About Last Night... (7 page)

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Authors: Stephanie Bond

Tags: #Virginity, #Quarantine, #Contemporary, #Fiction, #Romance, #Betrothal, #General, #Mistaken Identity

BOOK: About Last Night...
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He nodded, his expression wary. "I'll examine your, um,
friend
myself as soon as possible."

"Thanks," she said, then felt compelled to add, "But he's not a friend, he's just my best man."

He stared at her as if she might be dangerous.

Janine managed a tight smile for Mr. Oliver and turned to join the exiting crowd. Maybe she had already contracted the

mysterious disease and didn't realize it. How else could she explain her leaking brain cells and runaway mouth? Of course,

exhaustion could have something to do with her state of mind, she reasoned as she waited at the end of the line to climb the

stairs to the eighth floor. Stairwells were confining even without the swell of bodies to deal with, so she hung back.

When she leaned against the wall, she spotted a curtained door at the end of the perpendicular hallway. There had to be a

way out of this place, she decided suddenly, then squared her shoulders. It was dark, she was wearing black … she could walk

the half mile to the convenience store on the main road and call Marie.

After making sure no one was watching, she slipped down the hallway and opened the curtain an inch. The solitary office

was neat and whimsical, but the best part was that the neat, whimsical person had left open one of the three high windows. The

cool night air beckoned. She could climb up and over the windowsill, then drop the eight feet or so to the ground and be gone

in a matter of minutes.

Stacking a sturdy stool on a chair beneath the window gave her enough height to reach freedom. Cursing her bulky coat, she

carefully climbed up and steadied herself on the stool, then reached up and grasped the sill. While propelling herself up on her

elbows, she kicked over the stool, which crashed to the floor, taking the chair with it. Janine looked down and made a face.

Nowhere to go now but up unless she wanted to drop back to the marble floor.
Ouch.

But going up wasn't as easy as she'd thought, because she'd overestimated her upper-body strength. After a few seconds,

she'd managed to chin herself up to the sill, only to drop back and hang by her hands when her arms gave out. Then both high

heels dropped to the floor, leaving her hanging shoeless, suspended between the window and the floor, too weak to go up, and

too fond of her anklebones to go down. On hindsight, maybe trying to escape hadn't been one of her brighter ideas.

"Well, if it isn't Ms. Murphy," a man said behind her. She craned around, hanging on for dear life, to see Mr. Oliver standing

in the middle of the room, his arms crossed.

She gave him her most dazzling smile. "Hi."

"You neglected to tell me and the good doctor that you were also Bat Girl."

"Um, it slipped my mind."

"Do you need a hand back to earth?"

She nodded, her chin rubbing against the wall. "That would be good."

He was tall, and had no problem assuming her weight from below. When he set her back on her feet, he gave her the tolerant

look of an older, wiser brother. "Have we learned our lesson?"

Rubbing her arms, she nodded, then picked up her high heels. "I think I'll be going back to my room now."

He nodded. "Sweet dreams."

She found her way back to the stairwell, stinging from her failed jailbreak, and dragged herself up the flights of stairs. At last

she reached the eighth floor and retraced her steps to room 855, surprised to see Derek waiting in the hall, his face a mask of

concern. "Where did you go?"

Janine frowned at his impatient tone, not about to admit she'd been caught trying to escape. "I told you I was going to talk to

the doctor."

"Oh, right," he said, his voice contrite. He pushed his hand through his hair. "Sorry, I'm a little punchy, I think." Then he turned and extended his right hand to her. A peace offering, she thought, absurdly pleased. She smiled and put her small hand in

his for a friendly squeeze, and her heart pitched to the side. "I hope we can be friends when this is over, Derek."

But his smile seemed a bit dim. "That seems highly unlikely, Pinky." He extracted his hand and wriggled his fingers. "The

room key?"

"Oh." Her cheeks flamed at mistaking his gesture. Was she destined to forever embarrass herself in front of this man? She

shoved her hands into her pockets, hoping she might also find money she'd left the last time she'd worn the coat. One pocket

produced a quarter and two pennies and a half a pack of chewing gum. From the other she pulled an ancient tube of lipstick and

—she stared, incredulous—a brand-new strip of lubricated condoms.
Marie.
She groaned inwardly and slid her gaze sideways

to see if Derek had noticed. He had.

"All the necessities, I see."

"But these aren't mine," she began.

"Okay, okay—whatever. Just … give me … the key." His smile was pleading and his hands were shaking. "Please, can you

do that? No talking, just the key."

She swallowed and fished deeper in her pocket to remove a parking ticket, a lone glove, and finally, the room key, which he

plucked from her hand.

"Where's
your
key?" she asked tartly as she returned the trinkets to her pockets. Then, remembering she sometimes stuffed

cash in the inner pockets, she turned away, unbuttoned her coat and reached inside. Dammit—nothing.

"I didn't think I would need a key, so Steve took it with him."

Which made Janine wish she hadn't even asked, because Steve's name triggered another avalanche of emotions—dread,

shame, remorse. She closed her eyes and moaned. Not in her wildest dreams could she imagine what else could go wrong.

"Janine Murphy, isn't it?"

She whirled and stared blankly at the attractive woman walking by in designer pajamas.

"Maureen Jiles, sales rep for Xcita Pharmaceuticals," the woman said.

Her memory clicked in, and she pulled a smile from somewhere, realizing she knew the woman from the clinic. Maureen

Jiles was the buzz of the doctors' lounge—with her exotic looks and plunging necklines, she couldn't have been more suited to

peddling one of the industry's new impotence drugs. And judging by the way she was eyeing Derek and licking her chops, her

reputation as a man-eater had been well earned.

Janine bristled, not because the woman was ogling Derek, of course, but because she apparently ogled every man. "Maureen.

Sure I remember."

"You were going to marry that yummy plastic surgeon, weren't you?" As she spoke, the woman perused Janine's outfit

beneath the gaping coat, from her shiny bustier to her black-stockinged feet.

Janine nodded and jerked her coat closed, then leaned over to slip on her shoes despite her aching, raw heel. "The day after

tomorrow here at the resort," she said, smiling wide. "Well, isn't this quarantine the most crazy turn of events?"

But Maureen had eyes only for Derek. "Oh, I don't mind being confined … with the right person. Janine, aren't you going to

introduce me to your friend?"

"Derek Stillman," he said, stepping forward.

"And we're not friends," they said in unison.

Maureen looked back and forth between them.

"He's my best man," Janine offered.

Maureen's eyebrows drew together.

"And if you ladies don't mind," Derek said in a tired voice, "I'd like to go to bed now." He nodded to Maureen, then picked

up his bags and disappeared inside the room.

"He's ill," Janine offered in the ensuing silence, then lowered her voice to add, "and probably very contagious."

The woman made a sympathetic sound. "Too bad. So why are
you
at the resort?"

"Oh, you know, taking care of last-minute wedding details," she sang. "Are you staying on this floor?"

"I'm right here," the woman said, gesturing to the door directly across from theirs.

Her empty stomach lurched. "Oh. That's … lovely."

"Where is your room?"

The door behind Janine opened and Derek appeared. He was naked to the waist, and barefoot. Splendidly so. "Here's the

key," he said. "I'm going to take a shower."

Janine took the key he shoved into her hand and stood rooted to the floor after the door closed again. Interminable seconds

later, she lifted her gaze to find Maureen's eyebrows up to her hairline. Everyone she worked with, including Steve's

associates, would know about the sleeping arrangements in a matter of hours unless she thought of something fast.

"It's n-not what you think," she said hurriedly. "I came to see my fiancé, b-but he planned to be out all night for his bachelor

party, and he'd given his room to Derek b-because he wasn't feeling well, and now there aren't any rooms available, and,

well…" She swallowed, desperate. "Derek is gay."

Maureen's smile fell and she grunted in frustration. "All the cute ones are!"

Janine sighed and shook her head. "I know."

Dejected, the woman turned and unlocked her door. "Well, good night, I guess."

She gave her neighbor a fluttery little wave. When Maureen's door closed, Janine leaned heavily against the wall, mulling

over the events of the past—she checked her watch—
three
hours? Geez, it seemed a lifetime had passed since she and Marie

were in her bedroom, joking, planning her sexy adventure.

Whatever happens, Janine, this night could determine the direction of the rest of your life.

Janine sighed again. She'd always had a terrible sense of direction.

Numbly, she turned and faced the door, her mind reeling. She couldn't bring herself to go in because even after everything

that had happened, she had the strangest feeling that things would only get worse before they got better. She wasn't sure how

long she'd stood there before a security guard came by and asked that she return to her room to keep the hallways clear.

She nodded and inserted the key, then opened the door and walked inside. Derek stood by the phone with a towel around his

hips, his skin glistening, his hair wet and smoothed back. Her pulse kicked up in appreciation, but she acknowledged that her

body was so shell-shocked, it no longer knew how to respond appropriately. She was suddenly so tired, she wanted to drop on

the spot and curl into a fetal position.

Derek looked up and held the phone out to her. "It's for you."

"At three o'clock in the morning? Who is it?" she asked wearily, taking the handset, thinking Marie had tracked her down for

more details.

He shrugged and stretched out on the bed, still wearing the towel. "She says she's your mother."

6

« ^ »

D
erek had heard of being too tired to sleep, but he thought he might have reached the point where he was too tired even to

breathe. He lay still on the bed, eyes closed, waiting for a burst of energy that would allow his lungs to expand. Meanwhile, he

listened to the perpetually frazzled Janine murmur and moan and otherwise fret up her nerve to speak to her mother.

Unfortunately for him, hearing was the only one of five senses that required no energy whatsoever.

"Mom?" Her voice squeaked like a cartoon character's. "I'm fine—yes, I'm sure. I just walked back into the room. Uh-huh."

She must have a decent relationship with her mother, he noted, else she wouldn't be so eager to reassure her.

"How did you know I was here? Oh, I forgot about your police scanner. You called Marie? And she told you I was here. Ah.

Hmm? Yes, we're definitely under a quarantine." She cleared her throat. "Yes, we might have to consider p-postponing the

wedding."

A staticy screech sounded through the phone. He opened one eye to find her holding the handset away from her ear. When the

noise subsided, she pulled it closer. "Mom, I said 'might.' I'll know more in a few hours. Right now I really need to go to bed."

An unfocused thrill rumbled through his beleaguered body at her words—a base reaction to a woman's voice, he reasoned.

Any woman's voice.

Her gaze lowered to meet his, and she blanched. "I m-mean, I really need to get some rest, Mom. Not necessarily in bed. A

person doesn't have to be
in bed
in order to rest. Hmm?" Her eyes darted around. "The man who answered?"

He might have laughed at her predicament if he'd had the energy. As it was, he was having trouble keeping the one eyelid

half-open.

She was staring at him, chewing on her lower lip. "That was, um, the, um…"

"Best man?" he prompted, barely moving his lips.

She scowled and turned her back. "That was the … be—ll man. Yes, the bellman."

He wondered briefly what the bellman's job paid and how it compared to advertising.

"Why am I here?" Another fake laugh, except this one sounded a tad hysterical. "I'll tell you all about it later, okay?" She bent

over, still talking as she moved the handset closer to the receiver. "Good night, Mom. Okay … okay … okay … bye." She

jammed the phone home with a sigh, now the only sound in the room the faint whir of the air conditioner, which he'd turned up.

He closed his one eye. Man, was it hot down here in Atlanta.

"I assume you requested a cot."

His eyes flew open at the accusing tone in her voice. She still wore that black raincoat, rendered even more ridiculous

because he knew what lay beneath it. Her arms were crossed, and with her blond hair falling in her eyes, she looked like a

cross between Rapunzel and Columbo.

He closed his eyes again to summon enough strength to speak. "Yes."

He'd nearly drifted off to sleep when she broke in again. "And are they sending one up?"

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