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“That’s it?” he asked incredulously, feeling like it must’ve been at least midnight. All he wanted to do was get into his room and sleep, preferably straight through tomorrow, and wake up just in time for his first practice with the Railers on Friday.
The fucking ECHL.
Just when he thought things couldn’t get any worse, here he was in the lowest possible position he could be within the Islanders’ organization. Though hard to show it, he was incredibly grateful that he hadn’t been traded. The feeling he got was that while the coaching staff didn’t think he really did anything wrong, there was pressure from above to “punish” him for daring to question them.
“Dude, you put in your two weeks, and they’ll reassign you. Don’t even sweat it. Same shit happened to me last year,” Kasic had assured him before he’d left practice on Wednesday morning when he’d received the letter. “You’ll be back in no time.”
Once he’d unloaded all his bags in his room, he decided he’d return the luggage cart to the lobby before settling in for the night. As he stepped off the elevator and made his way to the front vestibule, he noticed a tiny blonde woman outside sitting on the wall along the hotel’s drop-off and loading zone. She was wearing a short, tight red dress, just like the one Amara had worn to Excel, and she appeared to be upset.
Mind your fucking business, Baylor, he thought. You’ve got enough on your own plate at the moment.
But the dress had brought back so many intense feelings of their night together after they’d left Excel, resulting in a sudden, unexpected hard-on. Before he knew it, he was outside and making his way over to her. She was slumped over onto her hands, which rested on her knees, and crying.
“Hey,” he said cautiously. “Is everything OK?”
“Fucking asshole!” she yelled, popping her head up and pounding her hands against the wall on either side of her hips.
He backed away slowly. “Sorry, my bad.”
“No, I didn’t…not you. My husband. My stupid fucking husband. You know, we came out here from Boston to spend Thanksgiving with my family, got all ready to go out for the night, and, of course, he starts a huge fucking fight. He left. Took his shit, took the car, and left me here. Told me to find my own ride home and won’t pick up the phone. So, yeah.” She wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands and looked at Ryan, who was staring blankly at her. “Sorry. You didn’t need my whole life story.”
“Nah, it’s all good,” he said, sitting down next to her. “That’s kinda shitty.”
“Ya think?” she laughed. “So, what’s your deal, gorgeous?”
He snickered, shaking his head. “It’d take me the next two days to explain it. But I’m…not here because I wanna be, let’s just say that much.”
Don’t do it.
Don’t do it.
Don’t do it.
Don’t do it.
“Did you wanna, maybe…” he motioned towards the inside. “Grab a drink at the bar? You can vent more if you want. I’m a pretty good listener.”
Fuck, Baylor.
“No,” she replied quickly.
Taken aback, he got up. “Oh, OK then. Listen, have a good…”
“I don’t want a drink, and I don’t wanna vent,” she said, getting up with him. “I'll go to your room with you, though.”
“Yeah, let’s go,” he said without hesitation, turning to walk back inside.
She followed him to the elevator, where he pressed the button and they both stood awkwardly, waiting. ”So what’s your name?” he asked her.
“Does it really matter?” she asked, as the elevator doors opened and she stepped in, motioning for him to come inside. As the doors closed behind him, she leaned on the back of the elevator and he moved in, placing a palm above her head flat against the wall, and snaking the other around the back of her head as he brought his lips to meet hers. They kissed for a few seconds, and he could immediately taste the alcohol on her breath when the elevator hit the third floor and opened.
As he pulled away, he got a good look at her; she was cute, but he could tell she was older, probably about Amara’s age. He grabbed her by the hand and pulled her down the hallway to his room.
“You sure you wanna do this?” she asked. “I’m probably old enough to be your mother. What are you, 25?”
He laughed, sliding his key card into the door, pushing it open, and extending his arm inside. “I’m 23. And yeah. I’m fucking sure.”
"Good. I want you to destroy me, gorgeous."
