Maybe he’d remember.
I speed-walked down the hall, hearing banter and laughter around me as I passed several open doors. But I didn’t stop to look.
Two men in suits, one of them holding a cigar, came in my direction down the hall, laughing with each other. I dipped my head, knowing that my figure did nothing to disguise that I was a woman.
Passing them by, I saw one do a double take out of the corner of my eye, but he didn’t stop me.
Reaching the end of the hall, I opened the door and entered, quickly closing it behind me. I let out a breath, not knowing if Michael saw where I went, but I didn’t mind him finding me, anyway. That was the point, after all.
Turning around, I noticed a boxing ring sitting in the center of the room. It was surrounded by a variety of equipment and punching bags, as well as fifteen or so men, working out, sparring, and chatting. I quickly stepped behind one of the many columns spread throughout the room, looking around the corner to make sure no one had seen me.
The door behind me opened, and I jerked my head, seeing Michael step through, hell written all over his face.
He closed the door, straightened, and pinned me with his look that said my ass was grass.
Crooking his finger, he mouthed “come here” as he slowly approached me, probably trying to keep my antics quiet so I wouldn’t embarrass him.
I tried to hold back my smile, but I knew he saw it.
Instead, I played. Spinning around, I walked around the perimeter of the room, careful to stay behind the columns. Then I slipped through another door, seeing him come after me, his lips tight, before I closed it on him.
But as soon as I looked down, saw the slate tile and heard the running water, I knew I’d fucked up.
“Shit,” I growled in a whisper.
I hesitated, thinking about going back, but I knew Michael was coming that way.
Putting my head down, I followed the short tunnel, passing a steam room, a sauna, and two large Jacuzzis, feeling eyes on me, and not so much as breathing as I passed a few guys lounging about on couches around the spa. Dashing into the adjoining locker room, I looked up and saw a young, blond-haired man coming my way, so I veered to the left, down an empty aisle and heard more voices. I stopped and hid myself at the end of a row of lockers.
Doors slammed on my left, two men chatted on my right, and Michael would be on my back any second.
I leaned against the cold steel, looking around and trying to figure out where the exit was. If there even was another one.
But then I jerked, a locker door slamming and its vibrations hitting my back.
“Mr. Torrance,” a man called. “There’s no smoking in here.”
“Fuck off.”
And chills immediately spread down my arms, making my heart skip a beat. I stilled, afraid to move.
I knew that voice. Mr. Torrance.
Slowly turning my head, I twisted my body around completely and inched toward the edge of the lockers. I peered around the side just enough, hoping not to see what I knew I would.
A lump stretched my throat. “Oh, shit,” I whispered.
Damon Torrance.
He sat in a cushioned chair, leaning his head back with his eyes closed, droplets of water glistening down his neck, arms, and torso—bare since he only wore a towel around his waist.
He pinched a cigarette between his fingers and brought it to his lips, the ashen end burning orange as he inhaled. Then, just as I remember, he blew it out slowly, letting it drift up instead of out, looking more like fog than smoke as it dissipated in the air above him.
My stomach churned at the stench, bringing back memories of that night. I’d had to take two showers to get that smell off me.
I may have felt a little bad over the years about what happened to his friends, but to him…not so much.
Suddenly, a hand came down on my mouth, and I sucked in a quick breath, rearing back against a hard chest.
“I don’t have time for this,” Michael warned in my ear.
He released me, and I spun around, looking up at him. His eyes were hot with anger, and I guessed my plan hadn’t worked. He wasn’t amused.
“How come I didn’t know that your friends were out?” I asked quietly.
“What interest is it of yours?”
What interest of mine? A lot, actually. I’d been with all of them the night before they were arrested. And more happening later on that night that Michael probably wasn’t aware of.
“I just thought it would’ve been a big deal,” I said, keeping my voice down. “In Thunder Bay, anyway. I hadn’t heard anything about their release, which seems strange.”
“What’s strange is that I’m still standing here wasting my time with you.” He dipped his head down, hovering close. “Are you done yet?”
I stared ahead, his chest level with my gaze, and I dug in my eyebrows, trying to stay the ache behind my eyes.
I opened my mouth, speaking softly. “You don’t have to…” I trailed off, unable to look at him.
“To what?”
I hardened my jaw to keep my chin from trembling as I looked up at him. “To speak to me like that. You don’t have to be so mean.”
He continued to stare down at me, his entire face hard and frozen.
“There was a time,” I went on, softening my expression, “when you did like talking to me. Do you remember? When you noticed me and looked at me and—”
But I stopped, seeing his face inch closer as he planted his hands on the column behind my head.
“There are some places that aren’t for you,” he said slowly, filling each word with meaning as if talking to a child. “When you’re wanted, you’re invited. If you’re weren’t invited, then you weren’t wanted. Does that makes sense?”
I speed-walked down the hall, hearing banter and laughter around me as I passed several open doors. But I didn’t stop to look.
Two men in suits, one of them holding a cigar, came in my direction down the hall, laughing with each other. I dipped my head, knowing that my figure did nothing to disguise that I was a woman.
Passing them by, I saw one do a double take out of the corner of my eye, but he didn’t stop me.
Reaching the end of the hall, I opened the door and entered, quickly closing it behind me. I let out a breath, not knowing if Michael saw where I went, but I didn’t mind him finding me, anyway. That was the point, after all.
Turning around, I noticed a boxing ring sitting in the center of the room. It was surrounded by a variety of equipment and punching bags, as well as fifteen or so men, working out, sparring, and chatting. I quickly stepped behind one of the many columns spread throughout the room, looking around the corner to make sure no one had seen me.
The door behind me opened, and I jerked my head, seeing Michael step through, hell written all over his face.
He closed the door, straightened, and pinned me with his look that said my ass was grass.
Crooking his finger, he mouthed “come here” as he slowly approached me, probably trying to keep my antics quiet so I wouldn’t embarrass him.
I tried to hold back my smile, but I knew he saw it.
Instead, I played. Spinning around, I walked around the perimeter of the room, careful to stay behind the columns. Then I slipped through another door, seeing him come after me, his lips tight, before I closed it on him.
But as soon as I looked down, saw the slate tile and heard the running water, I knew I’d fucked up.
“Shit,” I growled in a whisper.
I hesitated, thinking about going back, but I knew Michael was coming that way.
Putting my head down, I followed the short tunnel, passing a steam room, a sauna, and two large Jacuzzis, feeling eyes on me, and not so much as breathing as I passed a few guys lounging about on couches around the spa. Dashing into the adjoining locker room, I looked up and saw a young, blond-haired man coming my way, so I veered to the left, down an empty aisle and heard more voices. I stopped and hid myself at the end of a row of lockers.
Doors slammed on my left, two men chatted on my right, and Michael would be on my back any second.
I leaned against the cold steel, looking around and trying to figure out where the exit was. If there even was another one.
But then I jerked, a locker door slamming and its vibrations hitting my back.
“Mr. Torrance,” a man called. “There’s no smoking in here.”
“Fuck off.”
And chills immediately spread down my arms, making my heart skip a beat. I stilled, afraid to move.
I knew that voice. Mr. Torrance.
Slowly turning my head, I twisted my body around completely and inched toward the edge of the lockers. I peered around the side just enough, hoping not to see what I knew I would.
A lump stretched my throat. “Oh, shit,” I whispered.
Damon Torrance.
He sat in a cushioned chair, leaning his head back with his eyes closed, droplets of water glistening down his neck, arms, and torso—bare since he only wore a towel around his waist.
He pinched a cigarette between his fingers and brought it to his lips, the ashen end burning orange as he inhaled. Then, just as I remember, he blew it out slowly, letting it drift up instead of out, looking more like fog than smoke as it dissipated in the air above him.
My stomach churned at the stench, bringing back memories of that night. I’d had to take two showers to get that smell off me.
I may have felt a little bad over the years about what happened to his friends, but to him…not so much.
Suddenly, a hand came down on my mouth, and I sucked in a quick breath, rearing back against a hard chest.
“I don’t have time for this,” Michael warned in my ear.
He released me, and I spun around, looking up at him. His eyes were hot with anger, and I guessed my plan hadn’t worked. He wasn’t amused.
“How come I didn’t know that your friends were out?” I asked quietly.
“What interest is it of yours?”
What interest of mine? A lot, actually. I’d been with all of them the night before they were arrested. And more happening later on that night that Michael probably wasn’t aware of.
“I just thought it would’ve been a big deal,” I said, keeping my voice down. “In Thunder Bay, anyway. I hadn’t heard anything about their release, which seems strange.”
“What’s strange is that I’m still standing here wasting my time with you.” He dipped his head down, hovering close. “Are you done yet?”
I stared ahead, his chest level with my gaze, and I dug in my eyebrows, trying to stay the ache behind my eyes.
I opened my mouth, speaking softly. “You don’t have to…” I trailed off, unable to look at him.
“To what?”
I hardened my jaw to keep my chin from trembling as I looked up at him. “To speak to me like that. You don’t have to be so mean.”
He continued to stare down at me, his entire face hard and frozen.
“There was a time,” I went on, softening my expression, “when you did like talking to me. Do you remember? When you noticed me and looked at me and—”
But I stopped, seeing his face inch closer as he planted his hands on the column behind my head.
“There are some places that aren’t for you,” he said slowly, filling each word with meaning as if talking to a child. “When you’re wanted, you’re invited. If you’re weren’t invited, then you weren’t wanted. Does that makes sense?”
