Four Play: A Collection of Novellas (28 page)

On the other hand, Lauren was more down to earth—a simple beauty disguised in a very unlucky blue dress. She was more my style, my taste, and my speed. She was my very own private American Sweetheart.

Or Canadian Sweetheart. Whatever.

She stood squinting into the distance with that funny grin on her face. “Well I can’t very well walk three blocks back to our hotel, and I’m not going to let you carry me.” She beamed.

“I don’t know how you can be so happy with our circumstances.” I smiled with her.

“I can’t see anything more than ten feet in front of me, I’m covered from head to toe in stinky rain and fishy ocean water, the only shoe I have left has lost its heel, and this has to be the most miserable night of my adult life.” Her bright smile widened, and she looked down before adding, “But I just can’t stop smiling.”

A shy and studious type, Lauren was the kind of girl to get lost in the stories in her head—a dreamer, someone I’d actually want to take the time to get to know. But I couldn’t think about it. Lauren wasn’t the one I should’ve been charming. I had to keep my head in the Monica game, otherwise I’d lose sight of what that weekend was shaping up to be about.

I shook my head, trying to avoid eye contact. The last thing I needed was to fill my mind with anything that would distract me from my bet with Jack. Dammit! I wouldn’t allow the soaked dress that hugged Lauren’s curves, the way her skin invited every droplet of rain, or her contagious smile weaken me. And I refused to have a reason to see her the next day. I had to stop my thoughts from drifting where they didn’t belong.

No. I had to cut all ties with this woman and avoid her for the rest of the weekend.

“I’ll be right back,” I said, running back into the park.

She shouted my name, but when I glanced back, she hadn’t moved from the eave.

“I’m going to find your glasses,” I added.

Every second that passed, the rain washed over me, drenching me from head to toe. Within a minute, the water had soaked my hair and poured down my face. The puddle was already twice the size it had been when she’d fallen, and with little light to guide me, there was no sign of her glasses anywhere.

But I did find her shoe. The heel was half busted off, and when I plucked it from the ground, I had to tip it upside down to dump all the water out.

There was no point in running back. Every stitch of clothing was wet, and my shoes squished with every step. She stood under the eave, rubbing her covered arms for warmth and bracing herself slightly every time someone would pass, almost as if she trusted no one in a strange city.

I knew she couldn’t see me, but I didn’t stray my eyes from her. Maybe it was that she was alone in an unfamiliar city, and I didn’t trust anyone either. Or it could have been that I knew she couldn’t see me, and I took advantage of the moment. But I think it was because I couldn’t seem to get the stupid grin off my face, and even slowed my pace so I could have more time to watch her.

It was obvious when I finally came into focus for her, because her entire body relaxed; her shoulders softened, and the small lines in her forehead disappeared. “Did you find them?” she asked eagerly.

“We’ll find your glasses tomorrow,” I mumbled, tearing my eyes from hers and watching the heavy downpour. I joined her under the eave again, creating a large puddle of water at our feet.

She laughed. “You’re soaked, Michael.” Looking down, her eyes traveled up my legs and finally to my arms. They hovered there for a few seconds until she looked away with a blush.

I broke the uncomfortable silence. “I found your shoe.” I scratched my head, causing more water to spill to the ground. “It’s not in very good shape, though.”

“Thanks,” she whispered, and smiled nervously.

“We should get back before Jack tries to claim Monica as his next victim,” I tried to joke, but it fell flat.

“Right.” She nodded, swallowing her smile. “We should get back to
Monica
,” she said regretfully.

I heard her intention. She knew that I had interests there, though I was certain she didn’t know why. They weren’t what she thought.

I untied my shoes and pushed them toward her. “Here. Wear these. We’ll get you back to the hotel.”

“You can’t walk barefoot.”

I shrugged. “I have socks on. Besides, it’s only a couple of blocks. If we see a taxi, we can hop in. I’ll come back tomorrow once the storm is gone and the sun is out.”

“Thank you.” She nodded, and we made a run for the sidewalk back to the hotel. She hobbled shamelessly in my shoes, laughing, so I slowed my pace and walked beside her. “I guess there’s no use in us running anyway—we’re both drenched.”

The rain stopped as quickly as it began, and her pace slowed slightly. I looked up, and was about to comment on the weather, but she interrupted me.

“She’s pretty,” she whispered, and I snapped my head toward her.

Lauren had a small nose, a bright smile, and I hadn’t noticed before due to her glasses, but her hazel eyes leapt from her face with her dark lashes framing them; they succeeded in hypnotically pulling me in. Her silhouette in the night put shame to what Monica could’ve offered, but I remained quiet and conflicted.

The wet dress clinging to her figure was barely a distraction to those eyes.

“Who’s pretty?” I finally asked.

“Monica. She was pretty popular on campus, too.”

I didn’t have a response; I wished I did. I stood stunned into silence. The last thing I wanted to do that weekend was toy with two women’s emotions.

“It’s okay,” she continued. “You can admit it. I’m used to it.” She winked, trying to act unbothered.

I fought with what I should’ve said. I wanted to tell her that she was much more intriguing than Monica, and that she had so much more to offer than a one-night stand. But by the time we reached the front doors of the hotel, I’d completely chickened out.

Who did I think I was kidding? There was no way I’d be able to pull off being a man who got any woman he wanted. I couldn’t even speak to the ones that piqued my interest.

With wet socks, I trailed drops of water through the lobby and into the elevator. I peeked into the bar as we passed, but no one remained at the table we’d occupied an hour earlier.

“I, um…” I said, feeling my courage descend further. “Once I get new socks, and we get you some new shoes and a dress, we can look for our friends.”

She snickered. “That’s twice today we’ve had to get me out of this dress.” She blushed the moment the words flew from her lips, then sighed, combing her fingers through her hair and wringing out the rain. “I think I’ll just stay in my room tonight. No need to escort me,” she said with a smile that killed my heart.

The elevator door dinged and she walked into the hallway. Using the wall to keep herself steady, she slipped off my shoes and handed them to me. “Thank you, Michael Rourke.” Her eyes searched the hall, and she gave me another nervous smile. “Until we meet again. Good luck with the Seattle job. I’m sure you’ll get it.” With a nod, she clutched her purse and shoes and walked in the opposite direction.

I walked the shame-patterned gray carpet back to my room and let out an aggravated huff once I shut the door.

The other woman.

My soaked clothes lay in a puddle on the bathroom floor, and I’d thrown on an old pair of flannel pajama pants and a clean T-shirt. The clock on the nightstand read 10:02, and I hadn’t bothered to return to the bar in the lobby. I had no idea where the guys were, and I didn’t really care.

I sat on the bed with the TV quietly humming behind me while I worked on the
New York Times
crossword.

Two soft taps sounded from the door, and since Martin had a key, the only other person that might know which room I was in was Lauren.

A smile sprang to my face as I hopped off the bed and jogged to the door. I turned the knob and flung it open, but my grin faltered when Monica stood before me. I shook my head and checked the room number on the wall.

She laughed. “You’re in the right room. I just wanted to stop by and see if you were interested in a nightcap.” Her expectant words matched the ravenous look in her eyes, and she bit down on the red-polished nail of her index finger.

“Oh, um…” I scratched my jaw, not certain what I should do. “How did you know which room I was in?”

“Duncan told me. Well, he stuttered it and then made the sign of the cross.”

Of course he did.

This was it. Right here. It was my chance to prove to Jack that I could pull it off. But there was a huge part of my conscience that still thought it was a terrible idea, and that Monica was the last person
Michael Rourke
would want to spend the night with.

But that was the whole point, wasn’t it?

I wasn’t supposed to be Michael Rourke.

She took my hesitation as a rejection. “Never mind. It was a bad idea,” she said turning away, her cheeks flushing crimson. With a heavy sigh, she walked slowly down the hall.

“It’s not a bad idea. I just…” I began, my words fading. My confliction wasn’t rooted in the idea of having sex with her. Quite the opposite: she was pretty and sexy and many men would consider it a privilege. Hell,
I’d
consider it a privilege. I would’ve been a complete moron to let her walk away. But I still had two days left at the hotel, and I didn’t want to see the look on Lauren’s face the next day when she discovered that I’d slept with her best friend.

Why should I have cared? What would be the point in getting worked up over a girl I’d never see again? Was this some kind of chivalrous act of doing the right thing, or did I actually give a shit about Lauren’s feelings—and Monica’s, for that matter?

“Please, come in.” I said it before I realized my mouth had opened. I had no idea what I was going to do with the woman, though I was certain that since I accepted her invitation she had a much more vivid expectation.

She smirked and skimmed past me, brushing against my chest with a brief pause, and then walked into my room. Throwing her purse on my bed, Monica looked around and glanced at the refrigerator that sat inside a small nook underneath my television.

Taking out the miniature
non
-complimentary bottles of booze, she twisted the caps open and poured the amber contents into two plastic cups. She acted casual—like she’d done this before—and her tongue swept over her lips as though she could already taste the whiskey.

Or taste
me
.

I audibly swallowed at the thought. Women like Monica intimidated me. Their sex appeal shadowed anything their brain had to offer, which put pressure on me to
perform
. I was much more comfortable with a woman who spoke softly and had a sharp mind.

I watched carefully, trying to get into the role I’d need to play. But it wasn’t coming. All I could think about was my distaste for the foul alcohol and whether or not she was going to make me drink it. I was still nursing the bruises from my hangover the night before.

When she handed me a cup, one small whiff was all I needed to keep the cup as far away from me as possible, and I cringed at its contents.

“So you’re a Dom?”  She chewed her lip waiting for my answer.

I scoffed at the idea of it, but remembering my words at the bar,
“Yes, I’m the player, a dominating master between the sheets,”
I reminded myself that I wasn’t supposed to be Michael with her, and tried to play along.

I set the cup down on the nightstand. “Does that excite you?” The words gurgled in the back of my throat, and I felt nauseated.

Her chest rose and fell with a gasp, and her neck and cheeks flushed. “Yes,” she breathed.

She took a small step toward me and her eyes fixed on mine. It took all the strength I had not to crack a smile at the absurdity of the situation.

A Dom.

She walked to the edge of the bed and set her cup down on the nightstand. Kneeling on the floor with her back facing me, she dropped her chin and stared at the floor. My hand flew to my mouth and I tried not to make a sound.

What the hell did she expect me to do? Grab her hair forcefully? Spank her? Tweak her nipples? Bite her? Growl?

For the love of all things holy…talk about stepping out of my comfort zone.

“Aren’t you supposed to tell me what to do?” she whispered.

Probably!

Okay, focus. This is my future on the line. What does a Dom do?

I glanced around the room looking for anything that might spark an idea, and I spotted folded towel on the rack near the vanity.

A towel? What am I going to do, whip her with it? No. Keep looking.

The cord from the table lamp dangled behind the desk, and several thoughts swarmed through my mind—none of which were remotely appealing.

Fix her wrists to the bedpost? There are no bedposts.

Do I hog tie her?

Erotic asphyxiation?

Hell no. This is supposed to be foreplay, not murder.

My eyes finally rested on a silver tie sticking out of Martin’s luggage. It seemed the least intrusive thing I could find. But wasn’t this supposed to be intrusive? Is this what Monica wanted me to do? Whatever she wanted, she was waiting for my next move, and with no other ideas popping into my head, I went for it.

Taking a deep breath, I plucked the tie from the luggage and examined it a moment. It was long and made of silk, a silvery gray with a soft sheen. It could easily be used to tie her hands behind her back, or perhaps blindfold her. The image in my head gave me a queasiness I’d never experienced.

No. This wasn’t me. Regardless of the entire point of the bet, I couldn’t picture myself dominating anyone, let alone someone who trusted me not to hurt them. I was too gentle for that, for as much of a pussy as that made me.

Control was not my thing. I preferred my women…reciprocal.

“The suspense is killing me, Mike,” Monica pleaded. “Do something.”

I shook my head and swallowed. Lauren’s smile entered my mind, and I stood in the middle of the room with a tie in my hands, grinning like an idiot. I think I’d already made my mind up about Monica the moment I saw Lauren in that damn puddle.

“No, this is all wrong. Stand up,” I demanded.

She stood eagerly, and kept her back to me. “Yes, sir.”

“Don’t call me sir! Just…”

The door flew open and Martin tumbled in. He was followed by Jack and Duncan; they were barely able to keep themselves upright. Jack’s eyes gaped when he saw Monica in my room.

I don’t think I’d ever been so happy to see Jack’s ugly mug in my life.

“Well, look what we have here,” Jack slurred. “Has he convinced you he’s the master of the universe yet?”

Monica let out a sigh, annoyed with the intrusion. “Not yet. His pestering friends continue to interrupt us every time we try to…
talk
to each other.” She grabbed the whiskey cup and brought it her lips. With the burn down her throat, she ogled in my direction.

After setting the empty cup on the table, she grabbed her purse from the bed.

“Are you leaving?” Jack asked. And I was relieved to see that’s exactly what she appeared to be doing.

I was just happy the guys interrupted us when they did. There’s no telling what she and I would’ve been doing by that point if they hadn’t.

Before walking out of the room, Monica turned back and brushed her hair behind her shoulder. “I’ll see you boys tomorrow.” With one rhythmic tap of her fingernails to the doorframe, she disappeared around the corner and the door slammed shut.

Jack crossed his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow.

I put my hand up to stop him from speaking. “I don’t want to hear anything you have to say, Jack. This weekend is far more complicated than I wanted it to be. This was supposed to be our last hurrah! I don’t know if I’m ever going to see your hideous faces ever again,” I joked, “and now this woman thinks I’m a Dominant!” I glared at Duncan—who was drinking the rest of my whiskey—but he merely laughed.

“So you’re
not
taking the bet?” Jack asked.

“He’s not saying that, per se,” Duncan cut in.

I sighed and threw my hands up in the air. “What the hell do you want from me, man? You want me to take Monica to bed? What is that going to prove?”

“It’s not really going to prove anything. When I made that bet with you last night, it seemed genius at the time. But now that I need you off my back for the rest of the weekend, this whole setup is the perfect opportunity for me.”

“What do you mean?” I asked. “Why do you need me off your back?”

He smeared his black hair back and smirked. “If you’re spending time with Monica, then that leaves Lauren all alone. And I’d like to get my mouth on that tart candy of hers.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “If you know what I mean.”

My jaw flexed and I ground my teeth. Martin lay on the bed and pulled an earbud from his ear to listen. Duncan rummaged through the refrigerator to see if I had any more whiskey, but I remained standing. My arms and face burned, and my nostrils flared.

“Keep your foul mind—and hands—off that girl.”

“Sorry, Mike. You can’t claim
both
ladies for the weekend. And if you’re with Monica, you can’t be with Lauren too. So I’d say she’s fair play.”

“She’s a sweet girl, Jack,” I pleaded. “Just leave her alone.”

“I’ll bet she is sweet.” He walked to the door and turned the knob. “Maybe even a virgin. Now
that
would make for one lucky weekend.”

The door slammed, and I stared at it for what felt like minutes. Duncan cleared his throat and brought me out of my rage-filled haze. Martin wore a grimace and stared blankly at the comforter.

We all thought the same thing: Jack was a prick.

“Well. I guess I’ll be on my way then,” Duncan announced uncomfortably. “See you two cats in the morning.”

I plopped down on the bed as the door closed for the last time that evening, and I prayed that Jack didn’t know that his room was only two doors down from Lauren’s.

Martin shook his head and sighed. “Fucked up,” he mumbled.