Sure Thing(2)

by Jana Aston

“It means custom-made. And no”—he pauses as he glances down at his shirt—”this shirt is not bespoke.” The pause makes me wonder if his other shirts are custom. He does seem a little fancy, but who has custom dress shirts made? No one I know, that’s for sure.

I’m distracted when a gaggle of what appears to be a traveling soccer team of pre-teens moves through the lobby towards the elevators. Excited calls about who is rooming with who and snippets about meeting at the hotel pool echo through the lobby as they pass.

“It’s getting kind of loud in here,” I say, glancing towards the lobby entrance where the kids have already passed. It’s not, not really. But seriously, how do I move this from drinks to sex? How?

“Hmm,” he murmurs, his eyes on me.

“Do you want to go somewhere a little quieter?” I suggest.

He pauses, glass halfway to his lips, and looks at me in surprise. I must really suck at this. Is my sister right? Ugh. It pains me to even think it. Lord help me if I ever have to admit it out loud. My sister is rarely right, but she might be this time. I might be incapable of pulling this off.

“Cutting right to the chase, are we?” he questions, a small smirk on his lips. “I had you pegged for another two rounds of hemming and hawing before you were up for it.”

Up for it? Does that mean sex? I eye the cherry in my glass again then force myself to look him directly in the eyes. I hold his gaze for three seconds before I speak. It worked the first time, right?

“Look, I’m a sure thing,” I tell him with a small shrug while shifting my eyes away then back.

“Are you?” The amusement on his face is clear.

No. I’m not a sure thing. I’ve never been a sure thing. But I’ve never been Rose before either, so to hell with it—tonight I am.

“Yup,” I say with more confidence than I feel.

“Hmm,” he says again and so help me, his murmur is the sexiest freaking thing ever. He tilts my glass and reaches inside with a single long finger, pulling the cherry to the rim. Extracting it, he holds it to my lips and I open my mouth and take it from him, my tongue sliding under his fingers as I pull the sweetened fruit from his grip. I roll it across my tongue and look into his eyes, wondering what’s next.

“Well, let’s go then, shall we?”

Oh, shit. I swallow the cherry and worry for a second that it’s going to stick in my throat and I’ll choke. Did I really just tell a complete stranger I’m a sure thing?



She’s lying, this girl. I’m not sure what she’s lying about—her name for starters, who knows what else. Not that it matters. I don’t really give a toss, do I? She’s a distraction, nothing more, a very welcome and unexpected distraction before the beginning of a dull but hopefully informative week.

A sure thing, she said. I stifle a chuckle as I hit the lift call button and add that to her list of lies. I sent her the drink after I caught her looking at me in the bar but I didn’t expect it to lead anywhere. I expected, based on her shy smiles, that she was interested enough to allow me to sit with her. Pass an hour or two in conversation before she demurely excused herself with talk of an early morning. When she sucked in a breath and made the comment about moving to a quieter location, she surprised me. When I tilted my head in question and she blurted out, “I’m a sure thing”—well, fuck me.

“Rose,” I say as the lift doors open. There’s no response, her head buried in her phone as she attempts to discreetly tap out a text. If I had to guess I’d say she’s sending a safety check to a friend. Ensuring her phone GPS is on. She likely snapped a photo of me when I wasn’t paying attention and sent that too.

She’s cute.

“Rose,” I repeat while laying a hand on her arm. She looks momentarily confused, a flash so brief I wouldn’t have noticed if I hadn’t been looking for it. She’s definitely not called Rose.

She smiles and precedes me into the lift as I wonder what brought her here, to this hotel and to this moment. Boredom? A bad breakup? Trying to prove to herself that she’s desirable?

I’m happy to help with that.

But I can’t call her Rose. When she remembers this night it shouldn’t be with another woman’s name on my lips. And she will remember this night.

The lift doors close and I turn to her. She’s wearing a short-sleeve shirt, her breasts forming an exquisite curve under the material. I run the tip of my finger down her bare arm and watch her nipples harden as her eyes move to mine, then to the lift control panel and back again.

“Are you suggesting we have sex in this elevator? Because if you’re fast enough to come before those doors open again, I’m not actually interested.” Her brow creases and her face is a mixture of regret and arousal. This time I do laugh as I reach past her and hit the button for three.

“No, love. I wasn’t suggesting a romp in the lift,” I assure her and move closer without touching her. Her pupils widen and her chest rises as she sucks in a breath and tilts her head back to meet my gaze. She’s wearing a knee-length skirt and heeled sandals on her feet. The skirt flows and would easily accommodate the spread of her legs if I were to boost her off her feet and wrap them around my hips. It’s a tempting thought, and she’s slight enough that she’d be easy to pick up and fuck against a wall. But no, that’s not in my plans for her tonight. I can definitely spare her more than a few minutes of my time.

The floor beneath us jolts the slightest bit, signaling the lift doors are about to open. I keep my eyes on hers as the doors slide and then lean past her to place a hand against the open lift door, blocking it from closing. “After you,” I tell her, my voice low. She pivots and exits, stopping as her eyes rest on the opposite wall where an arrow points in one direction for rooms three hundred to three-nineteen and another for rooms three-twenty to three-forty. She pauses and I wonder if this just became too real for her. I wonder if she’ll back out.

I take her hand and lead her to the right. She follows, her hand soft in mine, her heeled footsteps near silent on the hotel carpet. I wave the keycard to my room in front of the electronic lock and push the door open when the light flashes green, stretching my arm out and holding it open for her. She drops my hand and walks into the room and I note how lovely her hair is. Long tumbling waves of rich chestnut brown or possibly black resting against her back. It will look even better on my pillow.

She stops a few feet into the room and looks back at me over her shoulder as the door snaps shut behind me. Seeing her here in my room, I feel a moment of regret. Because while I know nothing about her, I know she deserves more than this hotel. Not that there’s anything wrong with it. It’s perfectly nice, in a business-class, family vacation sort of way. But I’d prefer if I had her in a five-star with a view of the capital, the lights of the city casting a soft glow through the room. A marble bathroom with a shower big enough for two. But we’re here, so the view of a fast-food chain across the street will have to do.

All she has with her is a small bag that can’t fit much more than a mobile phone and currency. I watch her set it down on the sideboard across from the bed then turn to me, a tiny lift of her chin as she likely reminds herself why she’s here, a mental pep talk flashing across her face. Then she wets her lips and smiles, but it’s for her, not me.

She has absolutely no idea how to proceed, does she? I’ve bedded virgins more aggressive than this woman.

“So how do you want to do this?” I ask her as I close the distance between us, my hands in my pockets and my steps unhurried. I stop before her and when she doesn’t move I untuck my hands and trail one finger along the shell of her ear. She bites her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Naked,” she replies earnestly, flicking her eyes from mine to my chest. “I’d like to do it naked.”

I’m definitely keeping her all night.

“Take these off,” I tell her, with a gentle tap of a finger to an earring. She removes them from both ears and places them next to her tiny bag, then looks back to me expectantly.

“How do you want to fuck?” I ask and pick up her hand. I kiss the inside of her wrist and meet her eyes. “Soft or hard? Fast or slow? Dirty or dirty?”

“Um…” She blinks, her skin flushed. “Yes.”

I’m not sure she’s even processed what I’ve asked, but I’m certain I had the answer before the door closed anyhow. And I wasn’t asking for any particular reason other than to watch her response. She’s not aggressive, this girl, she’d love it if I took the reins, so to speak. Removed whatever doubts she has in her mind about her desirability by leaving no question of my interest. And I’m interested. Interested in fucking her in every position possible until she passes out, exhausted and sated. I drop her wrist and rub my bottom lip with my thumb while I enjoy that visual for a moment.

“Your blouse,” I say, my tone brooking no argument, not that I’m expecting one. “Take it off.”

“Okay. And you take off your pants,” she responds in complete sincerity, her tongue peeking out between her lips. Her fingers have already moved to one of the buttons fastening her blouse as her gaze drops to my cock.