Just A Little Fling. Julie Kistler

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СКАЧАТЬ her name, she was exactly the person Lucie did not want to run into.

      “Would you watch where you’re going?” the girl snarled. “What a klutz.” Only it came out more like klush. With a huff, she turned back to the process of peering at herself in the mirror over the sink, attempting to add another layer of lipstick to already overglossed lips.

      One look and Lucie could tell that the maid of honor was sloshed to the gills. Maybe it was the flushed cheeks or the drooping eyelids or the slurred speech. Or the way the girl’s head bobbled back and forth as she tried to focus on keeping the lipstick remotely inside her lipline.

      “Isn’t that attractive?” Lucie muttered.

      “Can I borrow that?” another twenty-something chirped, popping up at the first one’s elbow. “It’s mocha cocoa muck, isn’t it? I love that color on you, Feather.”

      Oh, right. Feather. Worse than Flora or Fauna.

      “It is not mocha cocoa muck. It’s Poisonberry Smog. It’s all I ever wear. And no, you cannot borrow it,” Feather returned, giving herself another thick coat of the stuff, smacking her lips at the mirror. “I need it. All of it. I want to leave marks all over him.” She swung one arm wide, almost hitting her friend. With a smirk, she added, “Three days from now, Ian Mackintosh is still going to be finding traces of Poisonberry Smog.”

      Lucie narrowed her eyes. The idea of Feather applying Poisonberry lip-prints all over Ian Mackintosh was too disgusting to contemplate.

      And then the blonde made it even worse. Giggling, she trotted over to a small machine attached to the wall, started spinning the crank, and scooped little multicolored packets out of it like there was no tomorrow. “Free condoms!” she cooed. “And I plan to use every single one of them.”

      “Excuse me, but don’t you think you should leave some for the rest of us?” Lucie interrupted, skirting around the sink and honing in. “I think the machine is there as a courtesy, not for your private stock.”

      “Oh, yeah, like you expect me to believe you need one. Puh-leez.” Her nose in the air, Feather tossed about ten of them into her plaid minibag and closed the drawstring with a vicious jerk.

      Really starting to get ticked off here, Lucie grabbed a handful herself, whipped out her own identical purse, and shoved in the rainbow assortment of small squares. She made a point of yanking her ribbons, too, with the same show of force. Only she yanked too hard and the whole purse went flying, like a slingshot, smacking Feather in the right eye.

      “Oh, my God!” Feather howled, dropping her bag, strewing condoms and cosmetics every which way as she covered her injured eye. “She tried to kill me!”

      “I’m so sorry,” Lucie tried immediately, hovering there. “Are you all right?”

      “Do I look all right? I’m probably blind, you idiot!” She began to wail loudly, as her friend attempted to pry her fingers away.

      “Feather, I think it looks okay. Really.” The other girl bent to gather the scattered items. “Your lipstick rolled under the sink, but I got it. Don’t move, because the blush and mascara and stuff are right by your foot. Where’s your purse?” She glanced between the two matching plaid bags lying side by side on the floor. “Which one is which?”

      “No problem. We’ll just look inside. I think this one is mine,” Lucie said awkwardly, reaching for the closest purse. She opened it quickly, finding seven or eight condoms and a Highland Inn key right on top. Yeah, that’s what should be in her purse. But just to be sure, she pulled out the key. “Room 203,” she read. That was what she recalled Baker had said.

      “Give me my purse!” Feather cried tearfully. “If that’s yours, I want mine. With all my stuff in it. I need to fix my eye. My mascara is running!”

      “I put everything back. It’s fine,” the friend said soothingly. “Look, here’s your makeup and your room key and, see, I’m putting all your condoms back…”

      Deciding a quick exit was in everyone’s best interests, Lucie got out of there, clasping the small tartan bag securely to her chest. But where was she going to go?

      The reception hall was almost empty as she passed through. It seemed everyone had either paired up or gone home. Walking slowly into the front hall, Lucie hesitated. It had started to rain again during the reception, and she could hear the steady pitter-patter of the downpour against the windows.

      On one side was the main door, leading to the outside world. On the other was the big double staircase leading to the second floor and the hotel part of the Inn.

      Which way? Should she march out the front door into the rain, find the parking lot and her car, and drive an hour to that cut-rate motel in the middle of nowhere when she’d been drinking? Or should she pull out the key to room 203, climb the stairs, and have her cozy little rendezvous with Baker Burns?

      She’d been over all the reasons she wanted to do this, all about her neglected birthday and her nine-years-younger sister marrying the perfect man and now poor Baker up there with champagne, depending on her, and her in no condition to drive…She licked her lip, gazing around at the Highland Inn, at the flickering candles casting a romantic glow on the soft stone walls and that wide, inviting, dangerous staircase.

      “Lucie, are you a woman or a worm?” she asked out loud. “You’re not a child, you’re not a virgin, and you have condoms. What more do you need? Lightning bolts?”

      As if some cosmic force had heard her words, there was a huge clap of thunder, and the front hall lit up with the slash of accompanying lightning. Lucie jumped about a foot.

      “Okay, so I got the lightning bolt.”

      A rushing sound filled her ears, as she stumbled up the stairs, one hand stuck to the heavy wooden railing and the other clutching the key. “What’s that number again?” she murmured, squinting down into her hand as she hit the landing. “Was it 302? No, 203.” Bad time to turn dyslexic. Maybe she was just nervous.

      Nervous? No, she was petrified!

      But lo and behold, there was room 203 right in front of her. She tiptoed up, she slid the key into the hole, and easy as you please, the door yawned open.

      Her heart pounding, the rushing sound getting louder, Lucie took one step inside. Inky blackness greeted her.

      So much for candles and champagne. She must not have made it upstairs within the allotted time. Poor Baker must’ve decided not to wait. That was okay. In her newfound boldness, she would simply wake him. In a way, it was less scary like this. She would strip off her clothes, climb in with him, and ease them both into this fling thing.

      Lucie paused, waiting for her eyes to adjust, but it didn’t help much. She could make out a large, square blob directly ahead, with a few other indistinct shapes looming here and there. A canopy bed, maybe, with curtains pulled around it. And a desk? There was no light coming in at all to relieve the unrelenting darkness.

      “Baker?” she whispered.

      No answer. Had she said his name out loud or only thought it? If only she hadn’t drunk so much champagne and knocked back all those margaritas. If only her brain were functioning.

      But if she hadn’t, or if it were, she wouldn’t СКАЧАТЬ