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“Your idea of taking me on a date is bringing me to a hotel?”
“It’s more about f**king you in the hotel.”
“Andrew, this is where you take all your other dates...”
“And?”
My heart sank. “Do you not see why bringing me here would hurt my feelings?”
“Would you prefer the Marriott?”
I blinked.
“They don’t have the same standard of room service,” he said, “but if that’s what you prefer—”
“Just take me home—right now.” My voice cracked and I leaned against the window, shutting my eyes again. “I’ll deal with my parents...”
***
I woke up on a plush leather couch, tucked underneath a soft black blanket.
Sitting up, I saw that my shoes had been taken off and placed in a rack on the other side of the room. A tray of fresh fruit and chocolates were sitting on the small table in front of me, and there was a bottle of wine sitting next to two stemmed glasses.
The room looked as if it’d been plucked from a magazine: silk white draperies, taupe walls, and portraits framed in silver. One of those portraits was of a f**king hotel, making it clear exactly where I was.
I immediately tossed the blanket off—ready to find Andrew and yell at him for bringing me here against my wishes. I walked down the hallway, slowly noticing that the pictures hanging on the wall were of him.
In one picture, he was standing on a beach, looking off into the distance. In another he was standing in front of a NYC cab, and in another he was lying against a city park bench.
He was young in all of these photos—his eyes held a more boyish charm, and if I wasn’t mistaken, he looked happy. Extremely happy.
In between all of the larger photos, were small wooden blocks in the shape of an entwined “E” and “H.” At first I thought that the “A” for Andrew’s first name was simply missing, that one of the pieces would bear it, but that wasn’t the case: In the last frame at the end of the hall there was a photo of a huge “E” and “H” that were solely compiled of pictures of New York.
“E” and “H”?
I continued walking down the hallway, smiling at the more “esteemed” photos he’d hung of himself. I stopped when I heard the sound of running water and followed it into a massive bedroom.
Everything was cloaked in black—the sheets that covered the king sized bed, the long silk curtains that hung over the balcony’s French doors, and the plush rug that sat atop his polished wooden floors.
I walked over to his armoire and pulled out the first drawer.
“What are you doing?” Andrew was standing right behind me.
“I was...” I stalled as he wrapped an arm around my waist. “I was looking through your stuff.”
“Looking for anything particular?” He kissed the shell of my ear from behind.
“I’m looking for where you keep all my panties.”
He let out a low laugh. “They’re all next to my bed.” He slid his hand underneath my skirt and stalled once his fingers reached my bare pu**y. “Since you’re not wearing any, do I need to give them back to you?”
I rolled my eyes and he let me go.
“Is this better than a hotel room?” he asked.
“Depends.” I turned around. “How many other women have you had here?”
“None.”
