I thought about it for a second, but it seemed like I wasn't going anywhere. “Yeah,” I said. “I suppose so.”
We headed to the hotel bar. It was a fancy place, with gold trim on all the fixtures and silk tablecloths on every table. We got a table near the back and Hal ordered us a couple of drinks, billed to his room.
When the drinks arrived he raised his glass, looking me up and down. “To...new friends.”
“To new friends,” I agreed, raising my glass. I took a sip and let the smooth burn soothe my worries. I glanced at Hal out of the corner of my eye. He was still eyeing me in a way that made me think he had something more than friendship in mind.
“So, Jane,” he said, “what does a girl like you do when you're not writing about the exciting world of national finance?”
I had to stop and think about the question for a moment. “Not much, actually,” I said. “I haven't had much of a social life for a while now.”
“Too busy with work?”
“Maybe.” I shrugged. I didn't want to admit the truth, that I was too afraid to put myself back out there. The mistakes of my past relationship kept playing in my mind. It made it hard to socialize. It didn't help that all of my friends were single and they always wanted to go out to bars and clubs, hoping to pick up guys. I barely spent time with them these days because I didn't want to be part of that scene anymore.
“You need to get out more,” Hal said. “A woman as bold and strong as you could go out there and rock someone's world. I know you could rock mine.”
I glanced at him over the rim of my glass. He had this cute little smile, full of confidence, but in a quiet sort of way. “You think I'm bold?” I asked.
“You certainly didn't pull your punches in the interview.” He smirked, then took another sip of his drink. “It's not often I meet a woman who knows how to carry herself so well. You look like someone who takes whatever assets you have and makes the very best use of them.”
He looked down at my “assets” and my face heated up. I'd worn a low-cut shirt to show off my generous cleavage. Being a big girl meant I had some very generous blessings in that department, and I wasn't afraid to use that to my advantage. When men were attracted to me, it made it easier to get them to talk during an interview.
“You're a charmer,” I said. “But I'm afraid you're barking up the wrong tree, Hal Masterson.”
“Why's that?” he asked, grinning as if it were a challenge. “You afraid I can't handle you?”
“You think you can?”
“Well,” he eyed me from head to toe, and he looked like he liked what he saw, “you're definitely a whole lot of woman. I like that. Real women are supposed to have curves. The kind a man can hold onto all night long.”
I lowered my eyes and swallowed hard. The images Hal was bringing to mind were certainly compelling. And he was certainly a nice-looking, healthy man. But I couldn't let myself consider such things. “I'm not looking to get involved with anyone right now.”
He sighed. A pout formed on his cute mouth. “That is a real shame, Jane. A real shame.”
We had a few more drinks. Hal eased off on the flirting a bit, but just a bit. I could tell that I had his attention, and under different circumstances, I would have enjoyed that. But aside from my personal baggage, there was the simple fact that he was the subject of a story, someone I had interviewed and planned to write frankly about. I made it a point never to get too close to the people I wrote about. His feelings could end up being hurt, since the article I had in mind was none too flattering. It wouldn't do to get too close to him, only to have it all crash and burn because of my writing.
After we chatted for a while and had dinner, it was starting to get late. I still didn't know where I was going to be spending the night. When we left the bar, Hal stopped in the hall and shoved his hands in his pockets. “So, Jane,” he said. “You need a place to stay tonight, right?”
I looked across the lobby. The snow had piled up even higher. There was no way of getting home tonight. I supposed that I could try walking to another hotel, but trudging through knee-deep snow at this time of night didn't seem like a very smart idea.
“Listen,” he said. “You can stay in my room.” When I opened my mouth to protest, he held up a hand. “No funny business. I mean, I'd be all over you if you were willing. You're one fine woman, and I'd consider myself lucky to spend the night with you. But what you need is a place to sleep, and I've got a room. You can have the bed. I'll have the hotel staff send up a rollaway mattress for me to sleep on.”