In the second case, not only did my cock get hard, my chest went tight and my throat felt like I’d swallowed a rock. All from a look.
Imagine what might happen if she looked at me like that while she was naked. I could spontaneously combust.
And then she said I was hot, and my dick got so excited, I was worried I’d make a mess in my pants if I drove over a stray bump in the road. It’s like I’m a teenager again, all boner and no brains.
I can’t stop thinking about it. I can’t stop thinking about her. I’ve already jacked off twice since we checked into the hotel, and if I don’t figure out a way to manage this soon, I’m in big trouble.
Unfortunately, I know of only one way to satisfy an itch.
Scratch it.
Nine
Tabby
The Hotel Andaluz is a vast improvement over the Best Western in Tulsa. I appreciate the Spanish-inspired décor, the russet pavers underfoot, the dark wood ceilings and bisque stucco walls. My room is lovely, spacious and quiet with a claw-foot bathtub big enough for two that keeps leering at me. I wonder if it’s coincidence the room is called the Romance Suite.
Connor was the one who arranged the rooms with the front desk, and hell if I’m about to ask him.
I take a shower, change into a pair of black leggings and my favorite travel top—a body-skimming, tie-dyed, one-shouldered number in brilliant blues made of some kind of space-age knit that folds to the size of a hankie and never wrinkles—and slip on my casual shoes, the ones with only a four-inch heel.
Then I get a text from Juanita: Hey. Can I use ur shower? Water is out at my house.
“Oh God,” I mutter. “Did your mother forget to pay the water bill again?”
I answer: Yes, of course. I’m on a job for a few days. Clean up after yourself, plz.
She responds: Suck a bag of dicks. With a minion emoji flipping me the bird at the end.
I reply: Charming. I’m sure Sister Mary Claire is so proud of you.
Two seconds later: Sister Mary Claire can suck a bag of dicks.
I chuckle. We really need to get Juanita a new catchphrase.
I’m starving, so I decide to go up to the rooftop bar, order some tapas, and enjoy the view of the mountains.
Unfortunately, my travel companion has had the same idea.
Connor spots me the second I walk out onto the patio. He’s sitting across the bar at a long, raised stone table with a fire glowing in a low trough down its center. He lifts a hand as if he’s been expecting me.
Which he shouldn’t be, because we left each other in the lobby with a “See you at six a.m.”
Feeling self-conscious, I make my way slowly across the patio toward him, weaving through tables. He watches me, his gaze contemplative and intense. The firelight lends his face a soft, pleasing glow. I wonder cynically if that’s why he chose that particular seat.
Yes, I’ve noticed the knot of girls at a table on the other side of the patio who are gaping at him over their margaritas. This fool has groupies everywhere.
“Great minds think alike,” he says as I stop beside him. He gestures to the next seat.
“Let’s not get carried away.” I lower myself to the stool.
He smiles. Catching the eye of the waiter who’s making the rounds, Connor calls him over with a crooked finger.
“Yes, sir?” asks the waiter.
“Johnny Walker Blue and an ice water with lemon.”
The waiter gives a short bow and retreats.
Now my self-consciousness turns to irritation, because if those girls don’t stop staring and whispering, I’m going to go over there and smack the giggles right out of their stupid little mouths.
Noticing where my attention is, Connor drawls, “Guess they like hot senior guys,” and chuckles.
“God, you’re like a dog with a bone. Can we be done with that, please?”
Looking at me from the corner of his eye, he only offers a noncommittal “Hmm.”
How are his biceps bulging when he’s not even using them? How is his jaw so sharp, it could cut glass? How are his lashes that impossibly thick and long?
How the hell did all of that suddenly go from irritating to interesting?
“I like this outfit,” he says, eyeing me. “You almost look like a normal human being.”
I make a disgusted noise. “I’ll be sure to never wear it again.”
I’m aware that I’m being a bitch to manage my discomfort over my inconceivable attraction to him, but hopefully he won’t catch on, because I’ve pretty much been a bitch to him from the get-go, so I think this is a safe course of action. It’s the logical course of action, at any rate. Just stay on the bitch train, get through this job, and we can both go our separate ways without him ever guessing I might have once had a wee lady boner for him.
Because honestly, I can’t think of anything more mortifying than Connor discovering that. The “hot” slipup was one I cannot, under any circumstances, repeat.
Connor says, “You’ve got that look again.”
Startled, I glance at him. “What look?”