Jennings.
Bloody hell, Last night was unforeseen. The American girl was something, I muse as I wipe the remnants of shaving cream from my jaw. I wonder if I should have gotten her number? But no, I'm only in Washington for another day before I have to board a godforsaken bus and play happy tourist. Besides, I never even got her real name—surely she wasn't giving me her number.
Anyway, she left without saying anything. Looked at the clock this morning and bolted out of bed. Dressed and was out the door within a minute. "Thank you!" she chirped with her hand on the door, her body already halfway into the hall. "It was nice meeting you!" she added as she released the door and disappeared from sight.
It was very nice meeting you, love. Not sure I've ever heard it phrased quite that way the morning after, but very nice indeed.
I love women. I love taking them to dinner. Walking them to their door. Caressing their cheeks as I cup their jaws and kiss them before they invite me inside. Most of all, I love fucking them. I love discovering what gets them wet. What causes their breath to hitch and their toes to curl. What combination of moves will make a woman scream my name and come all over my cock.
Rose—or whatever her name is—is not what I'm here for, not at all. But she made me laugh. The way she lied about her name as if having an assignation with a stranger is a covert mission. Perhaps it was for her, but it still made me smile. And the way her eyes lit up when she asked if I was British, fuck. Later she asked me to "say something British" to her while we lay naked on the bed.
I shake my head and laugh out loud at the memory. And that ridiculous champagne cocktail she was drinking. Another lie. That drink isn't hip in any country. And I can't recall the last time a woman ditched me after sex.
Perhaps I'll find her in the hotel bar again tonight. Maybe. Do I want to? I don't normally look for a redo, but I wouldn't pass on another night with that girl.
Why the hell did I let her run off this morning? She caught me off guard with her exit; I was still blissed out on sex, and catching up on the change in time zones. And then she was gone, the scent of coconut gone with her while I committed the vision of her wide-eyed smile to memory. The look on her face when I made her come—multiple times. The vision of her hair spread across my pillow. The way she hesitated for a moment while astride me and then ran her fingertip down my chest before flattening both palms against me and rocking herself to another orgasm.
I'm hopeful fate will be in my favor for another round with her.
But first: Nan. I'm here for Nan, I remind myself.
I finish dressing. Jeans and a t-shirt will suffice for today. I find my wallet on the floor with yesterday's clothing and pocket it, dumping the clothing on top of my suitcase so housekeeping doesn't trip over it. I glance at my watch and see I've got just enough time to make it to the lobby to meet Nan. Our guided tour of American historic sites this week didn't include a stop at the National Gallery and she mentioned she'd be quite chuffed to go there, so off we go. Lord help me. Art's not really my thing, but for Nan I'll go along.
I groan at the thought of all the work I'll be missing this week. I do not have time for tourism, but it's my turn so I'll make the time. I'll figure it out. Besides, I have my laptop. Certainly I'll be able to get some work done while the bus is transporting us from city to city so I can keep abreast of business in the UK.
I exit the lift at the lobby and make a cursory sweep of the bar with a quick glance. Not that I expect to see the girl sitting there at ten in the morning, but doesn't hurt to look, does it?
Nan is waiting for me at the lobby entrance and I wrap my arm around her, her scent as familiar as England itself. Then I push the girl from last night out of my mind and focus on the reason I'm here.