Thrill Me. Isabel Sharpe

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СКАЧАТЬ course he knew, Dad had called him two days ago to remind him and Mom a week before that. “I’d really like to come. But I have revisions due on Friday, and it’s going to be close.”

      “Sure, close, you can’t get away for an hour?”

      No use. He could try to explain that it wasn’t just the minutes he’d spend away from his keyboard he’d miss. It was the mental buildup, the interruption, the wind-down time it would take to get back into his work. And how was he to know if Thursday night was going to be a particularly creative time, when everything would come together in a huge burst of output?

      “I’ll come if I can, Mom. I promise.”

      “Good enough. Everything okay there? You want me to send you some food to the hotel? Something decent? Some of your dad’s osso bucco?”

      “Thanks, Mom, they’re feeding me fine.”

      “Okay. Okay. I’ll go. But everyone wants to see you, the whole family misses you. You sit in that room all day long working, it’s not healthy.”

      He chuckled. “I should be out in the fresh air?”

      “I get it.” She laughed. “You’re not a little boy anymore. Moms are all the same. But if you need anything, you call me.”

      “I will.”

      “Even if you don’t. Just to say hi. Okay?”

      “Deal. Thanks for checking on me.”

      “You’re a good man, Beck. I worry about you.”

      “I’m really fine. Bye, Mom.” Beck clicked the phone off before she could start listing single women she knew, then stood there imagining her bustling to the front of the restaurant, making sure everything was perfect, flowers and candles on the tables, menus clean and carefully piled, staff in place, complimentary antipasto dishes lined up in a neat row.

      That world could have been his.

      Sometimes he thought he’d been switched at birth, and somewhere some serious scholarly couple were wondering how they had ended up with a boisterous half-Italian chef for a son.

      He needed a drink.

      More than that, he needed one out among people. Usually he was content to be in his room, or prowling the hotel; he was a loner at heart like most writers, something his jovial family of extroverts couldn’t understand. Tonight, for some reason—probably that the soul was about to be ripped out of his life’s work—he’d rather indulge his demons with strangers around than tackle them on his own.

      And who knew? Maybe his sexually open female stranger was at the bar right now, waiting for him.

      2

      Note on Exhibit A waitstaff board:

      Don’t bend over near guy with mustache and cowboy hat who’s at Exhibit A every night. He’s an octopus; hands everywhere.

      Jessie

      IT TOOK ten strides to go from the window to the door of room 1457. May only took a few minutes to clue into that fact. And eight to go from the wall with the desk, to the wall next to the bed.

      May had also clued into the fact that men who flew her halfway across the country and then backed out at the last minute with a lame-sounding excuse and then didn’t call again really pissed her off.

      May had tried ringing Trevor, but his voice mail had picked up. She’d left a message in a broken, pathetic, scared voice, asking him to call her. Which he hadn’t. And that was over three hours ago.

      Then she’d hated herself so much for sounding broken, pathetic and scared, she’d gotten pissed instead. Royally. Because what the hell was she supposed to do now?

      Oh, sure, he’d been a total doll in the voice-mail message. He felt soooo bad about this unexpected and unavoidable—and she noticed, unspecified—schedule change. May was welcome to stay the full week on his dime. Enjoy the luxuries and amenities of the hotel to their fullest.

      Yeah? Well considering she’d been planning to have sex all week, a spa, indoor pool and rooftop garden were not quite adequate substitutes. Neither were the plastic penises she’d discovered in a drawer, which might be anatomically correct, but had the distinct disadvantage of not being attached to sexy and fun-to-talk-to men.

      Creeping home with her tail between her legs, instead of delicious and slightly sore memories, didn’t sound remotely appealing. But then neither did staying here completely on her own in this overwhelming city, at a hotel populated by other people having all the naughty fun she was supposed to be having.

      Not that sex had been the entire point, of course. Part of her had probably secretly hoped she and Trevor would hit it off emotionally, too. And maybe that was where part of her anger was coming from now—from the disappointment that it couldn’t happen, and she was back to mourning Dan. But even if she and Trevor hadn’t fallen for each other in any serious way, they would have had fun, and a week’s adventure she’d always remember fondly.

      Damn, but her toast was good and burned.

      She whirled and headed for the phone, called Midwest Airlines and winced at the cost of changing her ticket. Jotted down the flight times on the hotel notepad under the childish caricature she’d done of Trevor as Satan. Couldn’t be helped. She could go home standby on a flight tomorrow; the agent seemed to think the planes wouldn’t be full.

      Maybe that was best. She didn’t belong here. With Trevor around, she could have managed it. On her own, it would just be too depressing.

      Her cell phone rang and she hauled it out of her purse. Trevor?

      Nope.

      “Hi, Ginny.”

      “Hey, girlfriend. I can’t believe you answered the phone! Why aren’t you puffing and panting? I was just going to leave you a dirty voice mail.”

      May sank onto the bed, mortified to feel tears coming up. “Trevor’s not coming.”

      “Hmm. Did you go down on him? I read in Cosmo that men who have—”

      “No, not that kind of coming. I’m serious.” The tears went back down and she smiled. “He’s not coming to the hotel. At all. This entire week.”

      Ginny’s gasp made her feel better. Her friend would understand. She’d tell May to rush back to Wisconsin and come over to her apartment, and they’d make sundaes together and rent a romantic movie and have a total girl—

      “How are we going to find you someone else?”

      May’s jaw dropped. “Someone who?”

      “Another guy for the week.”

      “Oh, right. You want me to advertise?”

      “No, no. Walk into a fancy bar and smile at someone, that’s probably all it takes. It’s New York! You could probably go out and get Jerry Seinfeld or one of those guys from Friends.”

      “Ginny, СКАЧАТЬ