Goinh to the.secrt room ????????
Just how drunk is she, exactly? I’m still trying to decode whatever the emojis mean when another text comes in.
Andrea Walker
????
This makes even less sense. Three more messages rapidly appear, though.
Andrea Walker
Wait no
????
^this one
That, I understand.
She really expects me to come crawling after the way she behaved? We’re into this for the sex, but I’m not a sex toy that can be discarded and summoned whenever she needs a good fuck.
I dismiss her messages, adamant to leave her hanging. But by the time I’m in bed with my laptop in another attempt at being efficient, remorse has made its way into my mind. Her texts indicated that she was heavily intoxicated. The hotel’s hallways are probably empty at this hour, and anything could happen to her. I need to check on her and make sure she’s alright.
With my jeans back on, as well as my sneakers, I exit my room and walk to the elevators. As I suspected, the place looks deserted. Snatching up a petite woman like her would be child’s play, and no one would notice until it was too late.
My guts are twisted with anguish by the time I reach room 504. If something happened to her between her text and now, I’ll never forgive myself. I should have at least responded to lether know I wouldn’t come, so she would have stayed in her room.
The door unlocks with ablip, and I quickly step in. The lights are on, and I immediately spot her lying on the bed, brown curls sprawled around her sleeping face. She’s still wearing her clothes, except for her shoes—kicked at the foot of the bed. There’s a slight snore that filters out of her parted lips, in rhythm with the ups and downs of her chest.
As soon as I see she’s alright, I let out a reassured breath.
Although I should spin around and return to my room, I let my feet carry me further in. The tip of her nose is an adorable shade of pink, I suppose because of the alcohol.
It’s no wonder she drives me insane. She’s the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen, with those lips, the thick fringes of her lashes, the freckles sprinkled on her nose and cheeks… I lose my mind around her because, like most men, I’m genetically engineered to want the most beautiful women for my progeny. It’s a future that’ll never happen for me, but the primitive side of my brain doesn’t know that, does it?
When the perfect arches of her eyebrows twitch and frown, I lower myself to one knee and pass a soothing thumb over it.
Andrea’s frown dissipates, but then her eyes flutter open.Shit, I curse internally.
“Hey, Clark,” she mumbles with a naughty smile.
Who the fuck is Clark? I knew about Oliver, but is there a third man in this race, battling for her affection?
Before I can let this new surge of jealousy bring back my anger, she drunkenly reaches for my glasses and pulls them away from my face. “Hey, Kal-El,” she giggles this time.
Oh…I’m Clark. Or I’m the fantasy of him.
Ever since I was eleven, I’ve been going by Lex, after Superman’s nemesis, Lex Luthor. Already then, I was cerebral, calculating, and out of touch with my classmates, easily discarded as a weird child. I’ve always been more like the villain than the superheroes who bravely fight him. But Andrea doesn’t see me this way, does she? For some reason, she associates me with Superman, one of the most virtuous and beloved superheroes.
I’m not sure what to make of that or what it means. Am I not weird to her? She disliked me so much during the first few weeks that she shouldn’t see me as the hero, should she?
“I knew you’d come,” she whispers with a smile, rising to her elbow for a kiss.
Her attempt is slow and imprecise, so I could easily stop her. But I let her, smelling and tasting the alcohol on her tongue.
“Couldn’t resist this bomb pussy, couldyou?” she then whispers, dragging her lips to my jaw.
“I just came to make sure you were alright. I’m leaving.”
