Page 30 of Reckless Desires

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My eyelids flutter open and I immediately squeeze them shut again, the sun from the open window casting its rays directly into my pupils. I doze for a few more minutes, lazily floating in and out of a light slumber. My bed feels strange beneath my body as I wake up just enough to realize I feel someone flush up against me.

What the fuck?

My eyes flash open and I realize where I am.

The hotel room. Bordeaux’s body rests against mine, with one arm snaked around me, pulling me into his warmth.

I try to make sense of my life, putting together the pieces from last night. I wasn’t drunk past the point of no return, not at all. I’m just still in a dreamy haze. I lift the down comforter up and peek underneath. I’m still wearing my robe. I glance at Bordeaux, who is still in his ribbed tank and sweats. A chill run down my spine, remembering how good he looked last night.

The haze lifts the longer I’m awake, and I realize we must have fallen asleep intertwined like this, kissing and talking and laughing. Somehow, Bordeaux Daniels managed to get me to open up to him. I can’t even be mad about it because he is a goddamn beautiful human being I never saw coming.

He starts to stir, and I bring my hand to his face, rolling my thumb over his cheek. “Good morning.” His eyes flash open, confusion spreading on his face as he comes to, much in the same way I did. I smile at him, and he bends to kiss my forehead.

“Good morning you.”

We stay nestled into one another like this, kissing and talking and laughing, for minutes or hours, I’m not sure, until a knock on the door pulls us from the sheets and forces us into the day.

“Stay,” he says. “I’ll get it.” Bordeaux stands and stretches his arms up and above his head before slowly making his way to the door. When he opens it, a young guy in khakis and a navy polo greets him with a cart full of silver trays and carafes. Bordeaux steps aside to let the guy push the cart in and grabs a few bills from his wallet to tip him.

“Is there anything else I can do for you guys?” I see the admiration behind the guy’s eyes as he looks at Bordeaux, knowing exactly who he is.

“Uh no, I don’t think so. But thanks so much.” Bordeaux walks him back out, closing the door when he leaves and turns to look at me. “Did you order this?”

I actually assumed he had ordered it last night to have it sent this morning. “Nope. I thought you did.”

I stand, easing myself from the bed and walk over to the assortment of food. He pulls off the coverings to reveal the works—an assortment of fruits, bagels, pancakes, and sausage links.

Our eyes see the thin white paper at the same time and we both reach for it. I step backward as he grabs it first and watch as his eyes roll over the words. His face goes from sleepy and happy to something entirely different, his lips stretching into a thin line as he frowns.

“I guess this is for you.” He extends the paper in my direction, and I take it from him and read.

Isla, I am so sorry. Please forgive me for acting like that. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I think we should talk today. Please. Send me a text, I’ll be by my phone waiting.

Fuck. Of course, it’s from Manuel. The memories from last night—before Bordeaux and I spent time alone and connected the way we did—flood to the front of my mind. I don’t want to even think about him. Not ever again. He doesn’t deserve space in my mind.

I look at the food display in front of us. Manuel knows one of my guilty pleasures is room service. I was always so excited to stay in and order and relax whenever we had to stay overnight in different places for his work trips or other events.

I look up to Bordeaux, who just stares at me, waiting for my thoughts.

“Do you want to get out of here?” I ask him. “I owe Manuel nothing, and as far as I’m concerned, any and all closure I needed happened last night.”

“I’ll do anything you want,” he says, moving closer to me.

I grab his hand and lead him to our suitcases. “Then let’s go back to the city. Fuck love and fuck expectations, right?”

His blue eyes light up as a smirk spreads across his face.

Twenty-Two

Bordeaux

Toska (n.) an ache of the soul.

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There was one persistent thought racing through my mind when Isla was talking about how Manuel deserves nothing from her and how she’s not putting up with his shit any longer.

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