Chapter Two: Stolen Jersey
Knock, knock. The distant, constant pounding matched the one in my head. I pulled the pillow over my ears, ignoring the repetitive sound. For the love of all things, I could punch whoever was making that noise.
"Go Away!" I attempted to yell, but my throat was so dry and my tongue so heavy that it came out as a garbled mess. I licked my lips to get some saliva going so I could talk. I ran my tongue over my front teeth, hating that they felt fuzzy. Gross. Had I not brushed my teeth before bed? I felt around my nightstand and found a water bottle. I cracked it open and chugged half the bottle. The cool liquid soothed my throat.
The knocking increased. I throw my head back, slamming the pillow on the bed and grunting in frustration. I couldn't commit murder today, no matter how tempting it was. My head was throbbing, and I really needed to pee, but I didn't want to leave this comfy bed. I threw back the covers to find myself completely naked. I hadn't slept naked in years. Not since I started sharing a bed with my husband, Ben. He thought nudity in the bed was weird. Although it had been over a year since I slept in the same house as him, the habit remained—another round of knocking and quiet voices.
Wait... these weren't my sheets. Those aren't my pillows or carpet or... I scanned the room and realized that I was in a hotel room. A black suitcase sat in the corner, filled with men's clothing. The plain col red comforter and white sheets hinted at the cleanness of a borrowed bed. The bareness of the tabletops didn't reveal the name of the temporary lodgings. There were no hints at the hotel's or the man's identity whatsoever. I tried to piece the events of last night back together, but everything was a fuzzy blur. My back was stiff when I tried to move out of the bed, which triggered a flash of a man fervidly backing me against the elevator wall and kissing my neck. My cheeks warmed at the memory of me begging the man to take me to his bed and fuck me so hard I wouldn't be able to walk. Had I really drank that much? Obviously, not enough to not want the mysterious man's lips kissing that spot below my ear as his fingers delved deep into me. That had been ridiculously sexy, and even the thought of it had desire racing through my body. I tried to see his face but only remembered the heat in those whirlpool eyes. A slight, itchy feeling of guilt wormed its way into my fantasy.
Even though the guilt, sleeping with the man last night didn't feel wrong. It actually felt right and thrilling, and I wanted much more of that orgasmic release. My brain still didn't accept that even though I hadn't entered that bar with the intent to sleep with a random stranger, it was perfectly acceptable that I did. I examined the deliciously sore spots on my body. The hickey m ks I found along my thighs sparked the memory of a very muscular body and dark brown hair tucked between my thighs, making me cum over and over again. I squeezed my legs together to ease the new ache-y need there. It had been f ever since I'd had sex and even longer since I'd felt that much passion. The way the man scraped his fingertips down my bare back like he was falling into a deep cavern of pleasure pulled me back into the distorted memories.
Lost in my daydream, it took me a minute to realize I was alone in this hotel room, and a part of me felt used. I knew I shouldn't feel that way, but this was a first for me. This is what happened with a one-night stand. At least I was skipping the dreaded morning after chit-chat. Who was I kidding? I was relationship Rachel and had always been one for commitment. I've never had a crazy sexual encounter full of fireworks, passion, and the safety of being anonymous. But here I was, standing naked in a fancy hotel room, trying to remember if I even knew the name of the guy responsible for more orgasms in one night than my entire sexual history. I forced the shame that threatened to ruin last night's memories into the pit of my stomach. There was nothing wrong with two consenting adults enjoying each other company. And boy, had I enjoyed mystery-man's company. His body was made to pleasure mine. The glimpses of our time together that my brain showed were beyond hot. They were orgasmically mind-blowing.
I looked around the room, trying to locate my underwear, my blouse, a bra, or the skirt I wore to my divorce hearing. Any item of clothing so I could walk out of here with dignity and not look like I had been so thoroughly fucked. Knocking sounded on the door next to mine. I thought back to when we entered the hotel room; he lifted me, wrapping my legs around him as he slammed us into the door. His hands are pushing my skirt up and ripping my lacy panties. The comforting, firm grip his fingers had on the outside of my thighs still gave me chills. I ran my fingers through my hair, which caught on knots. I was a mess. I literally got divorced and screwed some random guy on the same day. Who does that? A train wreck of a person, that's whole. Fuck, now I was internally answering my own rhetorical questions. Another three knocks sounded at the door to this room. I grabbed the blanket off the bed and stumbled to the door. I banged my pinky toe on the one chair in the room. I screamed out a string of profanities. Why does a ho el room need a fucking chair? I limped the two steps left to the door. I threw it open just as a maid reached to pound it again.
"What?" I bit with more anger than I meant to.
"I'm sorry, ma'am. The room was requested to be cleaned daily," the maid said in a timid voice. I looked at the clock on the hotel nightstand and saw it was already 11 am. I groaned, knowing I'd missed our morning assignment meeting at work. I looked back at the maid and said, "I'll be out as soon as I find my clothes. Then you can lean."
The maid gave me an awkwardly calm nod and moved her cart to the next room. I closed the door and tore through the room to find all my clothing, knocking over a few things. I looked down at the flowery blouse I'd worn and realized the buttons were all ripped off. I bit into my lip, trying not to think about how sexy his rough hands had felt, impatiently ripping my shirt open and touching my skin underneath. I sighed; there was no way to salvage this.
I found my phone plugged into a charger on the table. I felt a little better knowing the guy didn't just abandon me. It was kind of him to plug it in. Next to the phone was the bottle of water I had half chugged. I scrolled through all the messages from work, my mother, and two from my ex-husband, Ben. I would deal with all of that later. After trying to tie my buttonless blouse in multiple ways, all too revealing to go out in public, I glanced at the man's open suitcase. I pinched the bridge of my nose and grabbed the first shirt I saw out of the guy's suitcase, a hockey jersey with a faded name on the back. I pulled my shirt on but left my torn underwear to wherever it was still hidden. I glanced in the mirror. The hockey jersey stopped before the bottom of my pencil skirt, but somehow I felt really sexy in it. His tropical smell reminded me of how amazing his weight had felt on top of me. The fact that he was a hockey fan turned the memories even sweeter. Maybe I should leave a note with my name and number or perhaps just a "Thanks for the orgasms!"
I shook my head, clearing it of ridiculous thoughts. Focus, Violet. You can't stay here! You need to get the fuck out of dodge and back to the sad reality of your life. Voices in the hallway reminded me that I was on borrowed time. I stumbled out of the hotel room to the giggles of a few younger cleaning staff. The walk of shame wasn't something I had ever experienced, but I was not going to start now. I squared my shoulders and swaggered out of the room in all the hot mess glory I could muster. I calmly walked to the elevator and leaped in when the doors opened. I let out an embarrassed sigh and ordered an Uber on the elevator ride down.