I let myself enjoy a few minutes of blissful solitude. No business to run. No judgmental cats. No mysterious missing McHottie.
But I know I’ll wake up hungry in the middle of the night since I skipped dinner to hit the road, so before I can get too sleepy, I drag myself out of the welcoming softness. Tequila calls. And tacos. Oh, how I love you.
I fish out my belt bag so I can head out for my dinner, making sure I have my hotel key and the door is securely locked behind me.
I go back out through the lobby and take a left to the taco place. The foot traffic is light, and I’m happy to find the restaurant not terribly busy for a Friday night, since I’m a little late for dinner and a little too early for the bar scene.
Glorious, cool air conditioning is a welcome greeting after the short walk in the trapped summer heat in the sweltering city. I snag a barstool, so much more comfortable than sitting at a table alone. The vinyl seat sticks to my bare legs, ratcheting up my anticipation of an ice-cold margarita with a salt rim. The perfect summer drink.
I glance over the menu to see if there is anything new and decide to be adventurous with one of the specials—jackfruit tacos—in addition to my usual shrimp. To start, I get guac and a spicy and smoky margarita. I can’t wait to try it. This place never disappoints, so I make it a point to stop whenever I am in the city.
After ordering, I absentmindedly play with my phone, texting my friends an update and clearing out some old emails. When my guac arrives, it's expertly seasoned, and the tortilla chips are still warm with big flaky pieces of salt. They are heavenly and I’m so thankful corn is gluten-free.
I’m happily munching when a beautiful margarita with a tamarind straw is delivered. I give my thanks to the bartender and try a sip. It’s like a party in my mouth. The spice of the Tajin rim and the tang of the sour mix blended with the smoky tequila induces a delicious, full body shiver.
I may have a new favorite drink. I’ll always love bourbon, but margaritas just taste like summer. The first one goes down quickly with the guac while I wait for my entrée. I push my glass back, nodding at the bartender when he gives me the universal signal of the chin jerk with eyebrow raise for ‘another round’?
I nod—why yes, I will indulge in another frosty beverage. I dig the expo brochure out of my bag, loosely devising a plan of attack, when out of the blue my neck prickles and I catch a whiff of tobacco and leather.
In true Pavlovian response, the sensation skating across my neck and scent ofhimtriggers instant arousal. I whip my head around, ready to lock onto his intense amber eyes, but I don’t see him anywhere. My eyes scan the few patrons, and I feel my smile fall at his absence.
I tell myself that it must be wishful thinking, but I can’t shake this feeling. And unless I’m having phantosmia, I know I caught the smell of him. I’m not sure if it would surprise me to have McHottie follow me to Philly or not.
What would I do if he did? On one hand, it would be just a little stalkerish. On the other hand, it would be kind of hot to have someone trailing after me. There have been times since he ran out, like the devil himself was chasing him, that I could have sworn he was somewhere close by.
My food comes as a welcome distraction, and I attack my tacos and margarita refill in annoyance. This mystery man has me ferhoodled. I’m seeing twitchy curtains and catching his scent even when he is not around. Ridiculous. When I get home, I vow to resolve this situation one way or another.
I’m going to go knock on his door, and if I can’t track him down, then I’ll move on. I can’t keep mooning after him like a lovesick puppy. Perhaps I really did read too much into this. I blame book boyfriends for setting my unrealistic expectations of love after a single encounter.
I finish up the delicious tacos and suck down the rest of my new favorite margarita and decide to call it a night. More than two tequila drinks and shit will get crazy. Besides, I have early access to the expo tomorrow with my pass and need to maximize my time there.
I'm already a little nervous that the stress of travel and excitement of the expo could trigger yet another waking dream, so I should get to sleep instead of pushing my luck.
Paying my tab, I leave a generous tip, then head back to my hotel. I keep an eye out as I go for Mr. Tall, Pale, and Handsome, although I know in my heart he can’t be here. Can he?
Back in my room, I strip down to just my panties. Goosebumps ripple across my flesh as the summer swelter evaporates off my skin. I crawl into the super cozy bed. Sleep comes quickly with a full belly of tacos and margaritas, but it is restless.
I feel like I spend the night in that strange space between awake and dreaming, leaving hazy impressions of a cool body of marble snuggled into me. I try to hold on to the dreamscape where the coolness feels delicious molded against me, but I’m repeatedly dragged back toward awakening.
The next time I drift back to dreamland, the warm breath on my neck is in sharp contrast to the cool body curled around mine, legs tangled. I stretch my neck, wanting more contact, and am awarded with a searing kiss behind my ear.
In response, I arch my back, driving my hips back into a ludicrously hard and obviously aroused male. I grind my ass into my dream man, rewarded with a bruising hand on my hip as he pushes back against me.
I’m pissed when my phone blares Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D minor. Things were just getting good! I haphazardly attempt to smack snooze, and my other arm reaches across the bed to look for my mystery man.
The other side is cold and empty, though. Why would I have expected it to be anything but? I have slept alone for years, so last night must have just been a guacamole and margarita fueled dreamscape.
My wishful brain imagines the faintest whiff of tobacco and leather, and I frown in confusion. I snatch up the other pillow and crush it to my face, taking in a giant lungful. His scentabsolutelyclings to it.
I throw it across the room in frustration and drag myself out of bed. McHottie seems to have broken my brain. Or maybe I have some type of tumor causing phantom smells. I should probably get checked out when I get home.
I head into the bathroom, startled to see dark circles under my eyes. Guess my sleep really did suck. I throw my hair in two braids and tie a red bandana like a headband to contain my frizzy flyaways. Next is some simple makeup, heavy on the under-eye concealer.
I pop my earrings back in from yesterday and pick up my necklace to put back on as well. As I tip my head down and reach around to fasten it, I catch sight of a faint mark on my neck. I turn my head further to the side, struggling to view this odd angle behind my ear.
I head back out to the room, grab my phone, and snap a picture of the area I can’t quite get a good angle of in the mirror. Sure enough, there is a discoloration where I dreamed someone had been kissing me.
For a second, I worry something bit me and feel my skin crawl with thoughts of bed bugs. But then I remembered back from my nursing days they leave raised bumps, and this looks more like, well, it's more like a hickey with two tiny scabs.
