Chapter Ten
Brian
I slam the door behind me, then look up at the ceiling. I listen for a second, getting my head together, and then I hear her door slam. I know I should walk into my room and wait for tomorrow, but I can’t, so I turn around and storm out of my room to her door and knock. Not lightly like a normal knock but I pound on it. I don’t know what I’m expecting, but it isn’t the minx who swings open that door looking at me with anger and rage. It’s fucking hot, and her hair is now everywhere.
“What do you want?” she finally says with her hand on the doorknob. She’s looking at me, but it’s more like a glare.
“What do I want?” It wasn’t really a rhetorical question, but everything I was going to say to her went away in a cloud of smoke when she opened her door.
“I’m waiting Mr. Time and a Half.” She puts both of her hands in the air, mocking me.
“Do you know what I went through tonight?” I ask her, leaning forward and putting both of my hands on the doorjamb.
“Yeah, I heard she tried to touch your penis.” She rolls her eyes and crosses her arms over her chest.
“Tried to touch my penis. The woman thought I wouldn’t fucking notice that she was pulling my zipper down!” I roar out.
“You are so dramatic,” she says. “I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.”
“Wasn’t that bad?” I shake my head. “I thought I was having dinner with fucking Ursula,” I say to her and then turn away from the door before I storm to her and plant her on the bed and rip that fucking sorry excuse of an outfit off her. Her whole back is fucking bare, and I know she isn’t wearing a bra. The whole fucking dinner I was on fucking pins and needles from watching the exits and making sure she was safe to seeing her laugh at his jokes.
“Ursula?” Throwing my hands up in the air, I turn and walk away from the door. Opening the fridge, I take out a mickey of whiskey and down it in one shot. It burns all the way down, making me hiss. I shouldn’t have done that, but it was either that or leave. She comes out of her room, eyeing me as I lean against the counter in the kitchen. “Isn’t that the octopus in The Little Mermaid?”
“Yes.” The answer comes out quiet, almost in a whisper. “My mother loves Disney, so I have to take her to that fucking place every year. The happiest place in the world, right?” Bringing my hands up to my face and rubbing them, I say, “Her hands were all over me.” Looking at her now straight in the eyes, I continue, “Little by little, they kept going up and up, and I was trying not to make a scene. Since your date was going so well.” She glares at me. “But when she tried to open my fly, I was out.”
“That’s why you went to the bathroom?” I nod my head at her question. “You take your mother to Disney every year?”
“Yeah.” Opening the fridge and taking a water bottle out, I say, “Goodnight.” Walking away from her, I head into my room and close the door softly. I untuck my shirt from my pants, and then I unbutton it as I contemplate throwing it out. Bringing it to my nose, I smell her bitter musk all over it, so I toss it on the bed. Then I hear a soft knock on the door. Walking to it, I keep my hand on the handle. “Who is it?” I smile at myself.
“Who in the hell do you think it is … Ursula?” she answers, obviously not laughing at the joke I just made. My hand turns the knob, and I open it, and I see her there. Her bare feet on top of each other and her hands in front of her as she fidgets with her fingers. She looks at me, her gaze roaming from my eyes to my neck to my chest and slowly coming back up. She doesn’t say anything to me, her fingers just twirling while she fidgets. “Um, I guess I wanted to say I’m sorry.”
“Really?” Shoulders back, I cross my arms over my chest.
“Yeah. I may have, you know”—she rolls her eyes—“not been …”
“Nice?” I fill in the words for her. “Compassionate?” She moves her eyes away from me, crossing her arms over her chest in irritation. “Insensitive? I mean, I could go on and on.”
“Okay, fine.” She throws up her hands. “I should have been more sensitive to your penis groping.”
“It’s a good thing I’m good at dodging.” I smile now, watching her shake her head as she groans. “Her hands were wet and clammy and skeletal.”
She throws her head back now and laughs. “Okay, how is this? For the remainder of the tour, I will not date.” I look at her, watching the smile on her face as she reaches out her hand to shake. “Deal?”
I reach out, taking her small hand in mine, and shake it. “Deal. But let’s also mention how you dating and us going to a place where I haven’t had the opportunity to scope out could be a recipe for disaster.”
“Now”—she pulls her hand away from me—“I need to shower and order room service.”