Coldhearted Boss

And then a highlight reel of my future plays through my mind: overdue medical bills, broken-down cars, dead-end jobs. The money in this stranger’s wallet wouldn’t fix all my problems, but it would give us a much-needed boost, and it’s with that thought that I realize my body has taken over the decision for me.

My fingers dig into his butt as a distraction and he doesn’t protest. He must just assume I’m into butts, and I never really have been before this moment, but oh yes, I would be very into his. It’s muscular and firm, not some kind of flat wussy cheeks that don’t know how to fill out a pair of pants. His is ripe and OH MY GOD FOCUS!

Suddenly, I’m taking his wallet, working it out of his back pocket so slowly—millimeter by millimeter—that he doesn’t notice and then I have no idea what to do with it. I have his wallet in my hand behind his back and my heart is pumping so hard, I’m going to be sick. It’s convenient that we’re making out so close to a toilet because I’m about to need one.

What have I done?!

At this point, I’ve stopped reacting to his kisses—I’m not that good at multitasking. He realizes something is wrong and pulls back to stare down at me, those warm brown eyes assessing me with worry. Then he sweeps his gaze around the bathroom, and he lets out a heavy sigh. Guilt replaces worry, but I can’t let it fester. I can’t let him turn into a nice guy, a gentleman who escorts me out of here and calls me a cab.

I’m still holding his wallet and there’s no good explanation for that if he finds me with it. Uhhh, I was looking for a condom? Pony up, big boy!

No.

I do the first thing that comes to mind.

“Close your eyes.”

His brows furrow and he doesn’t follow my orders. Cocky men like him probably aren’t used to being bossed around. The thought makes me smile, and the tension in his forehead lessons a little. I think he likes my smile, so I keep it there, pinned in place as I run a teasing finger down the front of his shirt.

“Close your eyes.”

He does it this time, though it’s accompanied by a shake of his head and an annoyed groan. He tips his head back as if sending up a prayer.

I waste no time at all stuffing his wallet down the front of my shirt and into my bra.

“What’s your room number?” I croon, sounding like a phone sex operator, my finger tracing down to the button of his pants. The bulge there is nearly obscene. I look away, scandalized.

One of his eyes winks open and I brace myself for him to notice his wallet stashed under my top. It’s lumpy, but fortunately I’m packing enough cleavage that it nestles nicely in the middle, hidden.

“209.”

“Go there and wait for me.”

“What are you going to do?”

I panic as if I’ve been caught but then quickly recover with a coy smile.

“You didn’t think I would make it this easy on you, did you? One beer and I’m yours for the taking?”

I keep expecting my seduction to work on him, assuming his hard veneer will crack. He still hasn’t smiled at me. No flowery words or promises of pleasure. He’s too smart for his own good, too skeptical of my bad acting. I can tell something about our encounter feels off to him. Still, I persist.

“I think you want a little chase, a little bit of time in that room, pacing back and forth, wondering if I’ll come, and if I do—”

“When you do,” he amends.

“Well, it will be worth the wait, and that reunion kiss will be all the sweeter. Don’t you think?”

He tilts his head to the side, studying me.

I try to sit perfectly still, appearing cool and calm, when in reality I feel like a bug under a magnifying glass, about to go up in flames.

His mouth opens like he’s going to say something, but in the end, he turns for the door and tugs it open, hard, without another word. His broad shoulders disappear out into the hall and the second the door swings closed behind him, I’m off that sink and hurrying for a toilet, just in time to throw up a winning combination of beer and chewed-up cherries.

It’s disgusting and putrid and exactly what I deserve. Karma is on top of her shit these days. I haven’t even finished completing my crime yet and I’m already being punished. My stomach rolls again and I squeeze my eyes shut, prepared for round two, but there’s nothing left. I haven’t eaten since breakfast.

I flush the toilet and move to the sink to rinse out my mouth and wash my hands. I don’t have time to linger. I need to get out of here and fast. He’s going to notice his wallet is missing as soon as he tries to get into his motel room and realizes he doesn’t have his keycard, and the same parts of him that moments ago sent desire radiating through me will do the exact opposite when he storms in here boiling with rage at what I’ve just done to him.