Just A Little Fling. Julie Kistler
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We’re talking Baker here. Forget tangled sheets and mad passion. This is Baker.
“Listen…” He wiped his brow with the back of one hand, reaching into the pocket of his jacket with the other. “About the room thing. Mine’s fine, if you want to. I mean, I’m in…” he peered at his key. “…uh, 302. Where are you?”
She glanced at the brass key in his hand. Curving script that read Highland Inn was etched into the metal, and then the number 302. “You mean Steffi put you up here, in the Inn?”
Oh, sure! Baker had a room at the Inn. Probably every single member of the wedding party except Lucie got to stay right here. But her? Not even close. “I’m in some junky motel halfway to Wisconsin,” she told him with more than a touch of annoyance. “I’m not even checked in yet.”
“Uh, right.” Baker blinked. “Well, it doesn’t sound like we want to have our, uh, liaison there. So I guess it’s my room then. You know, if you want to give me a few minutes, I could go on up and arrange some champagne and candles and stuff. That might be nice.”
Lucie barely heard him. She was still seething over the way Steffi managed to diss her, even when it came to a hotel. He awkwardly handed her the key, and without thinking, she grabbed it and dropped it into the bottom of her tiny purse.
“All right then,” he told her, his words tumbling over each other. “But I want you to know, if you change your mind, I won’t hold it against you. I’ll just wait, oh, I don’t know, a half hour, and if you’re not there, I’ll blow out the candles and forget it ever happened. Okay?”
“Right. Half an hour.” And then she realized what she’d done. She’d just taken Baker’s key. They had made an official…assignation.
It’s not too late to back out, the timid half of her brain put in. Are you really sure you want to do this?
But Baker was already scooting off to the stairs, sending her encouraging glances over his shoulder.
“Baker,” she called out, “about what you said, about how I might need to, maybe, I don’t know, reserve the right to, you know…”
Change my mind? But he was gone.
“What have I done?” Lucie cried. With the ribbon ties on her purse clutched in both hands, she swung one way and then the other, looking for something in the room that would give her courage or help her make up her mind. “The ladies’ room!”
She had no idea why that would help, but it always seemed to. The few times she’d been on rotten dates and she was trying to decide whether to bolt or stick it out, a trip to the rest room had been really comforting, really useful. She could splash cool water on her face, sit down for a sec, give herself time to think. At the very least, she could loosen her uncomfortable skirt and get a little more blood flowing.
“A time-out is just what I need,” she decided, making a beeline for the ladies’ room out in the hall on the other side of the ballroom.
She pushed open the door in a rush, giving herself a pep talk and not really paying attention to much else. Momentarily blinded by a cloud of perfume and hair spray, she almost collided with the same giggly blonde she’d seen sticking her hands under Ian Mackintosh’s kilt earlier, Steffi’s insipid, snobby maid of honor, the one with the stupid name. Flora? Fauna? No, more like Finger. Flicker?
Whatever her name, she was exactly the person Lucie did not want to run into.
“Would you watch where you’re going?” the girl snarled. “What a klutz.” Only it came out more like klush. With a huff, she turned back to the process of peering at herself in the mirror over the sink, attempting to add another layer of lipstick to already overglossed lips.
One look and Lucie could tell that the maid of honor was sloshed to the gills. Maybe it was the flushed cheeks or the drooping eyelids or the slurred speech. Or the way the girl’s head bobbled back and forth as she tried to focus on keeping the lipstick remotely inside her lipline.
“Isn’t that attractive?” Lucie muttered.
“Can I borrow that?” another twenty-something chirped, popping up at the first one’s elbow. “It’s mocha cocoa muck, isn’t it? I love that color on you, Feather.”
Oh, right. Feather. Worse than Flora or Fauna.
“It is not mocha cocoa muck. It’s Poisonberry Smog. It’s all I ever wear. And no, you cannot borrow it,” Feather returned, giving herself another thick coat of the stuff, smacking her lips at the mirror. “I need it. All of it. I want to leave marks all over him.” She swung one arm wide, almost hitting her friend. With a smirk, she added, “Three days from now, Ian Mackintosh is still going to be finding traces of Poisonberry Smog.”
Lucie narrowed her eyes. The idea of Feather applying Poisonberry lip-prints all over Ian Mackintosh was too disgusting to contemplate.
And then the blonde made it even worse. Giggling, she trotted over to a small machine attached to the wall, started spinning the crank, and scooped little multicolored packets out of it like there was no tomorrow. “Free condoms!” she cooed. “And I plan to use every single one of them.”
“Excuse me, but don’t you think you should leave some for the rest of us?” Lucie interrupted, skirting around the sink and honing in. “I think the machine is there as a courtesy, not for your private stock.”
“Oh, yeah, like you expect me to believe you need one. Puh-leez.” Her nose in the air, Feather tossed about ten of them into her plaid minibag and closed the drawstring with a vicious jerk.
Really starting to get ticked off here, Lucie grabbed a handful herself, whipped out her own identical purse, and shoved in the rainbow assortment of small squares. She made a point of yanking her ribbons, too, with the same show of force. Only she yanked too hard and the whole purse went flying, like a slingshot, smacking Feather in the right eye.
“Oh, my God!” Feather howled, dropping her bag, strewing condoms and cosmetics every which way as she covered her injured eye. “She tried to kill me!”
“I’m so sorry,” Lucie tried immediately, hovering there. “Are you all right?”
“Do I look all right? I’m probably blind, you idiot!” She began to wail loudly, as her friend attempted to pry her fingers away.
“Feather, I think it looks okay. Really.” The other girl bent to gather the scattered items. “Your lipstick rolled under the sink, but I got it. Don’t move, because the blush and mascara and stuff are right by your foot. Where’s your purse?” She glanced between the two matching plaid bags lying side by side on the floor. “Which one is which?”
“No problem. We’ll just look inside. I think this one is mine,” Lucie said awkwardly, reaching for the closest purse. She opened it quickly, finding seven or eight condoms and a Highland Inn key right on top. Yeah, that’s what should be in her purse. But just to be sure, she pulled out the key. “Room 203,” she read. That was what she recalled Baker had said.
“Give me my purse!” Feather cried tearfully. “If that’s yours, I want mine. With all my stuff in it. I need to fix my eye. My mascara is running!”
“I put everything back. It’s fine,” the friend said soothingly. “Look, here’s your makeup and your room key and, see, I’m putting all your condoms back…”
Deciding a quick exit was in everyone’s best interests, Lucie got out of there, clasping the small tartan bag securely to her chest. But where was she going to go?
The reception hall was almost empty as she passed through. It seemed everyone had either paired up or gone home. Walking slowly into the front hall, Lucie hesitated. It had started to rain again during the reception, and she could hear the steady pitter-patter of the downpour against the windows.
On one side was the main door, leading to the outside world. On the other was the big double staircase leading to the second floor and the hotel part of