Santiago
Another city, another hotel room. Locations blurred, languages blended from one to the next. Tours got like this. About mid-way, I’d lose track of the country I was in.
It was two in the morning, and I’d given up on sleeping. I was too jacked up from the show and too claustrophobic to stay in my room. I had to get out. Walk around.
Unrequited and crew took up the entire floor of the small hotel we were spending two nights in. The reprieve from the bus was brief, but necessary. As well as we got along, we needed the break from one another.
And I needed the solitude.
This was when I recharged, filled my batteries so I could face the rest of the tour.
Only…being alone tonight was making me restless.
Tugging on my jeans and tucking my wallet and phone in my pockets, I left my room, letting the door snick shut behind me.
Before I could take two steps, movement at the end of the hall caught my eye. Maeve was walking in my direction, carrying an ice bucket.
“Late night ice?”
Her eyes shot up, and she had to scramble to keep hold of the bucket. “Shit!”
I strode to her, relieving her of the ice in one swoop. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you. I was surprised to see you too.”
She exhaled, looking up at me. “Can’t sleep either?”
“Nope. Tired of sitting in that room staring at the walls.”
She nodded a couple times and chewed on her lip like she was deciding something. “I was plannin’ on swiping some mini bar booze and watchin’ a scary movie.”
“Are you inviting me?” I couldn’t keep the surprise out of my voice.
“Yes, if you’re on your best behavior and promise not to judge that I was goin’ to be drinking alone before you came along.”
“I’m the last person to judge anyone.”
Her eyebrow arched. “Was that a promise?”
The corner of my mouth tugged up. “Yeah. Promise.”
In her room, I set the ice on the dresser as Maeve moved around the room, gathering scattered clothes and smoothing out the comforter on the bed. She dropped her clothes in her suitcase, then her hands flew back up to her chest.
“Um…I should put on a bra.”
There was no possible way I could stop my eyes from zeroing in on her breasts. She wore a snug, black tank top and baggy, plaid pajama pants. I liked knowing there was only one thin layer of cotton between us. Sweet fucking torture.
“I won’t look.”
She huffed. “You just did.”
“If I said I needed to wrangle my dick, I guarantee your eyes would go to my crotch.” Her eyes drifted down before jerking back to mine with a sheepish look. “See?”
“Fine. I don’t really want to put a bra on anyway. Don’t tell Murray about this or I’ll never hear the end of it.”
She pulled all the mini bottles of liquor out of the minibar and lined them up on the dresser. “Pick your poison. I have Coke as a mixer, if you want.”
“I have to do a shot if I’m watching a horror movie.”
She glanced at me over her shoulder, giving me a teasing smile. “Aw, are you scared?” She handed me the bottle of tequila, and I took a straight shot before handing it back as the burn eased down my throat.