Page 19 of Kissing the Hitman
“Here, I’ll put it in for you,” I offer, holding my hand out to take his phone.
“Just tell it to me, I’ll remember it.”
“Okay,” I laugh again and ramble it off.
“Don’t go running off on me. I’ll find you.” I don’t think he's joking based on the serious expression he’s currently wearing. Then again, he’s always so serious. It’s one of the things I enjoy, oddly. When I get one of those smirks, it's a small victory. Though it would be nice if he could give me more. There is a wall between us. One might not think it if they saw us together, but there is something.
“I don’t run. Like ever. Maybe I’d make an exception if I was about to miss a flight.” I try to lighten his mood.
“Like I said, I’d find you.” Before I know what’s happening, he kisses me. I almost forget we’re in public for a moment. When our mouths finally part, I watch him go. He turns to glance back at me a few times before I lose sight of him.
A weird urge to follow him creeps into my mind, but I don’t do it. I will not be the crazy stalker girl, but I know something is off. I found the ice bucket thing strange, and it wasn’t the first time he’d done it.
Then another dose of reality beyond the one I’m already having over our lack of protection during sex hits me. What if he’s married! The secrecy, the avoidance of giving me details about his life, and the sneaking out of the room makes sense now. Was he leaving the room with the ice bucket to check in with his wife?
My chest grows tight. I do what I do best. I run. Metaphorically, at least. I have to get back to the hotel as quickly as possible. This is my chance. How terrible would it be if I went through his things? He would never know. Sure, I could outright ask him but wouldn’t a cheater lie? I need to see for myself.
The closer I get to the hotel, the more upset I become. When I get to our suite, I stand there debating if I should really do this. That it’s normally wrong to go through his things, but I’m lying to myself. The real reason I’m hesitant is because I’m scared of what I’ll find.
Will there be a picture of him and his wife with a couple of kids tucked away in his suitcase? Even thinking that makes me want to throw up. The way he makes love to me. All of his touches. They’ve been special.
At least I thought they were, but maybe I’m naïve. It took him no effort at all to get me into bed with him. I knew him for five seconds and gave him my virginity.
I’m kind of the perfect mark really.
ChapterSeventeen
FINN
“What happened to the phone swap that was supposed to happen at one?” Mercy barks into my ear.
“That's happening, only at 1:30. Is he still there? Can you stall him?” I half-walk, half-jog down the sidewalk, dodging tourists.
“I could, but I don’t know if you deserve it.”
“We’re in this together.” I spot a pile of freshly dropped dog shit and leap to the side, knocking into a set of lovers. The man glares at me, but I glare right back before continuing on. For a man who doesn’t like to draw attention to himself, I’m leaving a shit ton of traces behind.
“Oh, now you remember we’re in this together?”
Mercy sounds pissed. I try a bribe. “Didn’t you say your favorite store was Dior?”
“Are you trying to buy me off?”
“Is it working?”
“No, not yet. What are you thinking of?”
“Ahhh….” What would Mercy want?
“You better get to him in the next ten minutes or he’ll be gone. I cut off the merchant connection at the restaurant so no one can check out, but they’ll fix it soon enough.”
“You’re the best.”
Winded, I pause outside of the hotel where my mark is enjoying lunch. After a nod toward the white-gloved bellman who holds the door open, I slip inside. Soft scents and softer carpet greet me inside the luxurious entrance. I walk straight through to the long corridor that runs the width of the hotel. On either side of the space are large, oversized tufted sofas and chairs where all kinds of the rich, and maybe famous, are eating. Waiters are hurrying around providing complimentary champagne along with apologies for the downed credit card service. I swipe a flute off one of the trays and carry it in my left hand. My mark is sitting toward the back with a companion on the right. His phone is under his right hand next to the aisle. Across from them sit two older ladies, both decked out in Chanel and more pearls than you can find in all of Tahiti. Both groups are pissed.
As I approach, I hear him say, “Darling, I am as unhappy as you are. No, I cannot stay longer today.”
The woman, at least a solid eight, makes a face and reaches out to stroke my mark’s hand. “I’m just so sad our time is going to be cut short. I’m not sure that I can even summon a smile.”