget the Tinder date––she's going old school. She could easily be trying to pick up a guy tonight, but why she would pick this hotel bar to pick up men is beyond me. It's nothing but old businessmen. Maybe she's into older men? Or
maybe she just came from a funeral. Judging by her exhausted face, I'm guessing a funeral is more likely. No wonder she's out drinking alone. I wonder who died. It's almost enough to make me sympathetic.
Almost.
"You were two grades above me at Mount St. Mary's."
"Ah, I thought so."
She cocks an eyebrow. "I thought you thought that we slept together?"
"Well, both were high possibilities," I casually respond. I look around the lounge, getting bored. Downing the rest of my whiskey, I make a move to stand up. "As fun as this is, I have to go. Enjoy the rest of your wine, sweet cheeks. No need to say thanks––I know how much you hate it. And, hey, I'm sorry for your loss."
Before she has the time to respond, I'm already walking out of the lounge.
6
–– Amelia ––
"What?" I ask with my face in utter confusion. He can't hear me though, because he's already out of earshot, and on his way out of the hotel.
“I'm sorry for your loss.”
What on earth did he mean by that? I never meant to not say thank you. I didn't even want this stupid glass of wine anyway. I push it away from me suddenly repulsed and irritated.
I can't believe he admitted to having slept with someone then coming down and buying me a drink. What a pig. I mean, not that he was hitting on me. I sigh. He did look hot though. His jeans hugged him perfectly, and his black shirt nearly made me swoon, especially once he took his jacket off and I could see his biceps. No man should look that good.
I get up from the bar and give a “thank you” nod to the bartender. I walk carelessly into the lobby, which is basically all marble with an impossibly high vaulted ceiling. The glass and a half of wine has made my tummy warm and my cheeks pink. Part of me feels like I'm floating.
I allow myself to wonder what it would be like to be with a man like Todd Bartlett––a motorcycle-driving gorgeous man with a bad boy persona. Having him hold me and protect me. Protect me from what––I'm not really sure, but it sounds romantic. To have him kiss me and hold my hand. To have him...touch other parts of me.
Wrong Place, Right Time Page 3