Scratch the Surface

Now, at his door, trying the key card one last time only to have it blink red at me again, I braced my hand on the door to think.

“Excuse me. Do you know what time it is?”

Turning my head, I saw a man standing in the doorway of the room next door. And even though I instantly catalogued dark midnight-blue eyes, a strong jawline, and lush lips, my first instinct was to return fire, since the tone he’d used was so annoyingly snide.

“Yeah, I know,” I snapped at him. “That’s why I’m trying to drop my friend off.”

His eyes narrowed. “Oh? Is that right? Your friend?” he challenged me, head tipped, daring me. “Tell me, how do you know him?”

The hell? “It’s none of your business.”

“And yet I’m making it my business,” he assured me.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. “We’re buddies from college,” I explained quickly, not wanting anyone else to pop out of their rooms to question me. “Sorry for bothering you.” Hopefully he took the hint, taking the apology for the brushoff it was, and would retreat into his room.

He grunted. “That would be a neat trick, you and he going to college together, as I suspect he was probably pledging a fraternity about the same time you entered middle school.”

Even though I realized that the annoyed-looking man with the swimmer’s build, short blond hair standing up in tufts, and the perpetual scowl was my drunk friend’s buddy, and therefore my salvation, I still found myself wanting to tell him to go to hell.

“If you know him, could you call down to the front desk and have them bring up another key card, because this one isn’t working.”

He gave me an exasperated growl. “Stay there,” he ordered brusquely and then disappeared back into his room, closing the door behind him.

The fact that he’d given me a command, like a dog, grated on my nerves, but at least he was going to call someone. When the door in front of me slowly opened, my first thought was to punch him. They had adjoining rooms?

“Really?” I was incredulous.

“I can’t imagine why you’re surprised. You woke me out of a sound sleep,” he groused. “I’m supposed to make intuitive leaps when I’m only half-awake?”

“He’s passed out on my fuckin’ shoulder!” I was indignant. “What kind of leap do you have to make to figure this out?”

His glare could have cut glass.

“Can I please dump him on the bed so I can get the fuck outta here?”

Opening the door wide, the blond man stepped aside to allow me to enter. Letting go of his friend, I dropped into a squat and let him sag across my back before rising so I had him in a caveman carry. With his weight no longer being awkward, I crossed quickly to the queen-size bed and dumped him onto the comforter.

“You probably should have waited until I pulled that back,” he commented with a sigh. “I read somewhere that most hotels only wash their coverlets every six months or so.”

I turned to squint at him.

“Yes?”

“Does your brain just spin like that normally?”

“I was asleep,” he reminded me defensively, even though his voice never rose, remained level, soft, smooth, almost seductive. I had to wonder if he did it on purpose or if it was natural. “We have people to meet in the morning. I needed my rest.”

Shaking my head, I moved to the guy, took off his shoes, resisted the urge to hurl each one at his friend, dropping them on the floor instead, and then rolled him over on his stomach so if he vomited, he wouldn’t choke on it. Lastly, I moved the wastebasket right beside the bed.

“Okay,” I announced, turning to head to the door, “thanks.”

“Wait.”

I had my hand on the doorknob and looked over at the blond man.

“I should get your name. He’ll want to thank you.”

“Oh God, no,” I groaned as I turned the knob, “one night of hearing about Jim––”

“Tim,” he corrected me.

“Tim,” I echoed, “is more than enough.”

“So who are you?” he asked me.

“Just a Good Samaritan,” I assured him, opening the door and walking out.

In the hall, I took a deep breath, snapped my head from side to side to get the crick out of my neck, and then let my head fall back on my shoulders. I had a twenty-five-minute drive home with nothing to show for my night. For the billionth time, I told myself I should have stayed home.

I was surprised, as I turned to walk down the hall toward the elevator, when the blond man’s door opened.

He was staring silently at me, and I would have kept going, but there was something about his face, his expression, how sort of trusting it was; it had changed in the last few moments and was now something else entirely.