Page 155 of The Neighbor Wager

She tries the lock again. This time, it works. The button flashes green.

Relief floods her body as she steps inside.

This is where we both want to be. The large, rectangular room. It’s the same place I checked into yesterday, with the same sheer white curtains over the balcony door (and the thick beige blackout curtain pulled back), the same pastel palm tree paintings on the walls, the same king bed, the same white sheets and cream comforter.

Only I don’t see it as a hotel room that’s trying way too hard to look elegant. I see it as the place where I join with her. The place where we melt together.

And that makes all of it beautiful. Even the hideous corporate art.

Well, maybe not beautiful, but special all the same.

She takes in the room for a split second, then drops her towel and her bikini bottoms and goes right to the bedside table. Condom. Lube. There.

The water washes the natural lubrication away.

She doesn’t say it and I don’t ask. I’m old enough to know better. To know it’s not personal. There are a million reasons why someone might need a little extra wetness.

Medication, moods, marathon sessions. Maybe that’s tonight. I can have her again and again.

Since this is our night. Plans with other people start tomorrow. Tonight?

It’s all ours.

And I know exactly what I want to do.

“I brought something,” I say.

“Oh?” She climbs onto the bed and looks up at me with enthusiasm in her eyes.

“Bondage rope.”

Her pupils dilate.

“If you’re ready to try it.”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

She hesitates. “No.” She looks up at me, need and affection and trust in her green eyes. “But I can say when anytime.”

“We can wait until tomorrow.”

“No.” She shakes her head. “Now. Well. With a wardrobe change.”

“The board shorts don’t do it for you?”

“There’s not enough to remove.”

That’s true. There isn’t enough to tease her. “Five minutes to change.”

“Should I shower?”

She’s so practical, even here. A month ago, I would have found it annoying. Now, it feels like her. And that’s sexier than anything. “Don’t. I like the taste of chlorine on your skin.”

“Me, too.” She pushes herself up on her arms. “Just easy on the shoulders. They’re inflexible from all the time on the computer.”

“Okay.”

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