The Resistance(39)
A yawn escapes and my eyelids are heavy.
He adds, “We should get some sleep.”
I snuggle down. “You can sleep on the way to Germany.”
“I’d rather sleep with you. You wouldn’t happen to be free for the next week would you?”
My eyes open wide. “You’re inviting me to Germany?”
“Yes. Private jet, five-star hotel, Michelin rated restaurants. You know, all the perks of being famous.”
I kiss him on the cheek, loving the offer, but disappointed because I know I can’t say yes. “I won’t bore you with my schedule for the week, but I have three meetings I can’t reschedule.”
“The offer stands. You’re invited if you want to come. I’d like you with me. I’d like to get to know you better.”
“I had to move a meeting for this weekend to happen.” Moving up, I press my lips against his ear and whisper, “Your offer means the world to me.”
He turns and kisses me on the lips. No more words are needed tonight. We close our eyes and sleep takes over.
Sunshine fills the room, the bright desert blinding me through the large picture window. The fluffy comforter is cozy, so I snuggle under, avoiding the reality of day for as long as I can.
Daylight! My eyelids fly open and I sit up abruptly, looking around the room for Dalton. He’s not in bed, so I call for him, “Dalton? You here?” Flipping the covers from my legs, I slip out of bed and hurry into the living room. “Dalton?”
I scan the balcony and look for clues to where he might be. Then I see it… and try to gulp down the dread lumping in my throat.
A note sits on the bar, a pen next to it. I walk closer, trepidation filling every step. I don’t pick it up. I don’t even touch it—my heart and head both fearing the worst. When I’m close, I take one last look around the suite for any signs he still might be here. When I don’t see any, I look down and read:
Dear Holliday,
Please don’t hate me for not waking you. No reason both of us should suffer without sleep. Anyway, I’m terrible at goodbyes. I’d rather you remember our goodnight.
Dalton
I stand there rereading the note countless times before I take it, grabbing my phone from the counter, and go back to the bedroom. After climbing back into the middle of the large bed, I pull the covers over me and hold the note to my chest. Then I lose my mind and do crazy girl shit. I smell his pillow. I bury my face straight down into it and do a full inhale. When I come back up, I decide right then and there that the pillow is coming home with me… that and the fruit basket that was knocked off the table last night. Also the Gatorade because I’m thirsty and after all the sexual fun we had over the last twenty-four hours, I probably need some electrolytes replenished.
Noticing the time, I know I should get up and go back to my room. Although I texted Tracy to let her know I wouldn’t be coming back last night, she still might be worried. I crawl out of bed twenty minutes later and start gathering my clothes that are scattered in various locations around the suite. My T-shirt is in the bedroom though I distinctly remember it coming off in the living room. My jeans are under the dining table next to the one remaining unopened condom package. My lace undies are in shreds with pieces in the kitchen, dining area and on the balcony. I find one shoe, but after an exhaustive search, I give up on the other.
I get dressed and walk the around one last time, remembering how in this room, being together, it felt like we ruled the world.
Making sure to grab my note from him, I tuck my phone into my back pocket and go to the door. It feels sad as if the goodbye meant for Dalton is transferred to the room, heavy emotions coming over me. “Goodbye.”
When I open the door, I spot my shoe just outside on the floor. I slip it on, not quite sure how it ended up out there, but it allows me to walk away from this love nest a little less shamefully and with a smile on my face.
“It’s easy to lose yourself if that’s what you want. I don’t.” ~Johnny Outlaw
This is ridiculous. I barely know the man. The excitement I felt from our weekend together in Vegas has been replaced by a strange dull ache, much like heartburn, but antacids won’t make it go away. A little warning about these changes in emotion would have been nice, but I got nothing from Tracy on our drive back. Maybe nobody knows because nobody has felt the way I feel about Dalton. At least that’s what it feels like to me.
I’m an independent woman. I shouldn’t be letting some guy run away with my more sensible side. Yet here I sit staring at my computer on Monday afternoon, the Bite Me Lime dancing across the large monitor in front of me, and I realize I’m being utterly ridiculous.