Must Love Otters by Gordon Eliza

Author:Gordon, Eliza [Gordon, Eliza]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: FICTION/Contemporary Women
Publisher: West 26th Street Press
Published: 2013-10-28T23:00:00+00:00

13

Spa Day

I hop around the room, dressing in yoga pants because they don’t hurt going over my stupid foot. To compensate for the haphazard wardrobe choices, I spend extra time on the face and hair, just in case I see darling Roger midmeeting. I have the whole day to psych myself up for our dinner date. I deserve to have my girl parts played with. Finally. And I’m confident—given earlier cursory gropings—Roger Dodger knows a lot of fun ways to play with said parts.

Two nights in a row, I’ve gone to bed with my virtue intact. Soon after arriving home from Brigand Bay, my hopes for a quiet dinner and not-so-quiet dessert were dashed when Roger announced he had a work-related function to attend. “Which is why I chartered our little excursion today. You’re not upset, are you?”

I shook my head, feeling sorry for myself. “What about tomorrow?” God, forty-eight hours in and already sounding clingy.

“Meetings all day, babe. How about an early dinner? That’ll give you time to recuperate a little, yes? You really should get off that ankle for a while.”

“Yeah. Sure. I guess …” Mental math: Tuesday night, sprained ankle, no nookie. Wednesday night, business dinner for business-y types, still no nookie.

“Let’s meet in the lobby at five, order dinner to be delivered, and then we can hobble upstairs to my suite and watch the sun go down. Sound good?” Roger kissed me hard, pulling my body against his. When I felt the strain against his chinos, I sensed victory.

My plan, however, did not work. Hands cupped around my cheeks, he whispered, “See you in twenty-four hours.”

“Unless you get done early … you can always pop by.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said and squeezed my ass.

I tried to wait up for him. Dinner arrived at my door—a huge, multicourse, expensive affair—complete with more flowers and a note that read, “With every bite, think of me. Xoxo, Roger.”

But the second glass of wine on top of a very full stomach, I had enough wherewithal to text my dad, thank him again and promise a call Thursday, and drift off.

In hindsight, I did need the rest. I slept like I haven’t in months—years?—no Yorkies licking my mouth or assailing me with their rancid farts. No Keith snoring or making that weird “puh” sound from his side of the bed. The romance. It overwhelms us, Precious.

And now it’s Thursday morning, bright and early, the sun is dancing through the gauzy drapes, and the wind is subtle and fresh. ’Tis a new day, another opportunity for me to embrace this big-girl life. The crutches and I are getting along a little better, even though the ankle still hurts like a mother. For the first time in countless days, the face in the three-mirrored bathroom vanity is smiling.

Wow. So that’s what that feels like.

Concierge Ryan is at the desk talking to some folks with luggage at their feet. I sloth it through the lobby, careful of every step. I’ve made enough of a fool of myself around these people for three lifetimes.

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