The next night, Reagan stepped out of the shower after scrubbing herself raw to get rid of the old hamburger and grease smell that clung to her skin whenever she worked at the diner. She was trying unsuccessfully to keep her thoughts from Niklaus, but that was nearly impossible considering how frequently he was on her mind.
He hadn’t been back in the diner since the night before, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t looked for him every chance she got, her gaze straying to the doors whenever the bell chimed. And with each person that walked in and wasn’t him, she had been a little more disappointed.
He shouldn’t have mattered.
That was the crazy part about it all.
A couple of conversations, and the fact that he was extremely nice to look at, shouldn’t have meant that he was seared into her brain, and worse, starring in her dreams.
Back in her bedroom, Reagan slathered on lotion, tying her wet hair up into a bun to keep it out of her face. And as she was reaching for a pair of ratty old sweatpants and the t-shirt she usually wore to bed, she heard the first mutterings.
That was how it usually started--soft voices carrying through the thin walls of their apartment. As the alcohol continued to flow, the pitch rose, and very soon, there would only be the sounds of yelling and things breaking.
There was a time when her father’s drunken rages used to frighten her, making her curl into a ball in her room as she waited it out. When he had begun breaking their belongings, smashing glasses against walls, she had called Jimmy in a rush, afraid of what their father would do next. It was only after a number of times that Jimmy intervened, and she had run out thinking to protect her mother, that she realized even in his drunken madness, he still would never hit his wife.
Yeah, he screamed bloody murder for hours.
Yeah, he broke what few possessions they had, and when they were replaced, he broke those as well.
But he had never put a hand to his wife.
For that reason, Reagan still felt a touch of pity for the old man…but not much.
Especially not tonight.
More than once she had wished she was living a different life, away from the sheer craziness that was her own.
And tonight, she decided, she wanted something different.
Tonight, she wanted to pretend the Reagan who worked crazy hours and came home to a broken family didn’t exist.
Shutting the drawer that held her pajamas, she opened another, hunting through it until she found what she was looking for.
Black lace.
She rarely, if ever splurged on anything, but there had been a few occasions where Shan had convinced her to go shopping, and on one particular trip, made her buy the fancy set because, ‘every girl needed sexy underwear.’ She had to admit, the bra and matching panties were nice, but she hadn’t found a reason to wear them—though Shan made it clear that there didn’t have to be a reason—until now.
Reagan might not have known what the proper etiquette was for a one-night-stand, but she was ready to find out.
She dressed quickly, first the lingerie, then a dress—one that would be easy to get off and put right back on when she was leaving—and shoes before she was exiting her room and heading for the door.
As she was stepping across the threshold, she heard the first of what would probably be numerous glasses shatter as her father hurled it against the bedroom wall.
Reagan kept walking.
The distance to where Niklaus was staying wasn’t far from her own home, fifteen-minute cab ride max. When she arrived—and had paid and climbed out—Reagan blinked in surprise, not remembering just how enormous the building was, and how desperately it was in need of repair. If not for what awaited her back at home, she might have turned and left.
Steeling her resolve, she kept forward, ignoring the curious glances shot in her direction from the men loitering outside. The inside wasn’t much better, not with the man with a stale expression staring at her through the bars of the front counter.
If Niklaus was in the city on business, then obviously he needed to have a talk with his boss if these were the best accommodations…
Judging from the room number she had memorized, she figured his room was on the third floor. Taking the elevator that looked like it hadn’t been checked since the cold war, she went up, then down a hallway until she reached the right room.
Holding the key in her hand, she thought better of just walking in, especially since she hadn’t called first to let him know she was coming. Instead, she lifted her fist and knocked. Down the hall, someone’s television was playing so loud that it carried outside of the cracked door, making it impossible to hear whether someone was inside.
Chewing on her lip, she waited a few more seconds before knocking once more, deciding that might have been a good idea for her to call ahead, just to see if he was actually there before riding all the way over.