Page 2 of Room Service
He continues to hold my eyes, and for reasons I can’t fathom, I can’t seem to look away. Minutes tick by before he stands, sliding his hands into his trouser pockets. His shirt showcases his biceps, and with the cuffs rolled up, he looks like something out of a dream. A very horny dream.
He walks towards me, and I have to remind myself to keep fucking breathing.
“Well, Elise,” he says as he comes to a stop in front of me. “I’ll be seeing you again soon.”
“You will?” I say, my voice a mere whisper.
“You can count on it.” And then, just like that, he turns and goes back to his seat, turning his attention to the laptop on the table.
What the hell just happened?
I’ve never really had any communication with guests, except for the odd demand here and there and a polite ‘hello’ to most others as I pass by them in the hallways, so this weird interaction has left me feeling… flabbergasted? Is that the right word? I have no idea as I remind myself to move and get back to work.
My legs feel shaky as I go, and when I get to the door and open it, I make sure I don’t look back, even though I could feel his eyes on me again every step of the way.
Chapter Two
DORIEN
Elise Woods.
A nice surprise on a Monday morning, and one I am going to fuck.
Chapter Three
ELISE
“Girl, what is with you today?” Celeste remarks as I walk into the break room, looking all kinds of frazzled. “You ran out of room twenty-nine earlier like your arse was on fire.”
“Nothing, except for the fact that I had a run-in with the most gorgeous guy I’ve ever laid eyes on,” I tell her as I flop down onto the shitty plastic chair. No plushness for our arses in here.
“Oooo,” Celeste says as she puts her phone on the table and sits forward on her seat, giving me her full attention. “Tell me more.”
I let out a quiet chuckle and roll my eyes. Celeste is always down for a bit of gossip in this place, and she’s been my friend since day one. I trust her implicitly, and she is the only one here that knows how dire my home life is. I try to keep everything private from the others, but most of them form their own conclusions on their colleagues’ lives, like it’s some kind of fucking game show and whoever guesses right wins a prize. Not for me. I’d rather have one good friend than fifty shitty ones.
“There’s not much to tell other than the fact he walked in wearing nothing but a towel whilst I was stripping his sheets.”
“Is that it?” she says, looking disappointed that my frazzled state isn’t because of something juicier.
I throw a half smile her way. “He said he didn’t think housekeeping was due, and I quickly changed his bed and apologised for the intrusion, before he looked at me like he was trying to burn my clothes off with his eyes and then asked my name and told me he’d be seeing me soon. Oh, and he really is the most handsome guy I’ve ever seen in my life. Like, seriously hot on another level.”
“Okay, that’s better,” she comments. “How handsome are we talking here?”
“Stupidly so. A ten plus.”
“That good, huh?”
“That fucking good,” I tell her.
“So, what’s his name?” she asks.
“I have no idea.”
“You didn’t ask?”
“Why the hell would I ask his name? That would just be weird.”
“He asked yours,” she states.
