I grinned and shook my head as his heavy breathing filled the room. I liked Remy Curran. He was strange, but funny as hell. It’d been nice writing with him last night. I’d never tried that with anyone before. He hadn’t been afraid to disagree with me, but unlike Gally, he didn’t get huffy and rude and push for his own way when I had another idea; he listened to my opinion and took it into consideration.
Non-Castrato had struck it rich when he’d showed up to audition for our band.
Whistling the melody of the new song under my breath, I dressed for the day, grabbed my key card and headed from the room, readjusting the blinds to the window so the ribbon of light coming through didn’t bother my roommate. Then I shut off the bedside lamp I’d kept on all night and left him to sleep while I sought food.
But no sooner did I cross the street and enter the restaurant than I remembered I’d left my wallet back at the hotel. Heaving out a sigh, I scrubbed my face with my palms. Thinking maybe I should’ve taken a little cat-nap too to recharge my brain, I scooted out from my booth, told my waitress I’d be right back, and then hurried outside into the crisp morning air.
It woke me up as I waited at the busy crosswalk for my light to turn, and then I jogged to the hotel and retrieved my key card from my pocket as I approached my room.
The light was still off as it’d been when I’d left a few minutes earlier, but the bathroom door had changed. It was shut most of the way so only an inch of a crack showed, revealing the light was on inside. The sounds of a shower and singing filtered out into the hotel room.
“...And a hug around the neck. A hug around the neck...,” a clearly feminine voice serenaded from the bathroom.
I froze, frowning hard, as the lyrics to Doris Day’s “A Bushel and a Peck” continued. At first, I wigged out, afraid I’d just entered the wrong room. I began to backpedal, afraid to be caught in someone else’s room, but then I wondered why my key had gotten me in. So I flipped on the light.
My laptop sat on my bed and the blankets on Remy’s side were rumpled and unmade. Plus his familiar suitcase and my duffle sat on the floor, so I knew I had the right room.
But who the hell was in our shower? From the sound of it, I would’ve thought Sticks had snuck in a woman, except he wasn’t into women.
Wrinkling my brow, I inched cautiously toward the crack in the bathroom door. Using the tips of my fingers, I reached out, standing as far back as possible, and gently nudged the entrance open. Steam exited, clouding around me as the woman’s voice grew louder.
“...You make my heart erect,” she continued to wail with a pretty decent set of pipes. I lifted my eyebrows, intrigued.
I have no idea why, but I said, “Remy?” I already knew that wasn’t him in there.
In answer, the woman screamed.
“What the—” Confused as all get-out as to what was going on, I reached for the shower curtain and yanked it open.
Inside, the naked, wet woman yelped again, instantly shoving one arm over her breasts and splaying her free hand between her legs to cover herself.
“Holy shit!” I gasped.
We gaped at each other, the water spraying down on her and forcing her long dark hair to clog into her face.
Rationally, I knew I should turn away, but yeah...for some reason, I’d kind of lost the ability to think rationally. Instead, I shook my head, and demanded, “Who’re you?”
She shoved her hair out of her face so she could see me, probably forgetting that she had to uncover her breast to use her hand, because suddenly, I was being flashed some very nice tits indeed.
My gaze instantly dropped to her chest, and she gasped, slapping her arm back over herself. A split second later, she snatched the shower curtain and wrapped it around her, concealing all the best parts.
“No hablo inglés,” she panted in this super-hot sexy voice that had my hormones raging even harder.
Ah, shit. I shook my head, still completely flabbergasted. “You don’t know English?”
“No.” She shook her head. “No hablo inglés.”
“Fuck.” I wiped my hand over my face, glad I hadn’t started drooling or anything, because...wow. There was a very hot Spanish-speaking chick in my shower. “Well, I know crap Spanish.” Glancing behind me, I muttered to myself, “Where the hell is Remy when you need him?”
Behind me, shower girl repeated,
“¿Remy?” I spun back to her and she babbled something in Spanish, her hand waving the entire time.
I blinked, understanding absolutely nothing. But she’d said Remy’s name, so I slowly asked, “You know Remy?”
She nodded, her eyes lighting with recognition. “Sí. Remy.” Then she spouted off something else. I was sure I caught the word amigo in there, so I snapped my finger.
“Amigo,” I repeated. Yes, a word I understood. “Friend. Okay. So...he let you in to take...a shower...alone?”