I didn’t usually get drunk.
Tipsy, sure. But he-will-have-regrets-tomorrow drunk? Let’s just say it’d been a long time since I was a dumbass college freshman. So the very small, still rational part of my brain that hadn’t been drowned in distilled malt was experiencing some secondhand embarrassment on my behalf while I all but manhandled Calvin outside our hotel room.
“It must be the altitude,” I whispered as I gathered Calvin’s T-shirt in both hands from behind and yanked it up enough that I could touch the hard planes of his stomach.
He put an arm across his front to stop my hands as he dug the key card from his pocket. “I think that’s a myth.”
“Altitude is very real.”
He stifled a laugh. “Jesus, you are drunk.”
“I’ll say. Mick fucked me up nice and good. Did you tip him?” As soon as I heard aclickand the turn of the handle, I pushed Calvin forward so he stumbled against the door. I pulled my hands from his warm body, turned him, grabbed his face, and kissed Calvin hard.
Calvin took my hips and yanked me flush against himself. His mouth left mine, found my wrist, kissed it, then nudged my hand out of the way so he could kiss my neck.
“I think I’m drunk enough for dirty talk,” I murmured.
Calvin groaned like a man coming unglued. “Fuck.” He shoved back from the still-open door, let it fall shut, flipped the light switch, then killed the mood by saying, “What the hell?”
“What?” I adjusted my glasses and turned. Our suitcase lay on the floor, open, with the clothes askew, as if someone had recently rifled through the contents.
Calvin’s cop-mode activated immediately, and he used one hand to guide me to stand behind him. He checked under the bed before flipping on the bathroom light and stepping inside. Calvin looked behind the door, behind the shower curtain, and then he reappeared, frowning. “This would be incredibly stupid of a housekeeper. They’re assigned rooms. They’re assigned section keys for entering.”
I crouched and pawed through the clothing. “Nothing’s missing.”
“Not the point.”
I leaned back on my heels and stared up at Calvin. “Can it be the point for, like, thirty minutes?”
“We need to deal with this.”
“Twenty minutes.”
“Sebastian. Get a drink of water. I’m calling the front desk.”
I sighed and stood. “Bummer.”
Blondie, the winker who’d checked us in, was standing in our room by the time I’d taken a seat on the edge of the mattress with a plastic cup of lukewarm water. I sipped and watched the back-and-forth between him and Calvin, who—always polite—was still very commanding in these sorts of situations.
“I’msosorry,” Blondie said for maybe the fourth time. “Nothing like this has ever happened at the Strater before. There must be a logical—ah, Helga!” he said when a short woman, her dark hair tied back in a ponytail, poked her head inside. “Helga’s our only member of housekeeping on the clock this late in the evening,” he explained to Calvin before turning to the woman. “Thank you for rushing up here. Tell me, do you know who was assigned this room for check-in prep?”
Helga seemed confused and said, “I was. I did three rooms on this floor. This was the last.”
“You never returned after check-in?” Blondie inquired.
Helga peered around the corner at me, took in the bulky antique furnishings, then shook her head. “No, of course not. I helped Marcy with that premium queen-queen afterward—the one those honeymooners trashed? It took us hours. Then I went on break, and I was in the middle of laundry when you called.”
Calvin nodded as he followed her story. He put his hands in his pockets and asked calmly, “You still have your card to access your section of rooms?”
Helga produced the card in question.
“It was never out of your hands?” Calvin continued.
“No, never.” She finally asked, “What’s happened?”
“It would appear that someone entered the room while our guests were at dinner,” Blondie explained as he pointed to the still-open suitcase.
“Oh my God,” Helga said, now realizing the gravity of the questions being asked of her. “It wasn’t me. No way.”
