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Not only did he not do nudes, he also didn’t live in New York.
I strode for his door, and it took all my might to bite my tongue and not say anything.
As I returned to my room, I wondered how many women Blake had seduced with his untruths.
Hang on a minute. Blake lied to me when I was behind the lobby counter.
Did that mean he was interested in Plain Jane? I decided the answer was no; Blake most likely told the same lies to every new woman he met.
I was angry at first, but soon, the irony of the situation hit me, and I burst out laughing.
It seemed that both Blake and I had to pretend to be someone else to get sex.
In my room, I quickly showered and removed my makeup. I tugged my hair into a ponytail and re-dressed for work, but before I dashed downstairs, I grabbed my diary.
At the top of the page for the 14th of February, I wrote: Mr. Blake Nichols, room 26. My Cheeky Valentine. I described how I found Blake with his cock in his hand, and I detailed the erotic nude drawing session and how we laughed at the disastrous masterpieces that resulted from it.
Today’s lesson was an obvious one. First encounters are not reality.
I tossed the diary on my bed and took the elevator back to the lobby. A nervous twitch rode up my spine as I waited for the doors to ping open.
The lobby was empty. Everything was calm. Nobody had missed me.
I couldn’t decide if that was good or bad.
As I went about my normal nightly routine, a sense of contentment enveloped me.
Lolita had been right. This was the best way to forget my shitty Valentine’s Day memories, and as I pictured telling her all about it tomorrow, I wondered if my future Valentine’s Days would be as interesting as this one.
It has been thirteen days since I had my last little erotic adventure with my American artist, and I can’t believe I’m yearning for another one. It’s not just the sexual gratification that I miss. It’s also the thrill of finding a man both willing and able to share in my next dare.
As the days progressed, I’d found myself looking almost with desperation for the next man to seduce. Well, I guess I wasn’t actually ‘seducing’ when I strolled into their room and tore my clothes off. And I made sure they knew I could leave if they asked.
If I was to have a sexual adventure every week of this year, as Lolita suggested, then tonight was my night. This added extra pressure I hadn’t considered. I couldn’t deny I enjoyed the thrill of seeking out a potential passion partner, but another pattern had emerged from my nocturnal activities that’d been playing on my mind.
So far this year, I’d had an erotic adventure on every floor of the Hot Horizon Hotel except floor three. My floor.
For some stupid reason, solving this anomaly had become incredibly important.
So, not only was I looking for a single man to seduce, but I also needed to manipulate it somehow, so he was booked into a room on the third floor.
I really have lost the plot.
I sat out on my balcony and ate a rare treat of fish and chips that I’d bought from The Happy Snapper down the road. Being a Saturday, the temptation to have a glass of wine with my meal was excruciating, but I couldn’t. . . not before work. Drinking prior to my shift would be confirmation that I’d hit rock bottom.
The chips were crisp and seasoned with just the right amount of spice. Exactly how I liked them. I broke off a piece of crumbed fish and ate it with my fingers as I watched the moon glide up from the distant horizon. The white crescent slithered from the blackness and hovered above the ocean with graceful beauty. I breathed in the salty sea air and listened to the sounds of laughter and girlish squeals that drifted upward from the walking path below.
Sometimes, on nights like this, I wished I had a normal job. No, not so much a normal job, but normal hours. But I should count my blessings. I’d come from a small country town, with absolutely no experience in hotel management. Somehow, I’d won the interview and ended up working in a hotel situated right in Surfers Paradise, one of the most beautiful beaches in the world.
I had a lot to be grateful for.
After my meal, I washed my plate, brushed my teeth, and headed downstairs to take over the night shift from Marjorie. She looked frazzled today—then again, she looked frazzled almost every day. But who was I to judge? I couldn’t even imagine what it would be like to be a single mom with two kids and hold down a full-time job.
“Hey, Marjorie.”
“Hi, Jane.” She hugged me to her bony chest.
“Everything all right?”
