The guy behind the counter looks in my direction, and I narrow my eyes at him. “Oh sure, you don’t give two shits about the possibility that I could have been raped last night, but the second there’s a potential for some girl-on-girlaction, you—”
“Just come with me,” the strange woman says, grabbing my waist and leading me away from the asshole at the counter.
Damn, she smells good. Is that… cologne? No. Too feminine to be cologne, but definitely a stronger scent, and holy shit, it’s having the same effects on me as the women in the Axe Body Spray commercials.
I inhale once, and my panties are soaked.
What the hell is that?
Legging Fondler stops walking and turns me to face her. I’m not sure if she wants my full attention or if she doesn’t want me glaring at Mr. Quality Padlocks.
“I was the one who took you from the bar and put you in your hotel room last night. I wrote that note.”
I stare at her. “Why did you do that? I was fine to get to my room on my own.”
She laughs. Actually laughs. It’s not soft or careful, but low and rough around the edges. I’m glaring at her, and that’s when I realize she’s decked out in Under Armour spandex.
“Are you an athlete?”
Legging Fondler looks down at herself as if realizing for the first time that she is, in fact, an athlete.
“No, you could notget to your room on your own. And yes, I am an athlete. I’m here with the U.S.A. Women’s Hockey Team.”
“What do you mean, I couldn’t get to my room on my own?” Now I’m starting to get worried that maybe Theo didshow up here and caused a scene. Or worse… theyshowed up here.
I need to call Michel.
“Listen, I called you Drunk Woman all night because I didn’t know your name. But you spent two hours pouring your life story out to the bartender. And for every ‘cheating bastard’,” she says with air quotes, “that spilled from your lips, Jacopo-Johnny refilled your glass. I swear you’re a champ. You basically drank an entire bottle of vodka through a tiny straw.”
“Who the fuck is Jacopo-Johnny?” I’m not sure why this is the only question that comes to mind. I’m mortified that I spewed my personal life to anyone at the bar who would listen. How much did I tell them?
“The bartender’s name was Jacopo, but you kept calling him Johnny.”
I run a hand over my face. “Wow,” I breathe. “I was really drunk.”
She laughs again. “You really were.”
My eyes drop to my feet, and when I look up, Legging Fondler is still staring at me.
Oh, shit…
“Did we…?”
“No,” she shouts, immediately before looking around the room, embarrassed at her outburst. “No, we did not. I took you to your room, put you into your bed, wrote the note so you didn’t think you were robbed, and then I went to my room.”
“Did you try to…”
“No,” she shouts again with her face twisted in what I can only read as disgust.
“Well, you don’t have to be so mean about it.” I’m not sure why I’m defending myself. I’ve never even been with a woman, and I wouldn’t expect one to look at me and assume I would be interested.
It’s not like she isn’t attractive. I don’t have to be a lesbian to appreciate the good looks of another female. I know an attractive person when I see one.
And she is attractive. Good for her.
My eyes continue to drift over her before I meet her gaze.
Shit.
