For a moment, Tristan felt like he was walking into a trap, but he shook off his suspicions. She made sense. It was his mistrust of Izzie that was getting to him. Plus, the exhaustion, not to mention hunger. The tests had to be run on an empty stomach. He was starving. As if on cue, his stomach growled as she opened the door to an elegant sitting room, decorated with contemporary furniture. Dark brown and cream dominated the room on the walls as well as couch, chairs and tables, complemented by strokes and splashes of vibrant yellows, reds, and blues in the form of paintings, cushions andlamps.
“Sounds like you’re ready to order.” Laughing, Izzie handed him the phone that was nestled in its cradle on a side table. “Would you call room service while I jump in the shower? There’s a guest room with a bathroom through that door on the left. Feel free to use it. I’ll be really quick.Promise.”
Most places in the city didn’t have climate control systems, which meant temperatures were similar inside and outside buildings. In the summer, that made people sweaty and uncomfortable, with even the locals complaining about the heat. Tristan ordered the food and took Izzie up on her offer to use the shower since the meal wouldn’t arrive for another halfhour.
Once in the bathroom, he realized he would have to put his damp shirt and jeans back on after a cooling shower. That would feel disgusting, so he sauntered back to the bedroom and went through the drawers and closet searching for a solution. A dark blue plush robe would do it. He undressed and draped his clothes on the back of the two chairs that sat by the side of the bed. The clothes would dry, while they ate and made flight reservations. Then, he would feel more comfortable wearing them, when he wenthome.
Tristan came out of the shower and grabbed his white boxer briefs, but couldn’t talk himself into stepping into them. Deciding to go commando, he tied the belt tightly around his waist, and laid the underwear on the seat of the chair todry.
A rap on the suite door announcing dinner had arrived came as he crossed the bedroom threshold connecting it to the entrance hall. Izzie was pacing the living room as she talked on her cell phone, so she swung the door open before Tristan got to it. Either she had outgrown the constant self-consciousness of her youth, or she didn’t realize she was wearing a see-through cami and short pajama set. The blue lavender flowers printed on the fabric drew one’s eyes to her best assets. Tristan let out a sigh he didn’t know he was holding when he saw a woman was carrying the room service tray. He didn’t want to think what he would have done, if a man came in through the door, drooling overIzzie.
“Thanks, Rosa. Just put it on the usual spot, please,” Izzie directed the apparent regular server as she cradled the phone between her ear and shoulder, fishing money from her wallet to tip the woman for herservice.
“Sure, Ms.Anderson.”
Izzie signed the slip of paper Rosa handed out to her and returned it, folded around a ten-dollar tip. “Here you go. Good night,Rosa.”
“Thank you, ma’am. Goodnight.”
Tristan followed the mouth-watering smell to the table where Rosa had settle the tray. A glass and chrome round table surrounded by six brown plush covered chairs. He found placemats in a nearby cabinet and set the plates, silverware and the food on thetable.
Izzie wrapped up her phone call. “The contract is clear. I don’tneedto do anything. I’m not going on tour anytime soon. I don’t care. You deal with the studio heads, Steve, that’s your job. Mine is taking care of my son. Don’t call me again before you straighten out the mess you’vemade.”
“Sorry to overhear your conversation,” Tristan apologized as they took their seats at opposite sides of thetable.
“That’s fine. I wasn’t discussing state secrets or anything like that,” she observed as she took a seat beside him. “This smellsdelicious.”
“Wait until you try chef Durand’s lobsterbisque.”
Izzie had a spoonful of the creamy soup before replying, “Hmm, his bisque has got to be something else to beat thisone.”
“Itis.”
“Funny you mention Chez Nous. I haven’t returned to your restaurant since that first night. Are you keeping me away fromthere?”
“Don’t be silly. We’ve been too busy, that’sall.”
“So, when are you taking me there for dinner?” Her eyes sparkled in the bright room with something so close to flirtation, Tristan doubted he saw itright.
He shrugged and attacked the focaccia to keep from putting his foot in his mouth. They ate in silence for a while and Tristan admitted to himself he enjoyed the food as much as he did the company. If he were to be honest, he looked forward to those outings with Izzie. Evidence of that was the fact that he hadn’t put up much of a fight when she invited him up for dinner. The cozy hotel suite surrounding them, together with the comfy clothes they were wearing, contributed to a sense of familiarity and closeness that he hadn’t experienced in a long time. So long, in fact, he had forgotten how good Izzie used to make himfeel.
Don’t go there, dude. You’ll be so screwed. Focus on getting dinner and those damn flight reservations. Then,scram!
He decided to steer the conversation back to safer topics. “How are you enjoying Florianópolis sofar?”
Izzie knitted her eyebrows. “Fine, I guess. I haven’t seen much ofit.”
“Luckily, the weather has been nice, though. It can get pretty stuffy and humid in latesummer.”
They discussed irrelevant topics in a trivial tone until the meal wasover.
Tristan suggested, “Should we book the flights tonight? There’s another couple of days-worth of testing before the doctors give me a clean bill of health, but I guess it’s looking good, don’t youthink?”
“Absolutely.” Izzie stood up and moved towards the main bedroom. Tristan’s blood froze, and his stomach flipped, as he imagined she would invite him in with the excuse of checking the airline companies on her computer. He feared he would give in to the escalating sexual tension he had been battling since he got out of the guest room. Izzie’s throaty voice drifted from the bedroom to caress his ears. “I guess the couch is more comfortable than the table now that we cluttered it with dishes, right? I’ll grab my laptop and be back in ajiffy.”
Trying to understand why he felt disappointed instead of relieved, when she killed his suspicions, Tristan fluffed the cushions. After repeating the gesture for a couple of times, he elected a spot on one end of the long brown leather couch to sit. Plenty of room for Izzie. Before she reappeared, the living room lights’ brightness dropped to a candlelit dim mood and soothing jazz floated from built-inloudspeakers.
What thehell?
