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I was closing the door in disappointment when I saw the one thing universal to both Europe and America: a container of milk.
There are few guilty pleasures in life more forbidden than drinking milk straight out of the carton. I smiled fiendishly and went for it. The container was glass, which only made the liquid seem more cold and delicious as it slid down my eager throat. One sip turned into a gulp. Then three gulps. From there things snowballed, and by the time I stopped I’d already finished three-quarters of the liter.
“You’re a fucking barbarian,” I scolded myself, laughing in solitude as I wiped milk from my lips. I hadn’t realized I was this thirsty. My body felt hot too. Tingly. Like someone had rubbed warming lotion all over my skin.
Maybe I was coming down with something. That would be just perfect. Considering I hadn’t even started my assignment yet, a cold would be just what I needed. Still, it wasn’t my fault I hadn’t been con
tacted. I’d been following orders, staying put in that damned hotel like Xiomara said. At least until last night.
You should probably go, the voice of reason told me.
I considered it. Through the tiny kitchen window, the dawn sky had just begun to glow orange.
Or you should probably wake Damien up and fuck him again, the little voice on my other shoulder whispered.
I shrugged them both off temporarily as I tilted the bottle of milk back to my lips. I was still thirsty. Might as well finish it off.
The front door suddenly flew open and I jumped, spilling milk all over myself. It ran down my neck, my chest… it soaked into the fabric of Damien’s formerly-clean Sex Wax T-shirt. I whirled and a man was standing there in the doorway, wrestling with a set of keys.
He was tall and gorgeous, with close-cropped blonde hair and a look of utter confusion on his face. His Scandinavian blue eyes locked on me and he tilted his head, curiously.
“Uh… hi.” I said cheerily, still dripping milk.
6
SERENA
I shot my gaze to the left and there it was: another door, another bedroom. Apparently Damien had a roommate.
Oops.
It wasn’t something I’d realized, or even looked for on the way in. We’d been too busy face-hugging all the way to his bedroom.
“Umm… I’m Serena?”
Stupidly I put my hand out. If my body was flush and tingling before, it was bright red now. There I was, standing in this man’s kitchen, wearing nothing but his roommate’s T-shirt. Oh yeah, and the last of his milk.
“Hey Broderick.”
I turned again and Damien was there, yawning from his doorway, rubbing his eyes. Tousled blonde hair covered half his face. And he was shirtless, wearing nothing but his boxers.
“Don’t be mad.”
Broderick — if that’s what his name was — indeed looked mad. He stormed into the kitchen and slammed the door, brushing past me to throw his keys on the table. When he flung open a drawer and produced a dish towel, I put my hand out to receive it.
Instead of giving it to me, he dropped to his knees and began cleaning the floor with it.
“Please tell me you brought her here because you received word,” said Broderick, from my feet.
Damien was looking at the floor now. He said nothing.
“Tell me you got the order? Because I sure didn’t.”
“Broderick, listen—”
The tall man shot to his feet and lunged in Damien’s direction. He shook the wet towel in his face.
“Don’t tell me to listen! Not when you haven’t been listening to a single thing I tell you!”
