“Nah. It’s a different time and place. If Prince Charming ever existed, he certainly doesn’t in 2006. His breed died sometime in the nineteenth or twentieth centuries,” she laughed.
“Truth,” I agreed. “Come on, let’s get you back to your room. It’s freezing out here. We can come back tomorrow if you want.” I offered her my arm and she accepted.
The night was shaping up better than I’d expected, after my idiotic display earlier in the day. I’d relaxed a little, and had forgotten all about my clumsiness.
“So that’s what you got your degree in? Journalism?” I asked, steering her clear from the muddy puddles on the bridge.
“Yes. With an emphasis in—”
A flash of light followed by a loud crack shook the dock, startling us both and causing us to flinch. She grabbed at her chest with her free hand while I tightly clutched her other. We stood laughing, and the only light around us emanated from the lamppost above.
It was seconds later that the downpour came.
“Come on!” I yelled, tugging her along behind me as we were both pounded by pellets of rain. Once we got off the pier, I headed in the direction of our hotel at full speed, trying to get us both out of the sudden summer storm. The trees in the park offered some reprieve, but by the time we’d arrived at the walkway, we were already soaked.
The splashes from our feet, the rain hitting the pavement, and Lauren’s quiet giggles were all that could be heard.
I leaped over a large puddle, guiding her hand behind me to keep her away from it, but as I jumped, my grip slipped and I halted as soon as our connection broke. “Lauren!” I laughed again, turning to find her.
She sat in the large puddle, laughing, with her pantyhose ripped from her knee to her thigh. Her glasses had fallen off, and she was soaked from head to toe in muddy water.
Bent over from laughter, I admired Lauren as she sat playfully pouting in her drenched blue dress. Another wave of hard rain and wind washed over us, preceded by another crack of lightning and thunder. We both ducked, and I scurried over and scooped her from the mess.
She was easy to carry—even soaking wet and her body wracking with giggles. With her arms snaked around my neck and shoulders, I moved quickly, bringing her to a small building with an awning over the front door. I set her down, but at some point she’d lost one of her shoes, and in my haste I’d forgotten to look for her glasses.
Her hair tangled, several strands stuck to her pale cheeks. Dark runny water clung to her hands and fingernails, her legs were covered in goose bumps, and she still had a ridiculously gorgeous smile plastered across her face.
She was the sweetest hot mess I’d ever laid my eyes on.
But her roommate was my wager with Jack. I knew at that moment that I should’ve just forgotten the whole thing. But Monica seemed like a pretty easy win—no offense to Monica—and I wasn’t about to let three years of rivalry slip through my fingers if I could claim a victory over Jack once and for all.
On the other hand, Lauren was more down to earth—a simple beauty disguised in a very unlucky blue dress. She was more my style, my taste, and my speed. She was my very own private American Sweetheart.
Or Canadian Sweetheart. Whatever.
She stood squinting into the distance with that funny grin on her face. “Well I can’t very well walk three blocks back to our hotel, and I’m not going to let you carry me.” She beamed.
“I don’t know how you can be so happy with our circumstances.” I smiled with her.
“I can’t see anything more than ten feet in front of me, I’m covered from head to toe in stinky rain and fishy ocean water, the only shoe I have left has lost its heel, and this has to be the most miserable night of my adult life.” Her bright smile widened, and she looked down before adding, “But I just can’t stop smiling.”
A shy and studious type, Lauren was the kind of girl to get lost in the stories in her head—a dreamer, someone I’d actually want to take the time to get to know. But I couldn’t think about it. Lauren wasn’t the one I should’ve been charming. I had to keep my head in the Monica game, otherwise I’d lose sight of what that weekend was shaping up to be about.
I shook my head, trying to avoid eye contact. The last thing I needed was to fill my mind with anything that would distract me from my bet with Jack. Dammit! I wouldn’t allow the soaked dress that hugged Lauren’s curves, the way her skin invited every droplet of rain, or her contagious smile weaken me. And I refused to have a reason to see her the next day. I had to stop my thoughts from drifting where they didn’t belong.
No. I had to cut all ties with this woman and avoid her for the rest of the weekend.
“I’ll be right back,” I said, running back into the park.
She shouted my name, but when I glanced back, she hadn’t moved from the eave.
“I’m going to find your glasses,” I added.
Every second that passed, the rain washed over me, drenching me from head to toe. Within a minute, the water had soaked my hair and poured down my face. The puddle was already twice the size it had been when she’d fallen, and with little light to guide me, there was no sign of her glasses anywhere.
But I did find her shoe. The heel was half busted off, and when I plucked it from the ground, I had to tip it upside down to dump all the water out.
There was no point in running back. Every stitch of clothing was wet, and my shoes squished with every step. She stood under the eave, rubbing her covered arms for warmth and bracing herself slightly every time someone would pass, almost as if she trusted no one in a strange city.
I knew she couldn’t see me, but I didn’t stray my eyes from her. Maybe it was that she was alone in an unfamiliar city, and I didn’t trust anyone either. Or it could have been that I knew she couldn’t see me, and I took advantage of the moment. But I think it was because I couldn’t seem to get the stupid grin off my face, and even slowed my pace so I could have more time to watch her.
It was obvious when I finally came into focus for her, because her entire body relaxed; her shoulders softened, and the small lines in her forehead disappeared. “Did you find them?” she asked eagerly.
“We’ll find your glasses tomorrow,” I mumbled, tearing my eyes from hers and watching the heavy downpour. I joined her under the eave again, creating a large puddle of water at our feet.
She laughed. “You’re soaked, Michael.” Looking down, her eyes traveled up my legs and finally to my arms. They hovered there for a few seconds until she looked away with a blush.
I broke the uncomfortable silence. “I found your shoe.” I scratched my head, causing more water to spill to the ground. “It’s not in very good shape, though.”
“Thanks,” she whispered, and smiled nervously.
“We should get back before Jack tries to claim Monica as his next victim,” I tried to joke, but it fell flat.
“Right.” She nodded, swallowing her smile. “We should get back to Monica,” she said regretfully.
I heard her intention. She knew that I had interests there, though I was certain she didn’t know why. They weren’t what she thought.
I untied my shoes and pushed them toward her. “Here. Wear these. We’ll get you back to the hotel.”
“You can’t walk barefoot.”
I shrugged. “I have socks on. Besides, it’s only a couple of blocks. If we see a taxi, we can hop in. I’ll come back tomorrow once the storm is gone and the sun is out.”
“Thank you.” She nodded, and we made a run for the sidewalk back to the hotel. She hobbled shamelessly in my shoes, laughing, so I slowed my pace and walked beside her. “I guess there’s no use in us running anyway—we’re both drenched.”
The rain stopped as quickly as it began, and her pace slowed slightly. I looked up, and was about to comment on the weather, but she interrupted me.
“She’s pretty,” she whispered, and I snapped my head toward her.
Lauren had a small nose, a bright smile, and I hadn’t noti
ced before due to her glasses, but her hazel eyes leapt from her face with her dark lashes framing them; they succeeded in hypnotically pulling me in. Her silhouette in the night put shame to what Monica could’ve offered, but I remained quiet and conflicted.
The wet dress clinging to her figure was barely a distraction to those eyes.
“Who’s pretty?” I finally asked.
“Monica. She was pretty popular on campus, too.”
I didn’t have a response; I wished I did. I stood stunned into silence. The last thing I wanted to do that weekend was toy with two women’s emotions.
“It’s okay,” she continued. “You can admit it. I’m used to it.” She winked, trying to act unbothered.
I fought with what I should’ve said. I wanted to tell her that she was much more intriguing than Monica, and that she had so much more to offer than a one-night stand. But by the time we reached the front doors of the hotel, I’d completely chickened out.
Who did I think I was kidding? There was no way I’d be able to pull off being a man who got any woman he wanted. I couldn’t even speak to the ones that piqued my interest.
With wet socks, I trailed drops of water through the lobby and into the elevator. I peeked into the bar as we passed, but no one remained at the table we’d occupied an hour earlier.
“I, um…” I said, feeling my courage descend further. “Once I get new socks, and we get you some new shoes and a dress, we can look for our friends.”
She snickered. “That’s twice today we’ve had to get me out of this dress.” She blushed the moment the words flew from her lips, then sighed, combing her fingers through her hair and wringing out the rain. “I think I’ll just stay in my room tonight. No need to escort me,” she said with a smile that killed my heart.
The elevator door dinged and she walked into the hallway. Using the wall to keep herself steady, she slipped off my shoes and handed them to me. “Thank you, Michael Rourke.” Her eyes searched the hall, and she gave me another nervous smile. “Until we meet again. Good luck with the Seattle job. I’m sure you’ll get it.” With a nod, she clutched her purse and shoes and walked in the opposite direction.
I walked the shame-patterned gray carpet back to my room and let out an aggravated huff once I shut the door.
Cliché Four:
The other woman.
My soaked clothes lay in a puddle on the bathroom floor, and I’d thrown on an old pair of flannel pajama pants and a clean T-shirt. The clock on the nightstand read 10:02, and I hadn’t bothered to return to the bar in the lobby. I had no idea where the guys were, and I didn’t really care.
I sat on the bed with the TV quietly humming behind me while I worked on the New York Times crossword.
Two soft taps sounded from the door, and since Martin had a key, the only other person that might know which room I was in was Lauren.
A smile sprang to my face as I hopped off the bed and jogged to the door. I turned the knob and flung it open, but my grin faltered when Monica stood before me. I shook my head and checked the room number on the wall.
She laughed. “You’re in the right room. I just wanted to stop by and see if you were interested in a nightcap.” Her expectant words matched the ravenous look in her eyes, and she bit down on the red-polished nail of her index finger.
“Oh, um…” I scratched my jaw, not certain what I should do. “How did you know which room I was in?”
“Duncan told me. Well, he stuttered it and then made the sign of the cross.”
Of course he did.
This was it. Right here. It was my chance to prove to Jack that I could pull it off. But there was a huge part of my conscience that still thought it was a terrible idea, and that Monica was the last person Michael Rourke would want to spend the night with.
But that was the whole point, wasn’t it?
I wasn’t supposed to be Michael Rourke.
She took my hesitation as a rejection. “Never mind. It was a bad idea,” she said turning away, her cheeks flushing crimson. With a heavy sigh, she walked slowly down the hall.
“It’s not a bad idea. I just…” I began, my words fading. My confliction wasn’t rooted in the idea of having sex with her. Quite the opposite: she was pretty and sexy and many men would consider it a privilege. Hell, I’d consider it a privilege. I would’ve been a complete moron to let her walk away. But I still had two days left at the hotel, and I didn’t want to see the look on Lauren’s face the next day when she discovered that I’d slept with her best friend.
Why should I have cared? What would be the point in getting worked up over a girl I’d never see again? Was this some kind of chivalrous act of doing the right thing, or did I actually give a shit about Lauren’s feelings—and Monica’s, for that matter?
“Please, come in.” I said it before I realized my mouth had opened. I had no idea what I was going to do with the woman, though I was certain that since I accepted her invitation she had a much more vivid expectation.
She smirked and skimmed past me, brushing against my chest with a brief pause, and then walked into my room. Throwing her purse on my bed, Monica looked around and glanced at the refrigerator that sat inside a small nook underneath my television.
Taking out the miniature non-complimentary bottles of booze, she twisted the caps open and poured the amber contents into two plastic cups. She acted casual—like she’d done this before—and her tongue swept over her lips as though she could already taste the whiskey.
Or taste me.
I audibly swallowed at the thought. Women like Monica intimidated me. Their sex appeal shadowed anything their brain had to offer, which put pressure on me to perform. I was much more comfortable with a woman who spoke softly and had a sharp mind.
I watched carefully, trying to get into the role I’d need to play. But it wasn’t coming. All I could think about was my distaste for the foul alcohol and whether or not she was going to make me drink it. I was still nursing the bruises from my hangover the night before.
When she handed me a cup, one small whiff was all I needed to keep the cup as far away from me as possible, and I cringed at its contents.
“So you’re a Dom?” She chewed her lip waiting for my answer.
I scoffed at the idea of it, but remembering my words at the bar, “Yes, I’m the player, a dominating master between the sheets,” I reminded myself that I wasn’t supposed to be Michael with her, and tried to play along.
I set the cup down on the nightstand. “Does that excite you?” The words gurgled in the back of my throat, and I felt nauseated.
Her chest rose and fell with a gasp, and her neck and cheeks flushed. “Yes,” she breathed.
She took a small step toward me and her eyes fixed on mine. It took all the strength I had not to crack a smile at the absurdity of the situation.
A Dom.
She walked to the edge of the bed and set her cup down on the nightstand. Kneeling on the floor with her back facing me, she dropped her chin and stared at the floor. My hand flew to my mouth and I tried not to make a sound.
What the hell did she expect me to do? Grab her hair forcefully? Spank her? Tweak her nipples? Bite her? Growl?
For the love of all things holy…talk about stepping out of my comfort zone.
“Aren’t you supposed to tell me what to do?” she whispered.
Probably!
Okay, focus. This is my future on the line. What does a Dom do?
I glanced around the room looking for anything that might spark an idea, and I spotted folded towel on the rack near the vanity.
A towel? What am I going to do, whip her with it? No. Keep looking.
The cord from the table lamp dangled behind the desk, and several thoughts swarmed through my mind—none of which were remotely appealing.
Fix her wrists to the bedpost? There are no bedposts.
Do I hog tie her?
Erotic asphyxiation?
Hell no. This is supposed to be foreplay, not murder.
&
nbsp; My eyes finally rested on a silver tie sticking out of Martin’s luggage. It seemed the least intrusive thing I could find. But wasn’t this supposed to be intrusive? Is this what Monica wanted me to do? Whatever she wanted, she was waiting for my next move, and with no other ideas popping into my head, I went for it.
Taking a deep breath, I plucked the tie from the luggage and examined it a moment. It was long and made of silk, a silvery gray with a soft sheen. It could easily be used to tie her hands behind her back, or perhaps blindfold her. The image in my head gave me a queasiness I’d never experienced.
No. This wasn’t me. Regardless of the entire point of the bet, I couldn’t picture myself dominating anyone, let alone someone who trusted me not to hurt them. I was too gentle for that, for as much of a pussy as that made me.
Control was not my thing. I preferred my women…reciprocal.
“The suspense is killing me, Mike,” Monica pleaded. “Do something.”
I shook my head and swallowed. Lauren’s smile entered my mind, and I stood in the middle of the room with a tie in my hands, grinning like an idiot. I think I’d already made my mind up about Monica the moment I saw Lauren in that damn puddle.
“No, this is all wrong. Stand up,” I demanded.
She stood eagerly, and kept her back to me. “Yes, sir.”
“Don’t call me sir! Just…”
The door flew open and Martin tumbled in. He was followed by Jack and Duncan; they were barely able to keep themselves upright. Jack’s eyes gaped when he saw Monica in my room.
I don’t think I’d ever been so happy to see Jack’s ugly mug in my life.
“Well, look what we have here,” Jack slurred. “Has he convinced you he’s the master of the universe yet?”
Monica let out a sigh, annoyed with the intrusion. “Not yet. His pestering friends continue to interrupt us every time we try to…talk to each other.” She grabbed the whiskey cup and brought it her lips. With the burn down her throat, she ogled in my direction.
Four Play: A Collection of Novellas Page 25
