Page 12 of The Beat of My Heart
“Just a Macallan, neat for now, please,” I tell him, my attention on the elevator and the tiny little package that just exited.
Until now, I hadn’t fully seen her face. She was always a mass of wild hair and sweat pants, four sizes too big. There is no doubt the woman who just stepped off the elevator is my Angel, and I am hypnotized. Gone are the sweat pants and long-sleeved Henley. Now she is wearing a form-fitting navy dress that hits just below mid-thigh. I can tell from here that she hates it. Watching her tug at the hem, stomp her foot, then stare at the ceiling, I grin.
Angel steps to the side of the elevator, seemingly to plot her next move, and I lean back in my booth to watch her. She is mesmerizing in the strangest of ways. She is gorgeous. Her green eyes sparkle even from twenty yards away, and her chocolate brown hair falls around her shoulders in waves. She is holding her bottom lip between her thumb and forefinger, but even from here, I can see her lips moving. She is spewing something that I desperately wish I could hear. As she takes a step forward, I lean in, hoping I'll get a full view of her in that dress, utterly aware of my stalker-ish tendencies here.
She takes a step forward, then two back. It’s a dance all of her own. I feel a need to put her out of her misery. I’m about to go talk to her when the girl jumps a mile, bobbling her phone in her hands. The scowl followed by relief that washes over her face has me in a trance. She darts left, then right, and now she is heading straight towards me, stopping on the other side of the potted tree I am hiding behind. She has positioned herself so far into it that anyone passing by would be hard-pressed to even see her. What she doesn’t realize is she has backed herself up so far, I could reach out and touch her from my booth.God, her ass looks fantastic.
“I can’t do this,” I hear her hiss into her phone. “Seriously, I think I should just go back to my room, order room service, and watch Netflix.”
Oh no, she isn’t getting away that easily.
“I don’t think one-night stands work like that,” she tells her partner in crime. I wish I could hear the other side of that conversation.
“One drink. You hear me? I will order one drink and then I’m going to my room. I don’t even want to go to this thing,” she continues to hiss into her phone.
Funny, I notice she doesn’t ramble nearly as much when she is actually talking to someone. I see her jam her phone back into the little clutch she is carrying, then tug on her dress again.
“Come on, you big baby. You can do this. Who cares if you’re standing in a bush outside your hotel bar talking to yourself? You don’t know anyone here, and it is only a week.” She exhales, “What were you thinking, you dumbass? You are not someone who has a one-night stand. No one sticks around once you start babbling anyway,” she murmurs.
Angel snorts and starts laughing at herself. She is back to mumbling, and even though she is so close, I can’t make out the last words.
Angling my face towards her, I say, “I’m listening, and I’m not leaving anytime soon.”
“Ah-kkkk,” is the only way to describe the sound that comes out of her. My Angel has once again tried to jump out of her skin. This time, her clutch gets hooked to a branch of the tree she is hiding in. She then proceeds to wrestle with it.
“Motherfucker, what the hell?” she screeches.
Angel has a mouth on her. Oddly, I like it. With her arms and legs flailing wildly, I realize we are drawing a crowd, so I move swiftly to her side.
Placing my hand on the small of her back, I lean in. “Shh, Angel. Let me help.” Her entire body goes rigid, and I don’t know if I should expect a slap to the face or not. Peering around her body so I can see her face, I have to stifle a laugh. Her eyes have gone cartoonishly large and unblinking.
The second I remove my hand, she talks again, but not to me.
“Oh, my God. Seriously, how is this happening again? What the fuck is wrong with me? I told her, I told her I shouldn’t have come down here. Now I’m stuck in a goddamn tree with Mister Sexy trying to free me. It wasn’t bad enough he had to save me from the valet, then listen to my rambling in the elevator. Now he is here to get me out of a tree too? What the hell? Is he a fireman? Or just an unlucky bastard who is on my schedule. Why, oh, why do I do this shit?” she asks, followed by a muffled, “Geez, please stop talking. Just shut up.”
I still don’t think she has blinked, and I’m not entirely sure if I am supposed to answer her. “Just hold on one more second, I’ve almost got you out of this thing,” I tell her in compromise.
“Muphhed-er-gabbled.”
Startled, I take a step back, worried she is having a seizure. Looking her over, I realize she is fine, but she has her lips pierced between her thumb and forefinger, forcing herself not to speak, hence the mumbled sounds from a moment ago. Cocking my head to the side, I watch her.
“Blink, Angel. Breathe,” I tell her.
In slow motion, she comes back to life, and her mouth takes no time playing catch up.
“Are you a guardian angel? No, a fireman? Unlucky bastard? Why do you keep calling me Angel?” she asks in rapid succession.
I try to answer, but she’s not done.
“Just my luck. The one time I let her dress me up, and I literally stumble into Mr. Sex God himself, multiple times, and I’m running my mouth like a lunatic. Oh, hey, yup, that’s me, just call me Loony. Good Lord, I need a freaking drink. Okay, well, thank you again for saving me. Again. I said that, didn’t I? Well, I mean it. Who knows how long I would have hidden out in there until I could free myself? Sadly, I can’t even say that’s the first time it has happened. Just before I came here, I got stuck in a dress in a department store, and my best friend had to slide under the stall door to get me out. I’m really a mess. Anyway, gotta go.”
I watch in amusement as she attempts to side-step me. I move in tandem with her, then take her hand in mine. A gesture that is so foreign, I pause to look at the connection.
“Ah, I was just kidding about being a lunatic. If you’re planning to turn me in, it’s okay, the front desk has already been witness to my kind of crazy,” she tells me, rolling her eyes but slightly less manic.
Turning to look at her, “I’m not turning you in, Angel.”
“Well, I’m also not a missing child. I mean, I know I look like I could be a child, but I am an adult many birthdays over. I’m actually here for the conference, so you don’t have to go looking for some frantic parents missing a teenager.”
