The Fortunate Ones
Page 37
I’m not very successful. Every spoonful of oatmeal comes with a healthy dose of reality. To be honest, I didn’t go into this trip with the intention of sleeping with James. I can practically hear Ellie in my head: What else did you think would happen?! You willingly went to Vegas with the man! Did you think you two would be eating platonic dinners and sleeping in platonic rooms and giving each other platonic fist bumps?
Okay, so a small part of me figured we would be doing some hardcore fondling, but we went beyond that. We had earth-shattering sex—like, slow-jams-in-the-background, candles-burning-the-place-down sex. When I’m midway through my oatmeal, flowers arrive at the suite—a massive bouquet of white garden roses from James. The flowers are so beautiful and so fragrant, I put them in my bathroom and close the door. When that’s not enough, I head down to the hotel pool in hopes that a change of scenery will tug me out of my weird funk.
There are three pools at the hotel, each one bigger than the last. All of them are nearly abandoned even though the hot Vegas sun is blazing overhead. I guess techies don’t have time for aquatic activities, but I do.
I find a place at the biggest, most luxurious pool and toss my Kindle onto a lounge chair. A cocktail menu is already propped on the small table nearby, so I peruse it thoughtfully. Is it too early for a piña colada?
“I’ll order one if you do,” a voice says beside me.
I turn to find a tall brunette lounging two seats down, eyeing the drink menu I’ve been hogging for the last several minutes. “Oh, sorry.” I lean toward her and pass it over.
“It’s okay,” she says with a friendly smile. “Do you know what you want?”
I nod and she starts browsing the menu for herself.
Once the waiter comes by and I order, I turn just enough to inspect her out of the corner of my eye. She’s very pretty, but it’s in a way that’s easy to pick apart—she has false eyelashes and a fake tan. Her hair has a healthy dose of extensions and while I came down to the pool with nothing but my Kindle in tow, she has a Chanel pool bag, a Louis Vuitton Neverfull, a stack of magazines, a separate makeup bag, an iPad, and her phone.
Once the waiter strolls away, I move to turn back to the pool, but she glances over and smiles. Maybe she noticed me watching her, or maybe she’s just as bored as I am; either way, she strikes up a conversation.
“Here for the conference?”
“Not exactly.” I push my sunglasses up to rest on the top of my head. “You?”
She smiles. “My husband is in there giving a speech or something—who knows. It’s all pretty boring to me.”
I nod and turn away.
“So if you’re not here for the conference, what’s his name?”
“What?”
“Or her name. You must be here for someone.”
Her question is simple, but for some reason, I’m hesitant to respond, maybe because I don’t want to have to explain my situation with James to a perfect stranger.
“I’m here with a date, yeah.”
She smiles. “Dave travels here all the time for work and I always join him. I like it because I get to keep tabs on him and treat myself to a little rest and relaxation. I swear if I weren’t here, he’d get into all sorts of trouble. I’m sure you understand.”
I laugh awkwardly. “Oh, yeah, I guess.”
She quirks one of her perfectly shaped brows. Clearly she’s perplexed by my relaxed tone. “You don’t have to keep tabs on your man?”
“It’s a new thing,” I explain. “Not really a relationship.”
Her gaze turns thoughtful as she tilts her head, studying me. “Is he older?”
I nod.
“Rich?”
I bristle at her line of questioning and fire back, “Why does it matter?”
She laughs. “It doesn’t, I just think it’s funny that you’re sitting there judging me, and I’d bet on my life your situation isn’t all that different.”
“It is,” I insist.
“Oh yeah?” She scans down my bikini-clad body. “Rooms at this hotel start at $1,500 a night. That drink you just ordered? $26.75. You’re beautiful and young. Your boyfriend is older and currently working, while you’re…what? Waiting for him to finish up so you can be at his beck and call? I bet you’ve hardly seen him since you arrived.”
The knot in my stomach twists tighter.
She turns to the pool and settles back against her lounge chair. “Face it sweetheart, we’re not that different.”
I don’t bother waiting for my piña colada. I leave $30 on my chair (ridiculous) and walk away before Ms. Extensions can keep picking my life apart. How dare she assume I’m anything like her? She might be happy lounging around all day waiting for her husband, but this isn’t the sort of life I want. My goal for the next five years hasn’t changed.
…
James wraps up his day at the conference earlier than I expected, and I’m napping in my room when I hear the door to the suite open and close quietly. He walks in and I listen to his footsteps as they head in the direction of his room, and when he doesn’t find me there, they turn toward mine. I keep my eyes pinched shut, pretending to sleep. He opens the door a crack and stops in the doorway, watching me. I’m hyperaware of my breathing, of how bad I am at acting.
Still, he doesn’t call my bluff. He pulls off his jacket and tosses it onto the chair in the corner. He circles around the back of the bed, tugs back the covers, and lies down beside me. His cologne washes over me just as his arm wraps around my midsection. With a gentle tug, he pulls me back against him, and I try hard not to make a sound.
“Go back to sleep,” he whispers against the back of my neck.
I wonder how he knew I was awake.
We sleep like that for an hour or two, wrapped around one another. I can feel him hard against me, his muscular thighs tight against mine. I know if I gave even the slightest sign that I was in the mood, we would have sex, but I can’t. I haven’t been able to shake this twisted feeling mounting inside me all day. I’m scared of what will happen if we have sex again, of how much worse it could get.
I push away from him and climb out of bed, anxious for a shower. I turn the water scalding hot and don’t step inside until steam is rising up and fogging the bathroom mirrors. I tip my head back and let the water run over my forehead and down my cheeks.
When James speaks, I nearly jump out of my skin.
“I’d like to take you to dinner.”
I reach up and try to hide every part of me worth concealing, but it only makes him chuckle under his breath. I guess he’s already seen me, but this feels more intimate. I was under the influence of lust and wine last night. Now, I feel vulnerable and raw. I turn over my shoulder and look back to find him leaning against the door, watching me through the fogged glass. Maybe he can see everything, or maybe he has to imagine what I look like in here, but either way, his dark eyes are heated, and I hurry to finish bathing before he can join me.
Apparently, he wants to take me somewhere fancy, so I pull out the other dress I packed for such an occasion. It’s black and more modest than the one from last night. The hem hits just above my knees, but the back is low-cut and exposes most of my spine. James takes full advantage of that when we stroll out of the hotel. His palm finds my lower back and he holds it there, leading me toward the waiting car. His touch feels so good that for a moment, I give in to my desire to lean into it. Then I remember the woman from the pool and step away.
“Vue is one of the best restaurants in the world. The chef won the James Beard award last year,” James tells me, bringing the back of my hand to his lips and kissing it gently.
I hum in appreciation as I take in the strip whipping by our window. He goes on about the menu and how good the food will be, and I make a point to act like I’m listening. A few minutes later, the car pulls up outside a restaurant that has cars lined up around the curb. A suited attendant runs forward to open doors and glamorous people spill out. It’s funny how much I want to stay put and direct the driver to the nearest McDonald’s, not because I’d rather stuff my face with a Big Mac, but because maybe then I wouldn’t feel so much pressure building in my chest.
Okay, so a small part of me figured we would be doing some hardcore fondling, but we went beyond that. We had earth-shattering sex—like, slow-jams-in-the-background, candles-burning-the-place-down sex. When I’m midway through my oatmeal, flowers arrive at the suite—a massive bouquet of white garden roses from James. The flowers are so beautiful and so fragrant, I put them in my bathroom and close the door. When that’s not enough, I head down to the hotel pool in hopes that a change of scenery will tug me out of my weird funk.
There are three pools at the hotel, each one bigger than the last. All of them are nearly abandoned even though the hot Vegas sun is blazing overhead. I guess techies don’t have time for aquatic activities, but I do.
I find a place at the biggest, most luxurious pool and toss my Kindle onto a lounge chair. A cocktail menu is already propped on the small table nearby, so I peruse it thoughtfully. Is it too early for a piña colada?
“I’ll order one if you do,” a voice says beside me.
I turn to find a tall brunette lounging two seats down, eyeing the drink menu I’ve been hogging for the last several minutes. “Oh, sorry.” I lean toward her and pass it over.
“It’s okay,” she says with a friendly smile. “Do you know what you want?”
I nod and she starts browsing the menu for herself.
Once the waiter comes by and I order, I turn just enough to inspect her out of the corner of my eye. She’s very pretty, but it’s in a way that’s easy to pick apart—she has false eyelashes and a fake tan. Her hair has a healthy dose of extensions and while I came down to the pool with nothing but my Kindle in tow, she has a Chanel pool bag, a Louis Vuitton Neverfull, a stack of magazines, a separate makeup bag, an iPad, and her phone.
Once the waiter strolls away, I move to turn back to the pool, but she glances over and smiles. Maybe she noticed me watching her, or maybe she’s just as bored as I am; either way, she strikes up a conversation.
“Here for the conference?”
“Not exactly.” I push my sunglasses up to rest on the top of my head. “You?”
She smiles. “My husband is in there giving a speech or something—who knows. It’s all pretty boring to me.”
I nod and turn away.
“So if you’re not here for the conference, what’s his name?”
“What?”
“Or her name. You must be here for someone.”
Her question is simple, but for some reason, I’m hesitant to respond, maybe because I don’t want to have to explain my situation with James to a perfect stranger.
“I’m here with a date, yeah.”
She smiles. “Dave travels here all the time for work and I always join him. I like it because I get to keep tabs on him and treat myself to a little rest and relaxation. I swear if I weren’t here, he’d get into all sorts of trouble. I’m sure you understand.”
I laugh awkwardly. “Oh, yeah, I guess.”
She quirks one of her perfectly shaped brows. Clearly she’s perplexed by my relaxed tone. “You don’t have to keep tabs on your man?”
“It’s a new thing,” I explain. “Not really a relationship.”
Her gaze turns thoughtful as she tilts her head, studying me. “Is he older?”
I nod.
“Rich?”
I bristle at her line of questioning and fire back, “Why does it matter?”
She laughs. “It doesn’t, I just think it’s funny that you’re sitting there judging me, and I’d bet on my life your situation isn’t all that different.”
“It is,” I insist.
“Oh yeah?” She scans down my bikini-clad body. “Rooms at this hotel start at $1,500 a night. That drink you just ordered? $26.75. You’re beautiful and young. Your boyfriend is older and currently working, while you’re…what? Waiting for him to finish up so you can be at his beck and call? I bet you’ve hardly seen him since you arrived.”
The knot in my stomach twists tighter.
She turns to the pool and settles back against her lounge chair. “Face it sweetheart, we’re not that different.”
I don’t bother waiting for my piña colada. I leave $30 on my chair (ridiculous) and walk away before Ms. Extensions can keep picking my life apart. How dare she assume I’m anything like her? She might be happy lounging around all day waiting for her husband, but this isn’t the sort of life I want. My goal for the next five years hasn’t changed.
…
James wraps up his day at the conference earlier than I expected, and I’m napping in my room when I hear the door to the suite open and close quietly. He walks in and I listen to his footsteps as they head in the direction of his room, and when he doesn’t find me there, they turn toward mine. I keep my eyes pinched shut, pretending to sleep. He opens the door a crack and stops in the doorway, watching me. I’m hyperaware of my breathing, of how bad I am at acting.
Still, he doesn’t call my bluff. He pulls off his jacket and tosses it onto the chair in the corner. He circles around the back of the bed, tugs back the covers, and lies down beside me. His cologne washes over me just as his arm wraps around my midsection. With a gentle tug, he pulls me back against him, and I try hard not to make a sound.
“Go back to sleep,” he whispers against the back of my neck.
I wonder how he knew I was awake.
We sleep like that for an hour or two, wrapped around one another. I can feel him hard against me, his muscular thighs tight against mine. I know if I gave even the slightest sign that I was in the mood, we would have sex, but I can’t. I haven’t been able to shake this twisted feeling mounting inside me all day. I’m scared of what will happen if we have sex again, of how much worse it could get.
I push away from him and climb out of bed, anxious for a shower. I turn the water scalding hot and don’t step inside until steam is rising up and fogging the bathroom mirrors. I tip my head back and let the water run over my forehead and down my cheeks.
When James speaks, I nearly jump out of my skin.
“I’d like to take you to dinner.”
I reach up and try to hide every part of me worth concealing, but it only makes him chuckle under his breath. I guess he’s already seen me, but this feels more intimate. I was under the influence of lust and wine last night. Now, I feel vulnerable and raw. I turn over my shoulder and look back to find him leaning against the door, watching me through the fogged glass. Maybe he can see everything, or maybe he has to imagine what I look like in here, but either way, his dark eyes are heated, and I hurry to finish bathing before he can join me.
Apparently, he wants to take me somewhere fancy, so I pull out the other dress I packed for such an occasion. It’s black and more modest than the one from last night. The hem hits just above my knees, but the back is low-cut and exposes most of my spine. James takes full advantage of that when we stroll out of the hotel. His palm finds my lower back and he holds it there, leading me toward the waiting car. His touch feels so good that for a moment, I give in to my desire to lean into it. Then I remember the woman from the pool and step away.
“Vue is one of the best restaurants in the world. The chef won the James Beard award last year,” James tells me, bringing the back of my hand to his lips and kissing it gently.
I hum in appreciation as I take in the strip whipping by our window. He goes on about the menu and how good the food will be, and I make a point to act like I’m listening. A few minutes later, the car pulls up outside a restaurant that has cars lined up around the curb. A suited attendant runs forward to open doors and glamorous people spill out. It’s funny how much I want to stay put and direct the driver to the nearest McDonald’s, not because I’d rather stuff my face with a Big Mac, but because maybe then I wouldn’t feel so much pressure building in my chest.
