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“Goddammit. It’s the morality squad.”
Alastair gave me a look that made me annoyed and hard at the same time. “Toby, come on. The smoke detector will go off. I don’t know about you, but I don’t really want to have to explain this to the concierge.”
“Fine.” I put the lighter and cigarette beside the pack.
Alastair set down the tray and the bag on the table.
“How did you sleep?”
“Fine,” I said, a bit dazed—and really craving that smoke. I scratched at my neck and realized I still had the velvet choker on. Oh well. At least I looked cute.
I was glad he was back, don’t get me wrong. But I couldn’t wrap my head around it.
Why was he acting like we were more than just a one-night hookup? Or did he bring all his conquests breakfast in bed in the fanciest hotel in the city?Hmm. Maybe he did. I knew very little about Alastair Kenney, and the little I did know should make me wary.
He’s just making sure you’re happy so he can feel good about letting you go.
It was a nice thing to do, a decent, human thing. You didn’t meet many decent people these days. Or at least, that had been my experience. I had been waiting for him to do something predictable, like stop being nice after he came, or like taking off without a word. But he kept surprising me, and I wasn’t used to that.
“I got you a coffee. Do you like coffee?”
“I like coffee,” I said, pulling the sheet up to cover myself, feeling suddenly shy and exposed in the daylight. He, of course, looked radiant. I wasn’t so sure about myself.
“Here.” He brought the cup over. “I got a double-double. I wasn’t sure—”
“That’s great,” I said, taking it from him. “Thanks.”
He grabbed the paper bag and tossed it onto the duvet beside me. “And four chocolate chip cookies to share.”
“Hmm. Interesting breakfast choice,” I said.
He shrugged. “Not as messy as donuts or muffins.”
“Well, you’re lucky. I will eat cookies at any time of the day or night.”
We sat on the bed, Alastair in his wrinkled dress pants and shirtsleeves, me still naked except for the choker, and under the covers, eating cookies and sipping coffee. If I’d looked around a bit I would have noticed his suit jacket still in the closet. But I’d have probably thought he’d forgotten it, just like he might have forgotten me.
Alastair grabbed the remote off his side table and turned on the TV. He flipped through channels until he found the local news.
“Is this okay?” he asked.
And I couldn’t take it anymore.
“Jesus, Alastair. Do you have to be so fucking nice?” I said, unsnapping the choker and crushing it in my hand.
He blinked at me like a startled fawn, holding the remote, in complete shock, as if I’d just called him an asshole for being nice to me.
“What?”
“I’m sorry. That came out…wrong. I’m just not used to”—I gestured at my coffee and the cookies and him—“this.”
“You mean, to people being nice?”
“Not after they get what they want.”
He stared at me with such concern that I had to look away.
I put down the coffee and wiped the cookie crumbs from my chin. “God, I’m sorry. I had a great time, you’re super-hot and a really, really nice man. I don’t deserve this.”
