Hotel O

Nothing unusual.

Which is strange.

Because I feel unusual.

I sigh and sit back in my chair, staring at the laptop. I’ve been anxious to get back to work ever since I got home last night. Nothing’s better to freshen up your memory than focusing on what’s important in life.

If you can actually manage to reset your mind.

For some reason, I find that very hard to do. Because right now, she’s the only thing I can think about. That girl and that amazing pussy I fucked in that hotel room last night.

It was as sinful as I imagined it to be. Two strangers fucking like there was no tomorrow even if there was.

I’m there now, and it still feels as though I’m floating on a cloud.

Why do I feel this way?

I’ve never actually had second thoughts about exiting right after getting some booty. But I almost feel guilty for leaving her there.

Why her? Why out of all people?

It doesn’t make any sense.

I grasp a pencil and scribble down the rules again.

One: Never expose your real identity.

Two: Don’t meet up more than once.

Three: Cut it off before she falls in love.

I stick it in front of me on my laptop to remind myself of what I’m not allowed to do. It’s for a good cause, after all. No use in trying to become the boss if I’m hooked on a girl. And I’m not about to jeopardize my career over some silly …

Fucking …

Kitten.

No. Not anymore.

I lick my lips and try to focus on the emails in front of me, but no matter how many times I try to finish at least one, I keep re-reading the lines. I don’t even know what I’m reading or who’s asking what. All I can think about is how beautiful she looked with her brown hair swooping down in a high ponytail, accompanied by that smirk. And that she did everything I asked.

It was perfect. Too perfect.

Out of nowhere, the pencil snaps.

For a second, I’m fazed. Then I pick up the pieces from my desk and chuck them in the trash, grumbling.

Goddammit. I have work to do. Instead, I’m wasting time thinking about a random girl I just fucked. But that’s just it, isn’t it? She isn’t some random girl.

She’s the first one to get under my skin like that.

And I don’t like it one bit.

I open the browser and go to the chat website. When I find her, I immediately block her, then close the chat.

There. It’s done. Now I won’t be tempted to fuck her anymore. Or do anything else with her, for that matter. I’m not relationship material anyway.

It’s for the best.

Kat

With an apple pie I bought at the supermarket, because I’m horrible at baking, I walk up to the house and ring the doorbell. Melvin opens the door almost immediately, greeting me with a smile. “Miss Mayer, what a delight. Come in,” he says, opening the door farther. “Let me take your coat.”

“Thanks, Melvin,” I say. “Am I late?”

“Fashionably,” he replies with a smile. “But don’t worry, I told them your boss was keeping you at work.” He winks. It’s a total lie because I never called him or my parents, but I love it. He’s always protected me; it doesn’t matter that I’m not a little kid anymore.

I kiss him on the cheeks, and say, “Missed you.”

We exchange smiles, and I go into the dining room where Mom and Dad are already sitting at the table. The moment I come into view, their faces go rigid and cold. Here it comes.

“Finally,” Mom says.

“Sorry,” I say, approaching her to give her a soft kiss on the cheeks. “Work.”

I laugh it off as if it’s no big deal even though it’s not true. But admitting to her that Melvin lied for me would get him into trouble. Not to mention, she’ll be twice as pissed off at me for going with it.

I take my seat as Melvin comes in to bring us some water and wine. “Dinner will be ready shortly,” he says, pouring it into the glasses before leaving again.

It’s awkwardly quiet at the table. Dad’s staring at his phone while Mom’s fiddling with the cutlery, adjusting them so they’re aligned perfectly.

“So how are you?” I ask to break the ice.

She briefly looks up at me, smiles, then says, “Fine, fine.”

“Dad?” I mutter, cocking my head to see if I can make him glance up from his phone.

“Yes, yes. Busy.” He lets out a small laugh. “You know … work.”

I nod, rubbing my lips together.

This is how it usually goes. Dad can’t take his eyes off the business, and Mom’s aloof as ever. It’s as if they’re purposely hiding from me, yet at the same time, they want to keep me under their thumb.

Melvin comes in with the dishes, placing them on the table one by one, and then excuses himself after a bon appetite. To this day, I keep having the urge to invite him to sit down, but my parents wouldn’t accept it, I’m sure of it. They prefer the distance even though he’s been with us—them—for more than twenty years. They’d say his hard work is rewarded with a lucrative salary, but I feel like they could show a little humility every now and then.