I puff out a breath as I rack the weight bar, having completed my reps and then some, before I drop to sit on a bench against the far wall of the room. My muscles are liquid fire, but God it feels good to work out the anger churning inside me. I rub my T-shirt over my face and hair to wipe the sweat away as I catch my breath for a moment, my body exhausted but in such a productive way.
The cold concrete wall feels hella good as I lean my shoulders against it and close my eyes. Beaux’s face flashes in my mind, and I wonder if she’s why I feel so restless. Maybe I just need to see her, set some guidelines for this fucked-up situation I’ve been forced into, and then maybe I’ll get back into my groove a little quicker. What the fuck kind of way is it to start a working relationship when you’ve seen the other person naked and heard that sound they make as they climax? Talk about stepping out on the wrong foot.
I don’t like her. Plain and simple. I had a moment of bad judgment, a lot of alcohol, and wanted some sex. Little did I know the woman I chose would be the new partner I don’t want.
Fuck.
The quicker I rectify the situation the better. I need structure in my life – I thrive on it – to function in this tumultuous country where every day is something different and yet the exact same. But having Beaux here adds an unpredictability element, and so the quicker I let her know how I operate, the better off we’ll be in the long run.
Maybe I’ll even suck it up for the sake of calming the churning waters and apologize for the one-night stand.
Nah. Fuck it. She came with me willingly, left on her own accord. No need to set the precedent that I’m in the wrong when I know I’ve done nothing of the sort. Now I just need to decide whether I believe that she purposefully slept with me or whether it was purely a coincidence.
The jury’s still out on that one.
I glance at my watch and figure it’s okay to go knocking on her door since it is seven thirty. Maybe that’s a little dick-ish, but at least I’ll learn if she’s a morning person or not; I can play it off like I want to make sure she can be up and ready if we get a call on a lead.
I’m winded by the time I leave the hotel’s basement where the makeshift gym is located and jog up the thirteen flights of steps to the twelfth floor. Once I walk into the hallway, I realize I have no clue which room is Beaux’s. Only one way to find out.
I grab my cell phone from my pocket and pull up her number, walking the short distance of the hallway as the ring fills my ear. It takes a few moments, but I hear the faint ring on my right-hand side and follow it until I’m standing outside room twelve thirteen.
My hesitation over having the wrong room is fleeting as my knock resonates through the empty corridor. Beaux’s voice mail picks up, her throaty voice filling my ear at the same time the ringing on the other side of the door I’m standing at ceases. At least I know I have the right room.
I rap on the door again and listen for any sign of movement behind the door but hear nothing. I call again, almost determined to wake her up now, prove a point that she thinks she can handle this job but that she can’t. Fuck yeah, I’m being a prick, but I don’t care.
Her voice mail picks up again. I pound one more time and press my ear to the door. I tell myself I just want to wake her up, but unease begins to creep up on me. Why isn’t she answering? Is she that dead-to-the-world tired?
Or is something wrong?
I fist my hand against the door to prevent myself from pounding it down as the same worries I always had over Stella’s safety in this godforsaken land come back with a vengeance.