I should have left her back at Mike’s. Would’ve been easier.
We drive out of town a little ways, looking for a place to crash. I send Margaret into a motel office to get us a room, knowing we’ll have to switch things up so we won’t be as easy to track.
Each grabbing a bag, we haul them into the drab room. I take stock of everything and immediately get to setting myself up for the night. Once I send a message to Ricardo, it will go down rather quickly. He’s never made me wait long before meeting up.
“I’m going to freshen up,” Margaret says. Her tone is flat, but I don’t know, nor I do have the time to know what’s bothering her right now. She probably has a pretty long list at this point.
I’m setting up my laptop when I hear a bloodcurdling scream coming from the bathroom. My instincts kick in quickly and, clutching my Glock 19, I run over and bust open the door. Margaret has the water running in the shower and is standing on the edge of the tub.
She’s also buck naked.
“What’s wrong?” I ask in a huff, not sensing any real danger.
“There’s a spider!”
“A spider?” I ask incredulously.
“It was huge, okay!” she shoots back defensively, hopping—yes, hopping—off the edge of the tub and turning toward me. Like she is in a fog, she slowly realizes what’s happening, and I don’t look away.
We stand there staring at each other for a few minutes, me wondering why I’m restraining myself, and her…well…
“Oh my God! Get out! Get out!” She rushes me and shoves me out the door—naked.
God how I missed those curves. Only one night with her and she’s the only one I’ve been able to think of for the last few weeks.
The door slams in my face and I gather myself. “I’m sorry, Mo, but to be fair,” I say through the door, “you did sound like you were being murdered.”
She doesn’t say anything, but I can still hear the water running. Then I hear the sound of her groan when she comes to her senses.
“I’m sorry. Should have thought about it, I guess.”
We don’t say anything and I lean against the doorjamb, waiting for something else. All I hear is the shower curtain rustling around, and I know she’s done with this conversation.
I resist a sigh and head back to continue getting ready. My mind needs to be on my job, but all I can think about is Margaret’s body, her plush curves and her soft, supple skin under my rough hands.
Being a dude is hard—literally.