Only You by K.T. Quinn

12

Molly

The Day Shit Hit The Fan

With nothing else going on in my life, one-upping Donovan felt like winning the Super Bowl. I giggled as I finished my lap around the hotel, then went back to my room and sent him a few taunting texts.

Molly: So that’s what having the willpower of a saint looks like?

Molly: Don’t worry. Next time I’ll walk around the fourth floor.

Molly: For your safety.

Donovan: Yeah, yeah. You win this round, Feisty.

I pumped my fist at his admission of defeat. His text also held an unwritten promise: he was going to win the next round. I couldn’t wait to see what that was.

I heard Donovan return from the gym five minutes later. Then came the soft hum of the water being run in his bathroom. He was taking a shower.

A naughty thought came to me, the kind of thought that I never would have considered before meeting Donovan: I wonder if he’s jacking off in the shower while thinking of me. Guys did that, right? I was normally too shy to flaunt my sexuality, but I knew I had a great ass.

Maybe I should ask him. I immediately shook my head. That was way too forward for me. Heck, doing what I had just done—stripping off my clothes and walking around in my underwear—was far more scandalous than I normally acted. The old Molly never would have done that, and if she had, she would have been mortified by it.

Being here in this empty hotel was bringing out another side of me.

But I knew it wasn’t the setting. It was Donovan’s friendly, flirty attitude that was pulling me out of my shell. I wanted him to look at me the way he had in the gym mirror, eyes wide and thirsty, drinking me in like I was the Gatorade he needed after a run.

It was a good way to pass the time, too. Flirting with him was much more fun than being alone.

I was watching TV when suddenly there came a knock on my door. Not the divider between our rooms. The front door.

I slowly walked to the door and gazed through the peep-hole. Donovan’s gorgeous frame was distorted in the fish-eye lens.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“I want to ask you something.”

“Why do I have the feeling you’re going to go all Hannibal Lecter on me?”

He laughed. “I promise it’s nothing that graphic. Come on, open up.”

I hesitated. This felt like it was part of his plan to get even with me, whatever that may be. Coming to the front door instead of the divider…

But deep down, I wanted to know what he was going to do, so I unlocked the door and opened it.

“Was that so hard?” He pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. “Come watch TV with me downstairs.”

TV? That’s all you want to do?

“I’m watching TV right now,” I replied.

“I’m sick of my room,” he insisted. “I know you feel the same way, especially since it’s been raining outside. We have this whole big hotel to ourselves, so I figure we should take advantage of it.”

I glanced back into my room. “I don’t know. Italian George was just making fun of the way Italian Elaine dances…”

“We can watch Seinfeld on the TV in the lobby. It’ll be our socially-distanced third date. The lobby creeps me out when I’m the only person down there.”

In a taunting baby voice I said, “Well, I wouldn’t want you to be scared in the lobby all by your lonesome…”

I put some shoes on and followed him into the hall. Now that we were in the same space, without a balcony or door dividing us, I was struck by just how strong he appeared. He was broad-shouldered and walked with the easy gait of an athlete. He certainly didn’t look like a mere line cook.

And as I followed behind him, I caught a whiff of his scent. It was cologne, or after-shave, or a really nice deodorant. Whatever it was, it lit a fire in my chest and made me want to walk closer to him and breathe deeper.

To be safe, I took the elevator and Donovan took the stairs down to the lobby. We walked over to the sitting area across from the concierge desk, which had an array of couches and chairs around a flat-screen TV. I took an armchair and Donovan spread out on the couch a respectable distance away, stretching his legs out and putting his arms behind his head.

“You’re right,” he said after a few minutes. “It is funnier in Italian. The guy voicing Kramer is nailing it.”

I grinned over at him. “Wait until you see Newman.”

We laughed and relaxed together while watching TV. Despite the flirting and sexual tension of the past few days, I felt totally comfortable in his presence. Neither of us needed to talk. We were happy just watching TV together in silence.

It helped that he didn’t mention the lobby incident.

After three episodes, Donovan got up from the couch and stretched. “Hungry? I could go for a snack.”

“Sure. What are you making me?” I shot back at him.

“You have two choices. Whatever’s in vending machine number one, or whatever’s in vending machine number two.”

“Hmm, those both sound tasty,” I said. “You wouldn’t happen to have any oranges in your room, would you?”

He blinked. “Oranges? Afraid not.”

I sighed wistfully. “I would kill for an orange right now. I normally eat an orange with lunch every day, and I’ve got a bad craving. Um, I don’t know what I want. Surprise me?”

While he was gone I checked my phone. I had several news alerts. I scrolled through Twitter and gasped at what I saw.

“Shortbread, or lemon?” Donovan said when he returned, holding out two bags. All of his muscles stood out in wonderful contrast beneath his polo, but I was too stunned to eye-hump his sexy body.

“There’s news. From America.”

He lowered the cookies. “What happened?”

“California just shut everything down,” I said, holding up my phone. “Oregon and Washington are going to follow suit tomorrow.”

Donovan whistled. “The whole west coast?”

He lowered himself onto his couch and pulled out his phone. For the next few minutes we ate cookies and scrolled through the news, sharing with each other everything that we saw.

Sports leagues were suspending all games.

Restaurants and retail stores were closing.

Panicked Americans were rushing to the grocery store to stock up on supplies. It was still the afternoon back home, but people were already complaining about empty shelves.

“Toilet paper?” I said out loud. “Apparently everyone’s buying up all the TP?”

“That’s how you know shit really hit the fan,” Donovan said.

I rolled my eyes, which made him grin harder at his joke.

We started doing research on ways to get home. With different countries around the world implementing varying levels of travel restrictions, the U.S. Government had created an online form for all Americans overseas who needed to return home. Donovan and I each filled out the form. We were then told that we were on a standby list, and would be contacted when travel arrangements could be made.

“Estimated wait time: between ten and thirty days?” I gasped when I read further down the page.

“They have no idea,” Donovan said. “They’re just guessing because everything is crazy right now. It could be next week for all we know.”

“Guess we won’t be going home soon after all,” I said.

Donovan sighed and kicked his feet up on the couch. “Look on the bright side. If we have to be stuck somewhere, the view is much better here.”

I glanced out the lobby window. The rain had faded enough that I could see across the plaza again. “Rome is definitely more beautiful than Indiana.”

He gave me a sly grin. “Wasn’t talking about the city.”

I smiled in spite of myself. “Is that what you do on a third date? Flatter girls with compliments?”

“Normally, by the third date we’re well past compliments.” His grin deepened, and he looked at his watch. “Speaking of which, want to go upstairs?”

“I thought you were sick of being up there,” I said.

“I am, but there’s something I want to do.” He slid his feet off the couch and fixed me with his stormy gaze. “Something I’ve been doing by myself, but is a lot more fun with two people. And it’s messy. At least, it’s messy when you do it right. What do you say?”

I waited for the punchline. Donovan kept staring at me with his sexy poker face. Letting the invitation linger in the air like expensive cologne.

Is he really being so forward? Is he bluntly inviting me upstairs for sex? Last night he had wanted to cross the divider into my room, I was certain. And our flirting had escalated quite a bit when he was in the gym. Was he finally saying fuck it and shooting his shot?

For a few heartbeats I let myself imagine it. Donovan pushing me down onto the bed with a hungry, desperate look in his eyes. Tearing off my clothes like they offended him. Nuzzling and licking and filling me with everything he had…

“Sure,” I found myself saying in a voice that was hardly more than a whisper. “Show me what you have in mind.”

He smiled like it was exactly what he wanted to hear.