Chapter 3: End Of The Beginning
"I...I...I don't know where Stanley's at." What a great liar I am. Not. "He's somewhere in my suitcase, I think. He could be anywhere. It'd take DAYS to root through all this stuff and find him. I might have even forgotten him, I was so nervous packing. You know what? That's probably what happened. He's probably still in my drawer at home. As a matter of fact, I don't even remember bringing him. He's...he's..."
Someone shoot me. Why is he looking at me like that?
"kitten? How many bags did you bring for two days?"
"Uh...uh...just one but it's packed to the gills. I like to have a choice. It's just a quirk of mine. I even had to sit on it to close it. If I opened it now, everything'd probably fly all over the inside of the car. Then it'd take all that time to refold, repack, and ZIP it up again..." I sigh heavily, dramatically, I hope, peeking at him from the corner of my eye.
"Hmmmm..."
What's he mean by THAT? I wonder to myself.
So, putting on my most innocent face, I turn to face him, blinking brightly, hoping against all hope that he will let this go. And, unable to keep my big mouth shut, I go on, digging myself deeper into this hole. "I mean, I'll look if you want, but it's just going to take up a lot of time and...and...well, I just didn't know if you wanted to waste our time together. I mean, we only have two days and...."
I stop to take a breath and he bursts into laughter, turns to me and says, " kitten," He's having a hard time keeping a straight face, I can tell. "kitten, what are you hungry for?" O my God! He's reading my mind!
My face turns completely red, I can feel it. Heat flushes up from my chest, rushing to the top of my head and back down again. Is it that obvious?
"A nice, rare porterhouse sounds good about now. What do you think?"
My goodness, I've got a filthy mind! Food was not the first thing to pop into my head when he wanted to know what I was hungry for.
"Steak, yes. That's exactly what I was thinking. And a salad. We're in luck, the restaurant in the hotel is known for it's grilled steaks, rare as you want. We'll go here instead of the little place across the street. Let's go." I've got to have some air, I've got to breathe! I reach for the door handle and suddenly my head is slowly moving toward him, via a hand in my hair, and his lips are all over my face...my eyes, my nose, my forehead, my mouth, and his tongue is sliding into my mouth mingling with mine, teasingly. Food? Did someone mention food? Who needs food when I can have this?
My body begins to melt all over again, and just as I reach up to pull him closer to me, he breaks the connection, opens his door, and gets out leaving me sprawled in the seat, panting yet again. Ok, now I'm beginning to wonder about him. He turns me into what basically adds up to a drunken sailor and just LEAVES me. No fair. TWO can play at that game...just you watch, Buster!
We gather our bags, one suitcase each, one toiletry bag of mine (with the hidden Stanley in it
), and a carry-on of his. As he reaches for that bag, an evil smile crosses his face, but I pretend not to notice. I'm going to show him that he CANNOT treat me like this. I grab my small bag and purse leaving the larger ones for him and regally sweep past him, entering the hotel, leaving him to handle the rest. I stride up to the front desk and smile brightly at the man standing behind it.
"Can I help you, Ma'am?"
I don't answer because I'm waiting for HIM to take care of this. My plastered on smile falters a bit, but I'm brave, I can hold it. Just because I don't hang out in hotels doesn't mean I'm doing anything wrong now. Just because I used to be Catholic doesn't mean I have to feel guilty about every seamy thought that crosses my mind.
"Can I help you?"
What's wrong with this guy? Why isn't he asking him instead of me?
Haughtily, I raise my chin an inch or so and turn my gaze to my right, indicating to this dodo behind the desk that he should address...WHERE IS HE?????
My eyes frantically scan the lobby, and of course he's not there. My head swings around and I see him standing outside chatting pleasantly with a very pretty woman walking her dog. The suitcases are on the ground and it appears as though he has no intention of coming in any time soon.
They both throw their heads back and laugh at something, and he bends over to pet the dog, looking up at the woman as he does so, which indicates to me that he'd much rather be petting something else.
Ok. Now my feelings are hurt, and my mind goes back to several of our many phone conversations. To all the stories he's told me over the months, many describing women he's met, not sexual encounters, but just the way he described them told me something. He likes women. A lot. Not that he's a player, not by a long shot. At least, he better not be.
He just appreciates them. Nothing wrong with that. I just wish he'd show me a little appreciation right about now.
"Ma'am?"
