by L. A. Ritz
She slowly lifted her head. The man slept with one arm hung over his head. His arm was big. The muscle definition was quite nice. He had a small tattoo on the underside of his arm. It was a little pink heart. Strange? He was a grown man after all, not an elementary school girl. Her eyes traveled farther up. His face was chiseled. Strong jaw. Sharp cheek bones. Full puffy lips. And long proportioned eyelashes. God even his five o’clock shadow looked like it was done like Michelangelo’s “David”.
He was perfect.
She was turned on just by his snores. Which reminded her, she looked back down at her body. Her nipples were on full attention and display. She needed to cover up. She was embarrassed, because of how proud her nipples were to be waking up on top of this man. With a sigh she rolled off of him. She kept under the covers, wanting to take them with her. But she didn’t want to wake him up. She tugged a little bit. He was tangled to the point of knots between his legs and under his massive muscles, they didn’t move. She tried again and again to remove a sheet from him, using different techniques of scissoring, scooting, and squeezing the sheet from him limbs. Nothing. And he didn’t even wake up. She looked around the room. There was nothing to cover herself. She didn’t want to get caught walking around naked.
This sheet debacle made her forget to ask why she was naked, and when it occurred to her that she was in fact undressed and lying next to a man, a very attractive man, she was questioning the whole situation. Her mind immediately came to her mission last night. She had sex. And she didn’t remember it. She got drunk- no, plastered. She did not remember a god damn thing.
Her head fell into her hands, with a frustrated huff. She would not cry. She would not scream. She would not feel completely sorry for herself. She would not dwell on the fact that she blacked out for the most important moment in her sexual life. It was all over.
And so the dwelling began, the pity ensued, the squeal of anger awoken, and she cried.
Her little scream must have awoken the perfect man behind her, or maybe it was the whimpers of distress and pitiful, helpless sobs she tried to suppress and so ungracefully let out. Maybe he had been awake the whole time, as she would later find out, and he was amused at her trying to get the sheet unwrapped from him in her little naked form. But he awoke and cleared his throat from behind her.
She froze. She carefully turned her head to peak at him. He was staring at her. She didn’t know what to say, what to do, anything.
He of course had to be all cool and collected. “Good morning.” Even his voice was perfect, being deep, scratched, and “romance-y” European.
Why did life have to give her lemons, when she could never make the god damn lemonade?
Her little nose crinkled up and her eyes welled up in tears. She turned back around to start crying again, pushing her face back in her hands. She couldn’t help the splutters that came out of her, or the snot that began to puddle in her hands.
The man must have decided she was a freak not to be consoled, because he was quiet and unresponsive. After she had cried for a good hard minute, she concluded he escaped somewhere. She was the definition of crazy right now.
She sniffed up her nose, wiped her hands on the sheets and cleared her throat. She turned back around. He was just staring at her, still.
“What do you want?”
His eyebrows raised, a slight smirk hit his lips. He shook his head. “I am trying to figure out what to do with you.”
Her eyes slithered. “To do with me?” She turned fully around, her leg unknowingly opening up onto the bed, fully exposing herself to him. “You mean, you didn’t do me enough last night. I suppose I was drunk, and easy. But you could have at least seduced me when I would remember it. A girl only has this moment once in her life. I mean…” Her voice caught, as another wave of tears came upon her, “I was trying to lose it last night, but it just all turned out horribly, just awful.” She was crying now. “A big man cat tried humping me like a dog. The bartender was gay. The Japanese man thought I was a hooker.” She sniffed up a big glob of snot, then pushed out more unfiltered words. “Can’t a girl just get laid by a man like yourself and have it be perfect. Does she have to be black out drunk, and not remember a god damn thing.”
He let her cry. He didn’t speak till she calmed down and somewhat composed herself. He asked, “What do you mean lose it?”
“My virginity!” She wailed out. She was crying uncontrollably again and she threw herself down onto the pillow. He was moving, but she didn’t care. He probably was making his escape. Then he was putting the blanket over her shoulders. This made her pause. She peaked up at him through her wet lashes. He was on his knees on the bed next to her, looking down at her. She waited for him to say something- anything. He pursed his lips, “I didn’t take your virginity last night.”
“What?”
He shook his head. “We didn’t have sex.”
Her mouth dropped open. She looked over him. He was dressed in a t-shirt and athletic shorts. He looked very nice in them. His body was strong. But nevertheless, he was not naked. And she was.
“Why am I naked?”
He looked down at her exposed neck and the sheet covering her. “You undressed yourself. I am assuming it was because you vomited all over the bathroom. I found you in the shower.”
“Why are you in my room?”
He countered, “You are in my room.”
“Oh.” She looked around, realizing none of her stuff was there and the room was a lot different than the one she rented.
He cleared his throat. “Yesterday,”
“Yesterday!” She exclaimed. “I was asleep for a whole day?”
“Yes.” He replied. “Yesterday, late in the evening I was in the same elevator as you.” She remembered that as he continued, “And you just passed out.”
“And you thought to bring me to your room?”
He shrugged. “Honestly I didn’t know what to do with you, I assumed you drank too much by the way you were acting, and I did try figuring out which room was yours. But after a few doors, I gave up.” He was talking to her earnestly, meeting her eyes face on. She had to believe him. “Plus, I was a little worried that you would hurt yourself throughout the night.”
She looked over him again before replying. She noticed with his demeanor and accent that he wasn’t American, but he must have spent enough time in America with the clarity he spoke English. She also recognized his wealth and sophistication just by the size of this hotel room and the logo of his t-shirt. He was far above her class.
“I,” She began. “Well, I guess thank you then.” She shook her head, now flustered. “And I am sorry I… um, acted the way I did last night.” Completely embarrassed she finished, “and this morning.”
She was ready to leave now. She held the sheet up as she sat up and flipped her legs over the bed. She looked around the room. “Where is my dress?”
“You, um… puked all over it.”
Her shoulders sagged. There goes her mother’s dress, which she loved. It would have to be thrown out probably. Plus, it would only remind her of this disastrous night. She looked out the window. It was dark out. The clock next to her read that it was about six in the evening. She didn’t know what to do with herself without exposing even more of her nudity. He was moving again behind her, hopefully letting her get out of the bed privately. Instead a bathrobe lay on the bed next to her. She looked down at it. Then up at him. He looked concerned and sincere.
“Thank you.” She murmured.
He nodded. “I’ll just slip into the bathroom while you put that on.”
He took a few minutes in the bathroom. The toilet flushed so she assumed he was relieving himself. It only took her a moment to slip on the bathrobe, and so she waited for him to get out. She was standing over by the window looking down at the people below.
She heard the door open to the bathroom and without turning to him said, “Your view is much better than mine.” She turned to look around his room, “and y
our room is much nicer.”
He shrugged. “But we are on the same floor, yes?”
“Fourteen?” She questioned him.
He nodded.
“How did you know I was floor fourteen?”
He walked over to his desk and picked up a key card. “You said in the elevator last night.”
“Oh.”
He took a few steps to her, not getting too close, and handed the card to her. “It’s yours.”
“Oh, umm…Thanks.” She grabbed it.
They both stood there in awkward silence. Then she said, “I guess I will go back to my room.” She realized that she didn’t know where the rest of her stuff was. Her purse, her coat, her dress, it was all missing. She gave him a naïve look. “Did I have anything else?”
“Just a dress, in which I sent to dry cleaning.”
“Thank you. I will get it.”
He was watching her, just standing there. “Just go to your room. I will have it delivered there instead. What number is it?”
“1406.” She said without thought. Her mind was already far away, thinking about how she will never be able to get this weekend out of her mind. She sighed heavily. “Well, I will be on my way.” She walked passed him and to the door quickly. She just wanted to get out of there and home, and out of the city. She opened the door and looked at him one more time, if only their meeting could have gone better. She smiled carefully, “Thanks again.” Then she fled from the room.
As she approached her door she realized she was only checked in for one night. She hoped her stuff was still there and she could work it all out without having to pay for another night. She slipped the card key in the door. It turned red. She did it again quicker. Still red. She held it in the slot longer. It was red. They kicked her out. And she was in bathrobe. How was she going to get down stairs and not look like a bum? She was just about ready to give up on life.
The point of this weekend was that she wasn’t giving up. She was going to live her life exactly as she dreamed. That included one night of passionate love making. It didn’t include all that happened to her in the last twenty-four hours. The sex club “Peanut”. The expensive whiskey serving gay bartender. The escort chasing Japanese man. And worst, but not least, the very attractive and kind, perfect man from the elevator, who she just completely embarrassed herself in front of. It was all a disaster.
Right then, at that exact moment, Bethany Harte was on her way to giving up. She hit the wall next to her, slumping to the ground. She didn’t even cry. She just crawled into a ball and held herself. No one else was there to hold her.
Chapter 5
Effortless Exit
If she was paying attention, she would have noticed that the perfect man had slipped out his door and was now watching her from down the hall. But she was too involved in her self-pity to notice. So when he spoke from above her, it scared the crap out of her.
“Something wrong.”
She looked up at him. “Geese, at least let me wallow in my own pain.”
He couldn’t help but smile at her. She knew this because he was trying to control his perfect man smile. God, he really was just perfect.
“I would, but you are wearing my bathrobe.”
“I thought it was the hotel’s?”
“It is.” He responded. “But I am going to need it when I take a swim tonight.”
She knew he was messing with her. She cleared her head. “I was only checked in for last night.”
“I see that.”
“And I was going to go down and figure something out, when I gained the courage to do it.”
He was shaking his head. “Come back to my room. I will help you get it all figured out.”
He reached his hand out to her. She looked at it. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” His answer was short, confident.
And so Bethany took his hand. He helped her up off the ground and they walked back to his room. His room key worked and they entered the room. She was not sure what to do now. He did though. He pointed to the bathroom. “Go, clean yourself up. I will figure out how to get you back in your room.”
“Thanks.” She followed his directions without thought and walked into the bathroom. The first thing she did was use the toilet. She had to pee, one less thing pressing upon her body. Her moment of relief was short lived when she stood up to wash her hands and saw her reflection in the mirror. She was a fucking mess. She saw what he meant by clean yourself up.
Dark mascara ran down from her eyelashes. The shadowing make-up she put on early was now just black clouds across her cheeks. Her eyes were rimmed red and puffy. Her hair was all over the place. The curls now strangled, un-product, piles of webs.
The perfect man chose that moment to knock on the door.
“Yes!”
“Umm…” He hesitated. “What is your name?”
She cringed. They didn’t even know each other’s names and he saw her naked. She called out, “Bethany.”
“And your last name?” He asked.
“Harte.”
Harte, she smirked to her reflection. She wasn’t Harte today. Her dad would have a hay day. Heck he is probably already. She hadn’t called anyone. No one knew where she was. Apart from Amber, who, knowing her would not give away anything to anyone. She probably thought Bethany was out having a twenty-four hour fuck fest at the sex club Kitty Amour.
She tightened the robe to her and unsuccessfully pulled the hair back from her face. She peaked out the door. He was on the phone, but he looked at her. “I am on hold.”
“Do I need to talk to them?”
“No, I have it handled.”
She looked away from his eyes, still embarrassed to meet him face on. “Can I use your shower? I just… I just feel like a mess.”
“Yes. Of course. I do not mind.”
She was thankful for that and said so aloud. Then she hurried back in the door and closed it with a lock.
When Bethany emerged from the bathroom, she was scrubbed cleaned, in the bathrobe again, and had a towel wrapped around her hair. The perfect man was sitting on the chair next to the window. He had his computer on his lap and now was wearing glasses. He looked good. Like a sexy teacher. She cleared her throat and he looked up at her. She waited for something to happen, because she didn’t know what to do next.
He helped in her awkwardness by speaking first. “I put your bag by the door.” He pointed to her right.
She looked beside her. Sure enough, it was her bag. Turning back to him she said, “Thanks.”
“It is no problem.” His accent came out strong. Which reminded her.
“What is your name?”
He smiled, “Feliciano.” He sounded Italian then. He could definitely be Italian, so she asked. And he replied, “No, I was born in Portugal.”
“Oh, that is nice.” She reached for her stuff and mumbled something about getting dressed before closing herself into the bathroom.
Bethany had been mortified of her behavior in the last 24 hours, even more so, this tall, dark and handsome man had witnessed probably the worst of it. The strange thing though was that he didn’t seem disgusted or judgmental, maybe a little bit amused. Since he wasn’t running away or kicking her out on her ass, maybe he liked her. So, as Bethany got ready in his bathroom she put a little effort in dressing herself to make herself seem effortless. She wore her skinny jeans and boots. She kept it simple with her dark sweater that hugged her petite waist just right. And she put on just enough make-up to give her appeal without trying too hard. She wanted to show him that she wasn’t the velvet red dress-wearing hussy from last night, but more simply put as the girl next door. She wanted to get laid by Feliciano.
She emerged ten minutes later to Feliciano still sitting at his laptop by the window. He looked to be working on something, but turned to her when she entered. He didn’t hide his appraisal. The way his eyes traveled over her body, well, made her feel really good. Just the smallest smile hit his lips right before h
e made eye contact. Of course Bethany didn’t know what to say, so she just stood there awkwardly with one of those pressed-lip smiles on her face. What next?
He cleared his throat. “The front desk has your coat, purse, and phone. They said you would need to come down and clarify with your identification.”
“Oh. Ok. Great.” She looked around the room. He wasn’t making any move to suggest more and she realized he was waiting for her to leave to do that. She pointed her finger in the direction of the door. “I will go and do that now.” She turned towards the bathroom to grab her bag and a moment later was dragging it out towards the door. She didn’t know what to say, what to do. She wanted to thank this man. She wanted him to say, Stay, let’s make love in this beautiful hotel room with the city of Seattle as our backdrop. But he did none of those things. He was expecting her to leave. She got to the door, then with a breath of courage turned and said, “Feliciano?” She waited for him to turn up to her. “I just wanted to thank you.”
He nodded. That was all he did, nod his head, and so with slumped shoulders she opened the door. She would leave and never see him again. She knew this. She stepped through the threshold. She was making her exit. Her hand was upon the door knob. The hinges would be closing any moment now, leaving him forever.
“Bethany?”
He was calling her name. He actually said her name, hopefully to stop her. She turned her head.
“You wouldn’t by any chance be free tonight?”
Inside her heart was jumping in the air, giving a high five to her brain, because your brain and heart did that kind of thing. She was trying to control her enthusiasm. She was trying not to jump for joy as she said, “Umm… I have nothing planned.”
He gave a full mega-watt smile. “Great. Have dinner with me.”
It wasn’t a question. It was a clearly stated command. And it made Bethany just a little too excited in more than one area of her body that is appropriate. She squeaked out, “Ok.”