Between the Stacks

Chapter 32

We did not go to the cheese bar.

I internally praised Lakshmi for paying for an extra night in the hotel for us, and then I didn't want to think about Lakshmi at all. I was a little too preoccupied.

Wesley tugged me towards his own room, and I was secretly glad. I was fairly sure I'd thrown a wet towel on the bathroom floor - not to mention all of the makeup and other toiletries I'd left on the counter.

Somehow Wesley managed to dig through his wallet to find his key card, and seconds later we were hit by a tsunami of air conditioning. Wesley made his way over to the clunky machine near the window to turn it down. On his way over he turned on the lamp that sat on the bedside table.

"No way," I said. "Lights off."

"But then you won't see my rock-hard abs," Wesley said. I was fairly sure he was teasing, but I was desperate for him to strip off his shirt so that I could find out. On his way back over to me he turned off the light. The curtains were half-open, so we could still see each other from the ambient city light coming through the window. Since we were on the twenty-eighth floor, I wasn't too worried about any onlookers.

"So," I said, which was perhaps an unsexy way to get started.

"So," he said.

It had all seemed so easy minutes ago when we were at the carnival. There was something in the air, something magical and primal and beautiful. Now we were in an industrial hotel room that looked like every other hotel room, complete with forgettable landscape paintings and closets with an unused ironing board. No one talked about these moments in the movies - those unsure seconds when you tottered on the edge of a cliff with someone else.

Then Wesley reached out a hand, and we fell off the cliff together.

It happened quickly. His hands, my neck; my legs, his waist; we somehow fell into a tangled mess onto the bed. His fingers flirted with the hem of my dress. "Can I?" he asked quietly.

There was nothing sexier than a man asking for permission. "Please," I said, hoping I didn't sound desperate (even if I was). My Tommy Hilfiger dress, so carefully curated from Value Village, fell into a heap on the floor.

"Oh, my God," Wesley said as he looked at me. It was as if he was staring at the Mona Lisa or another precious piece of art, something timeless and flawless. I felt suddenly shy and crossed my arms over my chest.

But Wesley moved closer and grabbed my arms. He raised his eyebrows and glanced down at me, silently asking, May I?

He uncrossed my arms and began kissing me softly. Everywhere. The kisses started on my neck before slowly moving downwards. "I'm the luckiest guy in the country," he said in between breaths. "No, strike that. The world."

"I feel like this is a bit unfair," I said, trying not to flinch when his tongue dipped into the sensitive spot on the back of my knee. "Here I am in my grannie panties, and you're fully dressed."

"If these are your grannie panties, anything else might give me a heart attack." In one swift movement he whipped his shirt off.

He hadn't been lying about the abs.

I explored his skin as if it were a map to an entirely new world. He laughed as I caressed one bicep.

"Did you get that from shelving so many books?" I asked.

"How did you know?" He flexed the bicep and I managed not to drool.

I was barely conscious of what I was saying. Some half-conscious part of me was trying to be flirty, even if my underwear had been purchased about a decade ago. Worse, I couldn't remember the last time I had washed my bra.