Mitigating Circumstances I
Part one:
She turned on the shower as hot as it would go, and began peeling off clothes. How did he know she was staying at this hotel? Her mouth was dry, and her heart pounded within its cage, demanding to be set free. She brushed her teeth while she waited for the bathroom to fill with steam. She was going to be beautiful. She would smell like the bouquet did; only he'd have to come closer to notice.
The flowers had been awaiting her arrival; their powerful fragrance hit her the minute she opened the door. It was gardenia, mixed with white roses and freesia interlaced with branches of holly. It was winter, spring and summer in one bouquet. She'd walked over to them and with a trembling hand picked the little envelope off its plastic perch in the center of the flowers. Inside she found not a card with the name of the giver but a plastic hotel room key with a room number written on it in black Sharpie. She sucked in a deep breath as an anticipatory flush spread through her body.
The same warmth now flooded her core at the thought and it had nothing to do with the hot steamy bathroom. She had to stop this. He was not to be; he was the forbidden fruit. Even if he was in the same hotel and this was an invitation to his room she should not be thinking with her hormones. He's a friend—a good friend. The kind who sends flowers and once asked you what the inside of your mouth tasted like.
This isn’t quite how she thought her evening was going to go. She had planned on chasing down some friends she knew were here, do a little gambling, and definitely some drinking. Considering she hadn't planned on being in a hotel in Las Vegas until last night she supposed she could roll with the punches. You can do things like that; fly off to Vegas at a moment's notice when you find out you have a tumor in the back of your head, and your loved ones will let it slide. How ironic, she came to Vegas to avoid thinking about the one thing that could finally displace this man from her thoughts, only to have him show up as what… a distraction? A noble guide to help her face her looming reality with dignity? He knows better than think she needs a knight in shining armor, though God, it would be so nice. It would be so easy.
She took some of the complimentary lotion from the little basket and opened it. It smelled like lavender, so she put it on. She stared at the inside of her suitcase like a hungry teenager stares at an open refrigerator. A sexy dress would be pretentious and out of place. Jeans would be good—she could pair them with a blouse and heels. No, it wasn't right. None of it was right. It was right for the casino or the buffet, but not for this scenario. She had a scene that played in her mind. In it, they were like an old baseball glove and a worn rawhide ball: a perfect fit, and a comforting sight to see in the corner of the room.
Once acceptably dressed, she shook out her still-slightly-damp sandy blond hair and scrunched it a little with fingers full of gel to keep it out of her face, and applied ever-so-little make-up just to accentuate her features. Standing back she admired the results in the mirror: light pink flannel pajama bottoms and a gray ribbed tank top of the softest cotton, cut to fit a woman's shape. Not threatening in the least, but still sexy in a flirty, collegiate, intellectual sort of way. It was always an intellectual intercourse with you, wasn't it? She thought. With a deep breath, she grabbed the plastic key, along with her own, and set out for the thirty-second floor.
To be continued.
She turned on the shower as hot as it would go, and began peeling off clothes. How did he know she was staying at this hotel? Her mouth was dry, and her heart pounded within its cage, demanding to be set free. She brushed her teeth while she waited for the bathroom to fill with steam. She was going to be beautiful. She would smell like the bouquet did; only he'd have to come closer to notice.
The flowers had been awaiting her arrival; their powerful fragrance hit her the minute she opened the door. It was gardenia, mixed with white roses and freesia interlaced with branches of holly. It was winter, spring and summer in one bouquet. She'd walked over to them and with a trembling hand picked the little envelope off its plastic perch in the center of the flowers. Inside she found not a card with the name of the giver but a plastic hotel room key with a room number written on it in black Sharpie. She sucked in a deep breath as an anticipatory flush spread through her body.
The same warmth now flooded her core at the thought and it had nothing to do with the hot steamy bathroom. She had to stop this. He was not to be; he was the forbidden fruit. Even if he was in the same hotel and this was an invitation to his room she should not be thinking with her hormones. He's a friend—a good friend. The kind who sends flowers and once asked you what the inside of your mouth tasted like.
This isn’t quite how she thought her evening was going to go. She had planned on chasing down some friends she knew were here, do a little gambling, and definitely some drinking. Considering she hadn't planned on being in a hotel in Las Vegas until last night she supposed she could roll with the punches. You can do things like that; fly off to Vegas at a moment's notice when you find out you have a tumor in the back of your head, and your loved ones will let it slide. How ironic, she came to Vegas to avoid thinking about the one thing that could finally displace this man from her thoughts, only to have him show up as what… a distraction? A noble guide to help her face her looming reality with dignity? He knows better than think she needs a knight in shining armor, though God, it would be so nice. It would be so easy.
She took some of the complimentary lotion from the little basket and opened it. It smelled like lavender, so she put it on. She stared at the inside of her suitcase like a hungry teenager stares at an open refrigerator. A sexy dress would be pretentious and out of place. Jeans would be good—she could pair them with a blouse and heels. No, it wasn't right. None of it was right. It was right for the casino or the buffet, but not for this scenario. She had a scene that played in her mind. In it, they were like an old baseball glove and a worn rawhide ball: a perfect fit, and a comforting sight to see in the corner of the room.
Once acceptably dressed, she shook out her still-slightly-damp sandy blond hair and scrunched it a little with fingers full of gel to keep it out of her face, and applied ever-so-little make-up just to accentuate her features. Standing back she admired the results in the mirror: light pink flannel pajama bottoms and a gray ribbed tank top of the softest cotton, cut to fit a woman's shape. Not threatening in the least, but still sexy in a flirty, collegiate, intellectual sort of way. It was always an intellectual intercourse with you, wasn't it? She thought. With a deep breath, she grabbed the plastic key, along with her own, and set out for the thirty-second floor.
To be continued.
posted by Sabine at 3:42 PM
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