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I take myself in hand with a squirt of shower gel. Bracing myself against the tile, I close my eyes and think of her. I remember the sweet taste of her mouth, the flutter of her lashes, and the long drawls of her accent. Her laugh, her smile, her hands on the nape of my neck. She’s already filled my spank bank with more material than I need.
My spend paints the tile in less than three furious pumps of my shaft.
I clean myself up and spray down the shower wall, satisfied with my plan for the day. I’m going to be so good to her; sex won’t have a chance to get in our way.
We’ll have a meeting of the minds, souls, and hearts. A meeting of genitals can wait until the proper time.
When I step out of the shower, I dry off while listening to the strange reedy music come to an end on the other side of the door. Maybe Hailey likes to practice yoga along with YouTube. Perhaps tomorrow morning, I’ll practice with her.
As I scrub the fluffy towel over my body, though, I hear a man’s voice in the next room.
Is that the television?
I pad to her door and listen.
I hear a muffled “Thank you.” And something like, “You are absolutely magical.”
That was not the television. That was Hailey.
I press my ear against the door.
A man’s voice replies something I can’t quite make out, but I catch a few words. “Pleasure was all mine” and “Be sure to stay hydrated today.” And then something that sounds an awful lot like laughter.
My hand wrenches the doorknob before I have a plan for what comes next.
When I step into her room, I see a man disappearing into the hall: a tall, sporty type all in white, carrying something large while Hailey holds the hallway door.
The room is scented in sandalwood. A candle flickers on her bedside table. The lights are low, and a gentle morning breeze wafts from the open balcony window into the room.
But it’s Hailey herself who tears open a chasm in my chest. Her face is relaxed. Blissed out, in fact. And her hair is a mess.
She turns to me. “Oh! It’s early, isn’t it? I’m so sorry, did all the banging in here wake you, Torben?”
What. The. Actual Fuck?
14
Hailey
Torben is in my room. Naked. And wet.
And looks madder than a grizzly bear on cocaine.
“Torben, what the heck?”
One second, I’m saying goodbye to the man who gave me the best massage of my life, and the next moment I’m standing with my back against the door, staring at a wet and naked prince who’s cursing something I don’t understand but sounds as if he’s switching between German, French, and Norwegian.
“Are you going to answer me, or am I going to have to guess why you’re here, naked and pissed off?”
Torben seethes, but what did I do?
I mentally retrace my steps this morning. I woke up, enjoyed my coffee on the balcony, read the free copy ofUSA Today, then got mostly naked and donned the plushy robe while I waited for my treatment.
My massage therapist showed up, did his thing, and left. That’s the extent of my day so far, so I’d love to know why the prince is making that face.
“Who. Was. That?” Torben asks, pointing to the door behind me, his words spitting out with extreme effort. His teeth are gritted, and his jaw is doing that ripple-y thing that makes me feel fluttery in ways I can’t talk about in polite company.
“I…that was Andy…the massage…”
