You got this.
You’re the man.
Before I have the chance to bail a second time, I reach up and knock three times with my fist, then step back slightly in anticipation.
I shake my head in confusion as the door opens and see a guy in a black crop top, short shorts, and white trainers standing there, mouth agape.
Did Christopher move rooms? Had what happened earlier make him have second thoughts about being down the hall from me?
Before I have a chance to ask, the guy starts speaking rapidly in a thick Irish accent.
“Holy fuck. It’s… You’re…erm. Hi!” His blue eyes widen more with each word.
“Sorry, to bother you…” I begin, starting to turn away, when I hear a familiar British accent and turn back to see Christopher appear, a toothbrush hanging from his mouth.
“Is that room service with our drinks?” He pulls his toothbrush out as his eyes meet mine. The Irish guy still stands there, frozen like a statue.
Well, I guess that answers my question of whether this is still his room and if he’s still up. My chest tightens at the sight of Christopher standing behind the Irish guy.
I’m half tempted to make an excuse and quickly leave. Clearly, he’s got company and is not interested in exploring anything between us. My shoulders slump and I slide my handsinto my pockets, where I feel the earbuds. I grab them and hold them out in front of me in a closed fist.
“Sorry about the noise downstairs. I’ve been handing these out to each room to apologize,” I say, opening my palm to expose the earbuds. “Do you need me to grab another pair?” My attention is now firmly locked on Christopher. He looks incredible in a white polo shirt with gold buttons.
Christopher moves past the other guy, who is still frozen in place.
“Thanks,” he says, slowly reaching forward and taking the box from my hand, studying it. “One should be enough.” His gaze returns to mine.
“I’d better head to the rest of the rooms.” I pat my empty pocket and nod down the hallway. I can’t wait to escape the discomfort of the moment. “Have a good night.”
My thoughts are racing at a thousand miles an hour.
Did I make everything up in my head?
Was he not flirting with me in the gym this morning?
I was sure I’d picked up on a level of flirtation in his room earlier.
Who is that guy?
His boyfriend?
A hook up?
The lyrics to the nineties classicOver My Shoulderpops into my head, encouraging me to turn around as I get to my room and reach for my door key.
But my hope of seeing Christopher walking toward me turns to disappointment when I see the Irish guy’s head and not Christopher’s peering around the doorframe. He disappears quickly, like a tortoise retreating into its shell.
I rub my hand over my chest. Maybe a run will help dispel the tight clutch of emotion pinching my chest. But I exhale in frustration when I remember the gym is closed.Damn this hotel.
I’m just about to turn back to the door, when I notice a hotelstaff member wheeling a trolley down the hallway with a silver dome and two bottles of wine on it. I lift my hand, beckoning him toward me. He smiles, willfully obliging, pushing the trolley to my door.
“What would it cost me to take those off your hands?” I say, reaching into my pocket. “Fifty? A hundred? Two hundred?” I retrieve my wallet and open it up to take out four fifty-pound notes.
“Sorry, I’m afraid these are for another hotel guest.” His bland expression gives nothing away. “You’ll need to place an order with housekeeping.”
I shake my head at him.
Can’t this guy tell I’m a man in need right now?
