It pleased Sam, perhaps almost in an inordinately ridiculous way, that he alone in the entire room of industry professionals knew how Zach Cohen tasted, knew the weight of his body and the feel of muscles sliding under Zach’s smooth skin. Only he had heard Zach—the cool, unruffled, and reserved man up on the stage—moan Sam’s name as he came apart in Sam’s arms. Zach wore his glasses tonight, and Sam wanted to push him up against the wall and, with Zach wearing only those glasses, fuck him until he screamed Sam’s name again.
Cheeks burning, Sam gulped down his ice water only to catch the knowing eye of Henry, whom he studiously chose to ignore for the remainder of the dinner, deciding to talk to the other men and women sitting at their table. He had thought he’d be bored, but Sam found himself drawn into conversations of computer security, so when the actual dinner and ceremony came to a close, he was pleasantly surprised and wide awake, in spite of it being close to ten o’clock.
Now for the fun part of the evening. He exchanged cards with the other people at the table who’d already stood up to leave. It seemed everyone had places to go and after-dinner plans. Sam glanced up at the stage, hoping to catch Zach’s eye, but it was empty; only the row of unoccupied chairs remained. Zach must’ve returned to his room to change out of his tux, and Sam had every intention of doing the same. When they walked on the beach later, he didn’t want to wear anything restricting his body.
“Well,” he said, standing up and addressing Henry, who remained seated, answering a text on his phone. “I’m going back to my room to change.”
Without missing a beat from tapping on his phone, Henry grinned. “And to meet Wonder Boy?”
“Shut up.” Sam kicked Henry’s foot. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“But not too early and not for breakfast, right?” Henry’s grin grew wider.
This time Sam joined him in a smile. “Got that right.”
The room had emptied out until only a handful of people remained. Earlier that afternoon, when he and Zach had returned from the beach, they’d arranged to meet downstairs in the lobby bar after the dinner was over. Thinking of the night to come, Sam hurried back to his room, stripped and jumped into the shower, relaxing under the heated spray. He rolled his shoulders, the tenseness in his muscles melting away.
Not fifteen minutes later, Sam stood in front of the bureau, buttoning up his shirt. Although his hair still curled in damp waves around his neck, he had no desire to waste time and blow-dry it, not when he had Zach waiting for him downstairs. It was stupid how neither one of them had thought to exchange phone numbers, but it was easy for Sam to forget; despite working for a computer forensics firm, he was hardly the tech-savvy type. In fact—he smiled to himself, sliding his phone into his pocket—if it was up to Henry, Sam would’ve had a smartphone years ago, instead of doggedly remaining with his old flip phone.
“All right, let’s do this,” he muttered to himself, closing the door behind him. The elevator took no time, and he traversed the lobby with eager steps, surprisingly excited about the night to come. Sam surveyed the bar area, but failed to spot Zach. He settled into a chair at a small round table, and a smiling, barely dressed cocktail waitress, sleek black hair twisted in a knot, immediately appeared at his side.
“What can I get for you, sir?” Her keen brown eyes assessed him with an interested look, and her white smile brightened considerably.
Wrong team, Sam wanted to say, but refrained.
“I’ll have a Heineken.”
“Bottle or on tap?”
“Bottle, please.”
She sashayed away, but he barely registered her leave-taking, he was so caught up in keeping his eyes opened for Zach. The glass and beer bottle appeared in front of him, and he absently thanked the waitress while checking his watch. Zach was only fifteen minutes late, but Sam thought if he wanted to see him, he’d have made an effort to come on time. Sam remembered last night he was a little late to their dinner, and eased up on his growing impatience.
Half an hour later, the beer finished and his patience long gone, Sam paid for the drink, and leaving the disappointed waitress a nice tip, left the bar. At a loss as to why Zach would stand him up after the afternoon they’d shared, Sam stood in the lobby, momentarily at a loss, before heading toward the front desk.
Several people milled about in front of him, and it took another fifteen minutes before he reached the desk clerk.
“May I help you, sir?”
Finally. “I’m trying to find a guest. Zach Cohen?” His nervous fingers played a tap dance on top of the smooth granite surface of the check-in desk.
“I was supposed to meet him down here almost an hour ago, but he hasn’t shown. He was a presenter with the conference tonight. Could you ring his room for me?”
A knowing light sparked in her eyes. “Oh, yes. Are you Mr. Stein?” She held an envelope in her hand, and Sam could see his name printed across the top. An uneasy feeling flooded through him.
“Uh, yeah, I am.”
“Here. Mr. Cohen left this for you before he checked out.” She extended her hand and presented him with the envelope that signaled the end of his evening plans.
“Thanks.” With a grim smile he took it and shoved it in his pocket. No need to rip it open here in the lobby to read some lame-ass excuse. It was exactly what he’d suspected from the beginning. It was a Saturday night, and a guy like Zach Cohen wasn’t going to waste it with a washed-up ex-cop like Sam. In between the time they’d parted ways on the boardwalk and the dinner, Zach had probably received a better invitation from his friends to return to the city and party and couldn’t wait to leave.
He returned back to the lobby bar, and the same waitress, mindful most likely of the nice tip he’d already left once, hustled over to serve him again.
“You’re back,” she said, laying a napkin down and a small bowl of salted peanuts. “Can I get you another Heineken?”
“Keep ’em coming until I tell you to stop.”
Her brown eyes widened, but she said nothing, leaving him with a nod, only to return swiftly with a bottle and a glass.
