I pushed the motel room door open with my foot after sliding the key into the lock, making sure the "Do Not Disturb" sign remained on the door. Once I switched on the lights, Ashton's face greeted me from the multiple images hanging on the wall. Each image depicted her in a different setting and pose, all courtesy of my client. Studying the pictures of her smiling, I couldn't help noting how the images didn't do her eyes justice. They couldn't capture the same sparkle I had witnessed earlier that evening. Just remembering how she'd smiled at me with her bright shiny eyes made me want her even more.
"This is ridiculous," I thought, shaking my head in disgust. I backed up to the edge of my bed and sank down onto the sagging mattress. What the hell was I doing? Lusting after a target was unacceptable. I was hired to make contact, observe, and report back to my client. That was it. I wasn't hired to sniff at her ass like a dog in heat—no matter how appealing that might be. >"Are you sure you're up for this, you lightweight?" Brittni asked, placing her hands on my shoulders so she could study me critically.
"I'm fine, Mom," I teased. "I just decided to take the liquid courage route."
"So, you're going through with it?" she asked, looking worried.
"Duh, that was the plan," Tressa chastised.
"I know, but I thought she'd chicken out," Brittni retorted like I wasn't even there.
"Hey, standing right in front of you," I said, waving my hands exuberantly in front of them like I was trying to land a plane or something to that effect. "Besides, I have to do it, it's on my list," I pointed out.
"Right, it's on your list. I still think it's ridiculous for someone our age to have a bucket list."
"I told you a million times. It's for a study I'm doing for the master's program I'm hoping to get into," I lied, smiling brightly at her. "It's a study on living life to its fullest in a limited time frame."
"So you've said a hundred times. I just think a study on males that have the best pecks or dreamiest eyes would have been more productive."
"That's so cliché and overdone. Having a nice six-pack usually translates to 'conceited asshole,'" I answered, sweeping the lip gloss Tressa handed me across my lips. "Thanks," I told her, handing the wand back. I tried not to focus on the irony of my new friends having no qualms about sharing their makeup with me. Back home, most people refused to touch anything I had touched. They were all assholes. What I had wasn't contagious.
"You better get back out there before Mr. Blue Balls thinks you ditched him," Tressa interrupted, giving my back a light shove toward the bathroom door. "Text us if he turns out to be an asshole."
"And make sure he bags his junk," Brittni piped in.
Giggling at their advice, I twisted around before exiting the bathroom and threw my arms impulsively around both their necks. "I love you guys," I said, knocking their heads together from my exuberance.
"Okay, we love you too," Brittni complained, trying to extract my arms.
"Yep, she's toasted," Tressa commented, rubbing her head where it had knocked against Brittni's.
"Maybe we should hang around to make sure she doesn't embarrass herself," Brittni mused.
"No way, you guys promised," I reminded them. "If I'm doing this, I'm going in without a safety net.
"Fine, but your scrawny ass better text us first thing tomorrow morning, or we're sending out the armed forces to take down Mr. Seximist," Brittni warned, giving me a quick hard hug.
"Don't worry, Brit, he looks harmless enough. Besides, I've taken at least twenty pictures on my phone. We'll nail that bastard's ass to the wall if he hurts her," Tressa said from behind me as I pushed open the bathroom door.
"Don't worry, my head will make a beautiful mantle piece," I threw over my shoulder as I sashayed across the room toward the bar.
"Hey stranger," I said, boldly sliding onto my barstool.
"Whoa there," Mr. Hotness said as my ass misjudged the middle of the seat and teetered on the edge, making the legs of the stool wobble. Hotness reached over and grasped my arm to steady me.
"You're hot."
"Why thank you," he said chuckling.
"I mean, your hands are hot...no, I mean, your touch is hot...shit. Never mind," I mumbled as he chuckled next to me.
"It's not the first time I've been called hot, sweetheart."
"Vanity isn't a virtue," I pointed out, picking up the shot glass that had magically filled itself in my absence. "So, what do you do Mr. I Know I'm Hot?" I asked, realizing that in all our flirting we'd neglected to exchange names.
"Nathan," he answered, holding out his hand for me to shake.
"Ashton," I parroted as his hand engulfed mine. His touch was sure and sensual at the same time, making my poor hand feel bereft once he let go.