Page 34 of Salt Kiss
I almost remind Mark that our plane leaves tomorrow morning, so there’s no time for a watch repair that will take longer than a few hours, but then I notice how often his eyes drift back to the doorway the man left through. Even if his expression is easy, he’s very aware of the time it’s taking for the shopkeeper to return.
The man comes back several minutes later, the watch and a folded piece of paper in his hands. Mark takes the watch, unfolds the paper, and reads the numbers scrawled there. He sighs, disappointed.
“It’s too much, I’m sorry. I’ll have to try somewhere else.” He gives the man an apologetic nod, pockets the paper, and then we leave.
The shopkeeper doesn’t speak a word in return.
After we get backinto our suite, Mark hands me a bottle of water and then says he’s going to take some calls in his room. I won’t be needed until the shirtless room service tonight, so I’m free to do whatever I like. I go inside my room and chug the entire bottle. And then it takes about thirty seconds before I’m toeing off my shoes, taking off my jacket and tie, and draping myself sideways across the bed.
Twenty minutes, I tell myself. My internal clock is pretty decent at this sort of thing, honed under the threat of bullets and bombs, and so I close my eyes, certain that I’ll wake up exactly when I want to.
Except when I do wake up, it’s with that abrupt and sick feeling of oversleeping. The sun is lower in the sky, and my feet are cool from where they’ve been hanging off the bed. I check the clock—it’s close to six—and pad into the suite to see if Mark needs me.
But Mark isn’t there.
I stand for a moment in the empty living area, straining my ears for sounds from his room. When I hear nothing, I go over and knock and then let myself inside.
It’s also empty, as is the bathroom.
He’s not here.
Except...except his phone is here, on his bedside table, next to his slim leather wallet and passport. He wouldn’t go anywhere without his phone and passport, right?
Alarm skates through me, grazing my thoughts, and I grab my shoes, jacket, and phone, ready to go find him. I get all the way to the door out of the suite when I see the note wedged into the crack between the door and the jamb. I pull it out. It’s written in pen on the hotel stationery.
Remember. 2300. Don’t forget the champagne.
Or the shower.
I stop. Consider.
If Mark wanted me to go with him to wherever he went, he would have asked, and clearly he’s planning on coming back to food and champagne. And me shirtless.
The thought of that makes me restless, unsure, blood pooling into my groin with hot, sporadic surges.
Maybe he’s changed his mind from what he said last night. Maybe it’s a test.
Maybe he just wants champagne and a bodyguard peep show.
Whatever the reason, I do precisely as he asks. I unbutton my shirt and leave it in my room, and then I call down for dinner when it’s time. Mark hadn’t specifiedwhathe wanted to eat, so I make a guess with steak, and then order a couple different desserts for him to try.
When the food arrives later, I feel rather silly opening the door without my shirt on, the shower running in Mark’s bedroom with absolutely no one in it.
“I’ll take that,” I say to the person who’s brought up the cart, half trying to hide behind the door as I do. Six weeks of working in a kink club, and I’m still shy about someone seeing my bare torso.
The hotel employee’s eyes slide past me to the room, where the lights are low and one of the bedroom doors is cracked open. The sounds of the shower’s spray hitting tile echo through the space, and the employee and I come to the realization at the same time.
Shirtless man, dinner for two. Shower running.
I suddenly understand exactly what this must look like.
“Of course, sir,” the employee says, cheeks pinking. I tip him and roll the tray inside and then fight the urge to go bury myself in a pile of towels after I turn off the shower.
Why the fuck had Mark wanted the hotel to think—whyplanfor that?
But I don’t have the chance to ask him, not over dinner at least, because an hour passes without him coming back, and then another.
And then another.
