Because You're Different ✔

40. Type [Part 2]

We arrived at the hotel at midnight, June gaping at all the richness around us, making me feel guilty for so carelessly picking such an expensive place without thinking. She deserved to be treated, though. While I was checking in, she took in all the details of the reception area, arms wrapped around herself. The receptionist looked her up and down, and I was annoyed by it — did no one ever leave her alone?

"What's your name, honey?" she said.

She startled, then smiled. "June Guevara." It wasn't. She left out her other names.

"Are you here because you want to be, June?"

Both of us stared at the woman, completely flabbergasted. What was she implying? That I'd taken her here against her will? And why? Because she was younger than me? Because she was disabled? I was too tired to think after eleven hours of driving.

"Can you understand what I'm saying, June?"

That seemed to wake her up. "Yes, I can damn well understand what you're saying, ma'am! I just don't know why in the name of god you're saying it!" With a fire in her eyes, she yanked the key cards from the counter. "And it's miss Guevara, if you please."

The woman dove behind her computer screen, and I chuckled — it was great to see June in action, even though I rather had this wouldn't have happened. I should've thought of this before — I was almost a full-blown lawyer, for god's sake! They could deny us if they suspected I was taking her here to sleep with her. They could even call the cops on us.

June seemed to have had the same realization. "Well, try to keep your hands to yourself tonight, old man," she joked as she pushed the elevator button to the sixth floor. "Wouldn't want to ruin your career because of me."

"Don't worry about it. They could never make a case against me."

She grinned at me, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Are you sure? After all, we both know I'm pretty and your type." I was sure I heard her laugh before she exited the elevator.

I froze in place. What the hell was that? I guess she was, yeah, she was beautiful, and if my type was indeed 'funny', then I guess she was the whole deal... I shook my head — she was messing with me, that girl, and I was letting her.

She was acting all innocent again when we finally entered the room, and I dumped our bags on the floor, almost falling asleep at the sight of the two tempting king-size beds waiting there for us. She looked at them in a somewhat disappointed way, frown on her forehead.

"What, they're not big enough for you or anything?"

"I'm trying to decide which one is the best."

"They're identical."

"That's what you think." She let herself fall back on the left one, spreading her arms and legs like she was making a snow angel. "I think I'm just not going to leave this room tomorrow."

"Yeah, because that wouldn't arouse suspicion at all." I took her example and plummeted into the other bed. Oh, she was right, though. This was glorious after a day of driving; my stiff muscles thanked me for giving them a break.

For some reason, she burst out into a fit of giggles. "Is that what you and Charlotte do on romantic getaways?"

The topic made me double-uncomfortable. "I don't think we've ever been on a... romantic getaway." No. We hadn't. It'd only been a year, after all. We'd celebrated our anniversary a week ago — it'd been a little awkward because she'd gone really overboard. Had it really been a whole year? And were we already moving across the ocean together?