Page 10 of His First Time
Things turn up for me. Always have. I’ve got that look. My aw-shucks smile, the little dimple in my cheeks.
So, fuck me, how did I end up here? This airport was like the atrium to Hell. An hour ago on the flight in, I’d been picking out my new car. Did I want the Mercedes or the Lexus? Or a Land Rover?
And now? I’m pretty sure my suitcase rolled through a puddle of spilled diaper piss a few minutes ago.
Finally. The Admirals Club was in sight. I hadn’t spent my twenties flying every-fucking-where for non-elite status on every airline. I was getting in that club, and the concierge was going to find me a hotel room. There was a tower suite attached to this airport. Rooms were always held off for elite status members. I would be fine.
“I’m so sorry, sir,” the brunette said at the concierge desk. Her lips were painted red, the edges carved with brutally sharpened lines, perfect, like on a digital camera. She didn’t look real. She had that ethereal, otherworldly beauty. I couldn’t look away. “All of our available rooms are sold out.”
“Did you check my status? I’m…” I fumbled for whatever my level was. Some bewildering combination of platinum and exclusive and double global elite. Top tier, I assumed. I handed her my card again.
She didn’t take it. “Yes sir, I have confirmed your status. And you’re an extremely loyal customer. We thank you for your business. But I am sorry, sir. All of our rooms are booked. This is one of the busiest airports in the world, and with the storm.” She smiled, a perfect, emotionless movement. Perfunctory. “We’ve run out of rooms, even for our most treasured customers.” She held her thin smile, and her poise.
God, she must be exhausted. I wanted to yell. I wanted to stamp my piss-stained shoe and throw my card down and demand she make some calls, make something happen. I was a millionaire, God damnit. I made things happen.
But she was just doing her job, and she was doing it well. She was still smiling, which was more than I was doing. How many other guys had done exactly what I wanted to do, yelled and bitched and been a prick? The storm wasn’t her fault. I bet she wanted to be talking to me exactly as much as I wanted to be talking to her.
I pulled my card back. “Thanks,” I grumbled. “Do you have any… recommendations for tonight?” My flight out wasn’t until the next day. Tentatively at noon, the airlines said. Barring weather operations.
I saw a flash of relief in her eyes. Her smile warmed slightly. “We’ve elected to keep our bar open an extra four hours tonight. And all of our lounge area is available for rest.”
The lounge was already full of middle-aged men slouched in arm chairs and laid out on couches or hunched over laptops. The ones not covering their faces in their suit jackets and snoring were scowling at their computers like besuited gargoyles herded into a zoo. I could feel the piss and vinegar in the room, the tension that thrummed. I screwed up my nose. “Thanks.”
“There’s a little room at the bar,” she said. Her attention flicked to the impatient executive breathing down my neck, no doubt wanting to bully his way into a hotel suite in the tower.
Good luck, lady. She was going to take a hell of a lot of crap tonight from a whole bunch of assholes.
I wheeled my way through the maze of men scattered in the lounge. The bar beckoned. Harried bartenders poured drinks and pulled beers, stacking them in front of weary travelers. Most everyone seated at the bar was a frustrated guy in a wrinkled suit, his jacket thrown over the back of the seat. A few women held down one end of the bar and another group of business ladies clustered at a high top. They looked better than we men did. They were still poised, still looked like they could tackle the world. One woman, streaks of gray in her puffy brunette bob, looked like she was about to call a board meeting to order. My shoulders straightened as I walked by her.
I craned my neck for a spot.
Down the bar, there was about six inches between a fat man nursing his beer and a black-haired guy watching ESPN over the bar. I wedged my way in, apologizing to the fat man as I bumped his elbow. Beer sloshed over his wrist. He snorted at me and turned away.
I shrugged, smiling to my right.
I froze.
For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. My heart hammered. I heard silverware and glasses clink and clatter. The drone of voices seemed to slow, colors around me blurred. The only thing I saw was his face.
Chiseled jawline. High cheekbones. Dusky eyes, smoldering as they stared back at me. They were smiling, laughing even. Laughing atme. The corner of his lips quirked up the slightest. His black hair was tousled, tucked behind his ears but trimmed at his neck.
I am not gay. I’ve never desired another man. I know they say most guys at least are curious. I hadn’t been curious since my explorations during puberty. Campouts and sleepovers with buddies, and things happen. Comparing and exploring and stuff. Normal shit. Growing up shit. But I’d left that behind, and since I’d become an adult, it was ladies and ladies only. Not that I had a lot of time, working my way up the career ladder. Still, a couple weekends a month I went out, and I never went home alone.
What kind of sex life did this man have, though? Shit, just looking at him, I felt my knees weaken. Did women chuck their panties at him on the sidewalk? My stomach clenched. Heat rose in my belly, deep down, the kind of heat I usually felt when I was stripping a woman in my own bed. Fuck.
“Tight fit.”
“Huh?” I blinked, my jaw hanging open.
Mr. Hunk nodded his chin toward the fat man I’d bumped. “It’s a tight fit in here,” he said again. He was still smiling at me.
“Uh, yeah. It is.” I was still trying to jam my suitcase in the space between Mr. Hunk’s and the fat man’s barstools, as well as trying to figure out how to stand in the six inches of space I had. I squirmed. I probably looked like an idiot.
Mr. Hunk laughed. “Here. In here.” He moved one leg down his barstool. Shifted.
And slid his knee between my legs.
His knee came to a stop halfway up my thigh. I felt him, his heat, through my suit pants. I gasped.
