Page 82 of The Close-Up
Simon nods and quickly moves out of my way as I dart to the bathroom. He hollers for me to take the robe hanging on the outside of the door.
“I haven’t used it,” he quickly adds.
I say thanks and turn on the shower and as fast as I can, I peel off my vomit-soaked blouse and rinse it in the sink while I wait for the water to warm.
“God. For two people who have known each other three months, we’ve had to deal with vomit a surprising number of times,” I say through the crack in the door.
Simon laughs.
I kick off my ankle boots, take off my jeans and underwear, then jump in the steaming-hot shower. I scrub my skin with soap for a good ten minutes in the pristine, white-tiled shower. When I finish, I turn off the water, dry off, then snag a small bottle of complimentary lotion from the white marble counter and slather it on.
“What if Amy’s vomit permanently stains my blouse?” I groan-yell out the slim opening.
A faint chuckle echoes from the other side of the door. “I’ll have it dry-cleaned and make sure she covers the bill,” Simon hollers.
I snuggle into the plush hotel robe and walk out of the bathroom. Simon stands in front of the couch by the coffee table and flashes a pitying smile at me, like he’s looking at a wet kitten. I almost laugh. He’s probably never seen anything less sexy than me in this moment...except a few minutes ago when he saw me covered in his sister’s puke. All that heat I was battling in his presence less than a half-hour ago is long gone too. I guess vomit is the universal killer of arousal.
“I owe you an apology,” I say to him.
“For what?”
“For freaking out when I was covered in vomit a bit ago. You kept your cool so well that night we met when I threw up on you. How? I wanted to burn my skin off just now.”
He chuckles. “Like I said before, you barely got my shoes. If you had hurled on my chest like Amy did to you, I wouldn’t have been as laid-back about it.”
I glance around at the cozy Spanish hacienda-style room with a gigantic king-sized bed decked out in white bedding. The massive wooden headboard boasts nail accents. Wood beam ceilings, textured walls, and wrought iron accents give it a decidedly artisanal feel.
“This is a really cute room.”
I plop down on the edge of the bed. Simon stands just a few feet away by the coffee table. There’s a wine bottle on it with a note from the hotel staff.
“You haven’t opened your complimentary wine yet,” I say.
“Wanna have a glass with me? I was saving it for a special occasion. Like tonight when my sister vomits on an unsuspecting poor soul.”
I laugh and say sure. He pops open the bottle with a cork then walks over to me, but as soon as he looks at me, his face turns serious. “Sorry... I um...” His gaze falls to my neck, then my chest. Not quite my boobs, though.
I peer down, and notice that my robe is open wide at the top and a hefty amount of cleavage is showing. Thankfully no nip slip.
Quickly I cover up and let out a chuckle of my own, feeling my face grow the slightest bit hot. “Sorry,” I mumble.
Simon clears his throat before pouring wine into the glasses. “It’s, um, fine.”
I plop onto the bed. He takes a step toward me, glass of red wine in hand. “Drink?”
“Gimme.”
He grins as I snatch it out of his hand. When he starts walking toward the armchair in the corner of the room, I stop him.
“You don’t have to sit there.” I pat the spot of plushy comforter next to me.
He lowers down next to me and we sip in shared silence.
“Napa wine has a different taste than other types of wine,” I say after I let the flavor coat my tongue.
“Really? How so?”
“It’s more pretentious.” I crack a smile at him, and he booms out a laugh in response.
