Five Star Hotel

8. Bad Day

Should we just make it triple D... daddy dante di stefano

"Dante?"

His mouth was on mine before his name fully left my lips.

You know when people say, he swept her off her feet? Well in this case, that was true. My feet weren't on the ground, and I would bet you any amount of money that even if they were, I'd fall. I'm not referring to my lack of coordination. It was him. He made me light headed. He swept me off my feet.

I knew this was wrong, but ignored the warnings that were racing through my head.

His hair was soft and thick. Perfect to run my fingers through. His face was rough against my silky skin. I guess he was letting his beard grow, because he was normally so smooth and shiny.

"Dante." I mumbled in between kisses. I meant to say more. To ask what was wrong, but nothing else came out. Only his name. He surrounded me in more ways than one.

I probably would have allowed the night to take me wherever it wanted to take me if It wasn't for the sound of Donald Trump's voice. You see, when we fell onto the sofa I sat on the remote, turning on the tv. Leave it to Skyla Williams to ruin a perfect moment like this.

He ignored it. "Dante." I said trying to snap myself back into reality.

"I like how you pronounce my name." He mumbled against my lips.

I looked at the tv. That guy was an idiot, but right now his presence helped me not be an idiot.

"Dante, stop." I whispered. He didn't stop. No wonder why. I didn't even sound convincing to myself. "Dante." I said, raising my voice. "Stop."

He still didn't stop! He knew I didn't want him to. "I want you to distract me." He murmured against my neck.

So I was only a distraction to him?

I took a fist full of his hair and pushed his head back so that he could look at me. His hair smelled so good. "We can't do this again." Surprisingly, I sounded strong and fierce.

With a defeated look, Dante laid down, resting his head on my chest. He faced the backrest of the couch.

"What's the matter?" I asked after a couple of minutes of silence, after I regained my breath, and my heartbeat slowed.

He didn't answer me right away. "Do you remember what you told me?" He mumbled. "You told me that life sucked. That it never gets better. It doesn't get easier."

"Why would you listen to me? I was drunk."

"You were right." He sighed.

I wasn't sure what to do or what to say. I also wasn't sure what had him so upset. I didn't realize I was massaging his head until he said, "That feels good." I laughed quietly to myself. I had wanted this for so long. I would prefer a sober Dante, but at least it was Dante.

"What has you so down?" I asked. His only response was a quiet snore. Well this was great. I had a two hundred pound drunk man on top of me. A depressed, sleeping, drunk man.

I ended up falling asleep after midnight. I couldn't even turn off the tv, because I was sitting on the remote, squashed beneath the big Italian man. At around three thirty in the morning the temperature dropped which made me appreciate the body heat radiating off of him and onto me.

I groaned as my alarm went off. It was cold, dark, and I my head hurt. Today was the type of day where I would have called out sick, but thanks to all of the days I took off for the wedding and moving, I couldn't afford to call out again. I had to get up, get dressed, go outside into the cold, walk to work, say hello to my boss, the thought made me want to cry. It was the exhaustion. A lack of sleep led to nervous breakdowns where I would cry for hours. I pushed the thought away and focused on this soft bed I would be coming back to later.