Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 78164 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78164 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Maybe she’s in the bath again. My lips twitch. Or maybe she couldn’t resist that blueberry pie any longer.
I yank the sheets off my body and get to my feet.
“Hey, Kel? Where are you?”
My stomach tightens as I peer into the bathroom. It’s just how we left it last night. The tub is half filled with water. Towels are on the floor. My Dopp kit is halfway under the vanity because I swept it off the counter so Aurora could sit in its place. It was the perfect height for me to cage her in and worship her body.
Long, leisurely kisses. Sucking those perfect, heavy tits. Running my hands over rounded hips and stomach. Her body moved beneath my hands, and her little moans and whispers were so damn hot.
God, that’s one fantastic memory.
I grab my hardening cock and make my way into the living room.
“Kelly?” I might be late to the conference, but I can’t leave this room without fucking her one more time. “Where are you, gorgeous?”
I round the corner. Then come to a full stop.
“What the hell?”
My heartbeat quickens as I scan the room.
Her dress is gone. I don’t see her heels.
“What’s going on?” I ask the empty room.
I wander through it like a lost little boy, looking for any sign of her.
My brain races through last night. The last thing I remember is her curling up next to me with her head on my chest and falling asleep.
Did I say something wrong? Did I push her too far? Did I make her uncomfortable?
I force a swallow, running a hand over my head.
“She couldn’t have just left me.”
I make a face, so fucking confused, but just as I pass the desk, I notice a slice of pie on a paper plate. I glance over my shoulder to see the pie box is gone, too.
The hotel-embossed notepad is beside the pie.
Thanks for an incredible night.
Call me. Xo
I jerk the notepad off the desk and read it again. “No fucking way.”
The room is eerily quiet as I contemplate this peculiar situation. She left me? This has never happened before. I usually have to invent a meeting or an obligation to get women to leave.
And Kelly left me?
“This is bullshit,” I say, picking up the phone and calling the front desk.
“Good morning, Mr. Brewer. This is Connie. How may I be of service?”
“Good morning, Connie. I had a guest in my room last night who is also staying here. Can you tell me what room Kelly Kapowski is in?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Brewer. I can’t give out that information.”
I scan the room again. My sights land on a lacy black bra peeking out from under the sofa.
“I understand,” I say, picking up Kelly’s bra. It dangles off my fingertips. “But she left something … personal in my room. She might be looking for it later.”
“That’s unfortunate. Would you like me to send someone up to get it? We can put it in our Lost and Found.”
Not a chance.
“I think I better keep this in my possession, Connie.”
“As you wish. I’m happy to put a note in there that you have one of her items, if you’d like?”
“You know what? I would like that. Thank you.”
“Of course. Is there anything else I can do for you?”
Yeah, give me her room number. “That’s it. Thank you again.”
“You’re welcome. Enjoy your stay at Picante. Goodbye.”
“Goodbye.”
I replace the receiver, then mosey around the room.
She must have forgotten to include her phone number in the note. That’s the only explanation that makes sense. She had a meeting this morning, too. Maybe it started earlier than mine, and she didn’t want to wake me.
It has to be that.
I bring her bra to my nose and breathe it in. My cock twitches immediately at the memory of her. It’s sweet and feminine, just like her.
I’ll never smell vanilla again and not get a hard-on.
The suite feels too big. Too empty. Too quiet. There’s too much space for me to let my mind run wild.
Surely, she didn’t leave because she isn’t into me … right?
“Nah,” I say, heading back into the bedroom. “Her note said it was an incredible night, and I should call her. She just forgot to leave her number.”
I’ll just find her on Social.
I grab my phone and pull up the app. Then I type in Kelly Kapowski.
Four accounts pull up with the same chick that is definitely not my Kelly.
“The fuck?”
I open a browser and search for her there.
“Why is this only pulling up a television show?” I open one article and discover that Kelly Kapowski is the name of a character from a teenage sitcom. “Her mom must’ve been a fan. People are so weird.”
The knot in my stomach grows tighter by the minute. I can’t shake it off. I’m sure it’s just a case of confusion, disappointment, and blue balls. Still, I need someone to tell me that I’m overreacting.