The O Intention(31)

I smile.



To: Alix. Time: 2:39am

How many chapters have you read since you told yourself that?



I get an instant reply.



From: Alix. Time: 2:40 am.

Seven and a half… don’t you dare judge me. One more and I’ll go to bed. Maybe.

P.s. You want me so badly right now, don’t you Mr. Never Texts?



I pause before replying. I shouldn’t text back. Dammit! I shouldn’t text back. My fingers itch and I want to respond so badly. I want to tell her yes. I want to send her a detailed message filled with all of the dirty and naughty things I want to do to her. Instead, I lock my screen and sit my phone on my bedside table. I go back to staring at the clock above my bed. I watch the minutes flick by one after the other until twelve whole minutes have past, and then I can’t take it anymore. I grab my phone, unlock it and type out my response.



To: Alix. Time: 2:52

Okay. You win. I DO want you. I want you more than I’ve wanted anyone in my life. I’m kicking myself for letting you leave here earlier. Stay with me tomorrow night and I’ll show you everything you want to see.



I hit send before my brain can stop me. I stare at the screen as more minutes tick by. I wait and I wait and I wait for some kind of clever, egotistical response… but it never comes. I picture her lying in bed with a book open on her lap. I imagine her ugly cat-thing snuggled in beside her and a wide, smug grin on her face as she purposely ignores my text. I’ve finally caved and now I’m right where she wants me.





Alix



“You’re happy this morning,” Roger, the jolly door man tells me as I approach the main entrance to the hotel.

Thankfully, he wasn’t on last night when I came in wearing nothing but a coat on top of my underwear.

“It’s a good day,” I say, as I pull a bill from my skirt pocket and give it to him.

I don’t know how much it is, but it doesn’t matter. It’s the thought that counts.

If only Roger knew why it’s such a good day. Last night Mr. Jesse O’Ryan sent me a text I never thought I’d receive from him, and I didn’t reply—on purpose too. You see, I’m a big fan of cat and mouse, but I’m always the cat and just for once, I’d like to be the mouse—a mouse with sharp teeth, of course. The only down side of the morning was the phone call from my mother. She insisted I come over for dinner tomorrow night. Apparently Grace, my younger sister, has something exciting to share with the family.

Gag.

Ignoring that, I practically bounce through the lobby and into the main bar area. I move lightly and quickly—as if I’d drunk four cups of coffee with breakfast. I contemplated four, but stopped when my heart started beating its way through my ribcage at two and a half. I’m going to crash hard in a few hours, but right now, I’m walking on rainbows.

Marise is manning the bar all by himself and as I approach, I take note of his stiff, uncomfortable posture. He spots me not a second later and offers me a small wave. Usually, any greeting with Marise involves screeching, balloons, and glitter throwing. Okay, maybe not the latter two, but you get the idea. It’s then I notice the man in the dark gray suit sitting on the stool in front of the bar; and there’s only two men who can make even the liveliest employee in this hotel do his job—Jesse or his father, William. I’m willing to bet my entire book collection that it’s not Jesse’s father sitting at the bar at nine in the morning drinking wine.

“Jes—” I pause and glance at Marise who quirks an eyebrow at me. “Mr. O’Ryan?” I quickly clarify.

He whirls around on his stool to face me and, holy shit, he looks tired—and drunk. He sways briefly before leaving his seat.

“Alix, there you are.” He attempts to stuff his hands into the pockets of his jacket, but misses.

I peer around him and over to Marise. “How much has he had to drink?”

He shrugs. “One. He was drunk and sitting here before I started.”

I look back to Jesse with a glare. “What are you doing? You’re going to get yourself in troub—”

He presses his long index finger against my lips and cuts me off “You shush your pretty mouth. You didn’t text me back last night.”

With a snort, Marise turns and begins to ‘clean’ glasses. I know he’s pretending because the bar hasn’t been open for long. How many glasses could we have gone through already? I snatch Jesse’s wrist.

“Marise, can you call security and have them take Mr. O’Ryan back to his room before any guests recognize his stupid face.”

Jesse feigns insult in that annoyingly adorable way only drunken people you care about can do.