Before she could turn back to the handle, the door to her hotel room slammed shut behind her. "Shit!" Missy exclaimed. She grabbed the door knob and tried to turn it. No luck. The door locked automatically when closed. She knew she left her room key and cellphone inside. "Come on Missy. That was so stupid," she thought to herself. Shifting the ice bucket from under her right arm to her left, she raised her hand to knock on the door before thinking better of it.
Behind the door to the Baltimore Hilton, room 136, she knew her husband, Noah, had settled in to watch the playoff hockey game he'd been crowing about all day. His favorite team was on the ropes, and only a magical performance on the road could save their season. That was all he could talk about at dinner. He bragged about the Russian scoring duo of Nabokov and Bulgakov, the rookie goalie Twain, and the captain Clement, his personal favorite. He just knew that this was the game they were going to turn the series around.
Noah talked so much about that damn hockey team it overshadowed their first dinner in the city. Her husband and Missy came up to the city to celebrate their fifth anniversary, a long weekend away that she looked forward to for months. They left right after students got on their buses and hurried on their two hour trek. Fortunately, there hadn't been any traffic getting here and they checked in without a hitch. "We have to get dinner quick, before they drop the puck," he pleaded with her. She changed into a nice knee length black dress, without getting a shower like she wanted. She touched up her makeup and he rushed her out the door.
They made quite the pair walking down the city street. Her, dressed in an attractive little black dress that hugged her hips and ass in just the right way, providing the perfect accent to what she considered two of her best features. He, dressed in the home version of his team's hockey sweater, replete with stains and bearing the wear marks of many wins, losses, and nerve wracking overtime periods. Walking the streets, Noah wanted the first sports bar they found, hoping to catch the pregame coverage. On this, Missy put her foot down. She explained that he would be lost to her for the rest of the evening watching the players glide up and down the ice. She insisted he give her the next hour in a restaurant with some atmosphere, a place befitting the reason they were here.
A cozy Italian restaurant was the choice they made. Noah wasted no time in informing the wait staff that they absolutely had to be somewhere in an hour, that they could not be late, and that the check was to be brought immediately after they finished dinner. They would not be having dessert. The staff assured their demanding guest that his directions would be followed to the letter, handing over the menu and wine list. Her husband nudged the wine list to Missy, ordering his favorite, a draft light beer. She began perusing the wine list, trying to decide what she desired on the first night of her mini-vacation. Taking too long for her husband's taste, he declared, "just bring her a bottle of champagne, and we'll have the calamari as a starter."
The rest of the dinner proceeded in the same expedited manner. Between a rant on the stupidity of changing the icing rule and a thorough discourse on the "shittiness" of the teams remaining in the playoffs, Missy laid out some of her expectations for the rest of their trip. To her request for a fancier dinner, with appropriate attire, he retorted that the team wouldn't be playing tomorrow because it was a travel day. He begrudgingly accepted her demand to see some of the historic parts of the city, but was more incredulous when she requested to do some window shopping downtown. When the appetizer arrived at the table, he ordered his meal and hers, her back home regular which she would not have ordered for herself that night.
Along with ordering their entrees, Noah ordered himself another beer. When her man was in the right frame of mind, he could put back his fair share of beer. This normally left them at odds about needing to control himself. His frequent retort to her accusations was that he was not drunk. This despite often yelling at bartenders and ending up on the wrong side of bouncers. It also meant that he'd pass out once he got his fill, whether it was still in a restaurant, a cab on the way home, or their bed the moment his head hit the pillow. She doubted that would be the case tonight, even though he brought his own supply for the hotel room, because of the game. On the plus side, he had bought her a bottle of vodka and some tonic for her to make her own drinks as well.
Along with the check, Dinner came and went. Despite his demand for the bill when their food got to the table, he insisted on ordering five more beers during the remainder of their time at the restaurant, changing the total each time. With game time approaching, he finally had his fill, paid the check, and began ordering her to hurry up. She finished her third glass of the champagne, which he then refilled with the remainder of the bottle. "Chug it fast," he ordered. "We have to get back now." Missy obliged, spilling the last mouthful down her dress. She cut her eyes toward her husband, but he was oblivious as he got up. Once on the street, he grabbed her hand and all but dragged her the half dozen blocks to their hotel.
The married duo returned to the hotel and entered into room 136. He roughly pushed the door inward and sprinted into the bedroom. He found the remote and thrust it at the tv, pushing the power button repeatedly. Missy smiled to herself bemused. Excitable like a child at times, replete with the hallmark impatience of one as well.
"Well, what am I do to now that you've entrenched yourself in front of the game?" she asked. When no answer came from her husband, she repeated her question.
"Oh, I don't know. There is another tv in the other room. Watch one of your ridiculous housewife shows. Also, I used the last of the ice from earlier to ice down my beers in the cooler. The ice bucket is in the other room if you want to go get some out of the ice machine down the hall." With that, Noah turned back to the tv.
Missy put the clutch she carried to the restaurant down and grabbed a change of clothes from her suitcase. She went to the bathroom and dabbed some water on the spot where she had spilled the champagne earlier. She didn't think that it would stain, but didn't want to risk it. She then unzipped the dress before drawing it over her head. She hung it from a hanger in the bathroom. She reached behind herself and unhooked her bra. Earlier, she prepared herself for a romantic miracle by wearing a matching pair of black lingerie. She hoped that it would be Noah removing the bra and panty set, slowly, sensually, after changing his mind about the hockey game.
However, tonight, it just wasn't meant to be. Though disappointed, Missy consoled herself by acknowledging that they had a couple more nights in the city. Noah had once had a romantic streak within him. Maybe the anniversary would bring back those lost gestures, once his team no longer needed his rapt attention to guarantee a win. She debated about putting on the day-to-day bra she had brought with her, but decided against it. If she was going to have a cocktail or two and watch tv alone, she did not need to wear a bra. She shimmied out of the matching panties, stumbling a little as she did, the champagne hitting her for the first time, and stepped into a bright pink pair of Under Armour athletic shorts, before finally pulling on a loose fitting cotton t-shirt. She pulled her hair back into a ponytail, secured it with a hair tie, and exited the bathroom.
She could hear the sound of the announcer detailing the action on the ice. She peaked her head into the bedroom and saw her husband staring, unblinking, at the tv. In his hand, he held a can of beer, identical to the two empty cans that lay on the floor. Without being noticed, she withdrew and walked into the other room. She found the ice bucket, knowing that she would need to fill it up to make her cocktail.
It was only a few moments later when she recognized the folly of forgetting to grab a room key or her cellphone; she had not thought to bar the door. Noah would be irate that her knock would draw him away from the game, especially without bringing back the ice. With a sigh, she turned down the hallway and proceeded back toward the elevators. She remembered a sign earlier which pointed toward the ice machine. She thought it must be in the opposite direction past the elevators.
Missy passed the elevators on her right. She found the sign and followed its directions. She took a left and then a right and a second right before coming to the ice machine. She opened the door on the machine and pushed it upwards. She had nearly filled it to the top when the door fell forward. She dropped the bucket into the machine's reservoir and tried to dodge the swinging door. The door closed with a loud bang, catching her left hand before she could completely pull away.
"Son of a bitch!" she exclaimed, opening the door to the ice machine. Missy bent her wrist and flexed her fingers. Nothing was broken but it sure hurt like hell. She shook it a few times before opening the door again and finishing filling the ice bucket. She turned from the machine and walked down the hallway carrying the cold bucket under her right arm. What was wrong with her tonight? Maybe it was the champagne that Noah rushed her to finish. Or just her general frustration with the trip so far. First locking herself out, now she dropped the door on her hand. What next?
She looked down at her hand, walking the hotel without paying much attention where she was going. She could see a bruise on her wrist, a faint purple. She continued to shake it as she weaved past the other rooms, subconsciously navigating as she went. She thought that Noah would laugh at her clumsiness, but the story would most likely have to wait until after the game ended. She hoped that the game would be at a commercial break when she got back so that he would not be mad at her for leaving the game when she knocked on the door.
Here she was, Missy thought to herself. She shifted the bucket to her left as she knocked on the door to Room 138. She could not help but think that something was a little off, but forgot that when to her left, she heard a loud cheer erupt from the next room. In hindsight later, she would kick herself for not noticing that, on top of the room number not being correct, that the door opened in the opposite direction of her own room. However, these truths were presently lost to her between locking herself out, slamming the ice machine door on her left hand, and now holding the bucket on her injured side. The buzz she felt from the champagne didn't help either.
After a few moments, the door to the hotel room slid open. Much to her surprise, Missy faced a stranger at the doorway to the room. In front of her, a broad-shouldered black man wearing a white terry cloth robe eclipsed her view into the room. He stood a few inches taller than her, shaved head with no facial hair. A wiry wisp of chest hair poked out from the v of his white bathrobe. He cinched the robe loosely upon his hips, its length falling midthigh. Missy's appraisal of the dark man was that he may be just a handful of years older than she, in his early forties.
The man likewise examined the unexpected guest that now presented herself at his doorstep. What confronted him was a brunette, standing five foot, ten inches. She dressed casually, as if she just came from the hotel's gym. She carried an ice bucket in one hand, the other frozen in mid-knock. As any man would, his gaze settled on her more feminine features. Her t-shirt, though a bit big, could not entirely conceal the fact that she possessed a large bust, probably at least a D cup. Though there was a little sag to the breasts, he found them appealing, the hint of twin hard nipples hidden beneath the cotton. The woman had a tummy, indicating that she carried more weight than she most likely desired. Continuing his instantaneous appraisal, he loved the way her athletic shorts clung to her hips, accentuating a robust hourglass type shape to her figure.
