1
Andi
Well, that sucked.
I thought about going back to the hotel lobby where my sisters were grieving but decided against it. We had all spent the past few days moping, and the only way I’d start piecing my life back together was to do normal things. Like eating too much candy and reading books. Alone, preferably.
I shuffled down the checkered carpet hallway in my fluffy socks, not paying particular attention to where I was going. After all, my sisters and I had grown up in this hotel. I probably could’ve made the trip to the vending machine blindfolded.
I passed a row of frost-covered windows that gave me a glimpse of yet another snowy New York City night. Thankfully, the heat in the hotel was cranked up so I was plenty comfortable in my thin sweater and socks. Of course, I also stood out like a sore thumb. The Wainwright hotel was a five-star establishment where most of the women I passed were decked out in designer outfits and the men wore tailored, thousand-dollar suits.
Good for them. All I cared about was getting a bag of Skittles and diving into a book to distract myself.
I left the window and went into the small room where the vending machines were. I rarely saw any of the rich guests lowering themselves to using the machines, but tonight, there was a man inside the small room.
He had short, messy hair and a face that belonged on some long-dead dark prince. It was all graceful lines and sharp edges, with strong eyebrows over a pair of equally dark, piercing eyes. I guessed he might be in his early thirties but couldn’t be sure.
I hadn’t been self-conscious about my casual clothes until I saw him looking me up and down.
“Nice socks,” he said.
I was a little startled that he was speaking to me. I’d never had much luck with men, and I’d never even spoken to a guy on this man’s level. “Wasn’t planning on going out, so…” I said, trailing off.
He noticed the Kindle tucked under my arm. “Long night of reading?”
“Something like that.”
“What are you reading?”
“Uh,” I said, face turning a bright red. Just make something up. Think of anything. Any normal book that won’t embarrass you. “Uh…”
A slow smile spread across his lips. They were nice lips, too. “Here,” he said, reaching to take it from under my arm.
All sorts of internal alarms went off. Danger. Bad. Very bad. All I could do was stand there in stupid shock, watching as he tapped the screen and woke up my Kindle—the one I’d never bothered to password protect.
The man’s eyebrows shot up. “Wow. This is quite the library.” His face scrunched up when he noticed something, then he burst out with a deep chuckle. “The Cocktopus? Any chance you can give me a plot summary on that one?”
A sound somewhere between “dying cat” and “old, rusty door” escaped from my lips. “I can explain that.”
He made a carefree gesture, handing the Kindle back to me. “You look embarrassed,” he said seriously. “Don’t be. Too many people are ashamed of what they desire. I’ve never believed in hiding from what we want.”
Now it was my turn to raise my eyebrows. Was he making a pass at me?
“See,” I said, talking more to fill the silence than for any other reason. “I don’t always read the title of books. I got started on that one, and then the hero got some irradiated goo on his… Yeah. And before I knew it, I was reading a story about the dreaded octocock and his sexual exploits.”
“You like reading on those things more than paperbacks?” He asked, gesturing to the Kindle.
“I’ve kind of always hoped I’d become a writer some day, so I read a lot. And my Grandpa thought this would be easier than always having to walk to the store. Actually though, walking to the store and smelling the books and just… being around all of that. It’s part of the magic for me. So, no,” I said, turning over the Kindle and looking at it. “But he gave it to me, and it feels like that’s more important right now, I guess?”
The man listened to me go about ten miles deep into the T.M.I with a stranger zone like I was the most interesting person he’d ever met. His eyes hardly moved from mine, and the way he seemed do fascinated was an odd combination of flattering and unnerving. “So you want to write?” he asked. The shadow of a smile crossed his mouth. “I wonder if the stories in your head are as dirty as the ones on that thing?”
I clamped my mouth shut tightly. Some girls blushed when they got embarrassed. Others shut down and got quiet. But me? I felt an almost compulsive need to say something sarcastic or funny to diffuse the moment. It was far from my most charming quality, and I’d already decided I wasn’t going to make a bad impression on this guy. With an effort, I forced myself to say something normal, even if it was a few beats too slow to sound natural. “I just like writing. It doesn’t even have to be a story, so…”