Creeping home with her tail between her legs, instead of delicious and slightly sore memories, didn’t sound remotely appealing. But then neither did staying here completely on her own in this overwhelming city, at a hotel populated by other people having all the naughty fun she was supposed to be having.
Not that sex had been the entire point, of course. Part of her had probably secretly hoped she and Trevor would hit it off emotionally, too. And maybe that was where part of her anger was coming from now—from the disappointment that it couldn’t happen, and she was back to mourning Dan. But even if she and Trevor hadn’t fallen for each other in any serious way, they would have had fun, and a week’s adventure she’d always remember fondly.
Damn, but her toast was good and burned.
She whirled and headed for the phone, called Midwest Airlines and winced at the cost of changing her ticket. Jotted down the flight times on the hotel notepad under the childish caricature she’d done of Trevor as Satan. Couldn’t be helped. She could go home standby on a flight tomorrow; the agent seemed to think the planes wouldn’t be full.
Maybe that was best. She didn’t belong here. With Trevor around, she could have managed it. On her own, it would just be too depressing.
Her cell phone rang and she hauled it out of her purse. Trevor?
Nope.
“Hi, Ginny.”
“Hey, girlfriend. I can’t believe you answered the phone! Why aren’t you puffing and panting? I was just going to leave you a dirty voice mail.”
May sank onto the bed, mortified to feel tears coming up. “Trevor’s not coming.”
“Hmm. Did you go down on him? I read in Cosmo that men who have—”
“No, not that kind of coming. I’m serious.” The tears went back down and she smiled. “He’s not coming to the hotel. At all. This entire week.”
Ginny’s gasp made her feel better. Her friend would understand. She’d tell May to rush back to Wisconsin and come over to her apartment, and they’d make sundaes together and rent a romantic movie and have a total girl—
“How are we going to find you someone else?”
May’s jaw dropped. “Someone who?”
“Another guy for the week.”
“Oh, right. You want me to advertise?”
“No, no. Walk into a fancy bar and smile at someone, that’s probably all it takes. It’s New York! You could probably go out and get Jerry Seinfeld or one of those guys from Friends.”
“Ginny, this isn’t a joke.”
“I’m pretty sure Alec Baldwin still lives there. You might—”
“I was thinking of coming home.”
“What?”
“I. Was. Thinking. Of—”
“Is it the money? I know the hotel is megabucks, but maybe you could spring for a couple of nights at least? Or move to another hotel?”
“Actually…” May gestured around the room and let her hand slap down on her thigh. “Trevor said he’d pay for me to stay at Hush even though he’s not going to be here.”
“What? And you’re thinking about coming home? To Oshkosh!”
May sighed. She’d thought Ginny would understand. “What am I going to do here alone for a week?”
A thud came over the line. May winced. Her overly dramatic friend had dropped the phone and probably crumpled to the floor to make her point.
And okay, Ginny did have one. May sounded disgustingly whiny. And mousy. And naive. This was an amazing opportunity.
It just felt all wrong.
Ginny came back on the line and May placated her with promises to think it over, then dejectedly ended the call.
Fine. This totally sucked. She needed a drink. Granted, it was barely four o’clock, but who cared.
She flipped open the elegant leather-bound service menu, then paused.
Ginny had scored one point. Did May really want to come all the way to New York and only see the inside of an airport, a cab and a hotel room?
She wasn’t brave enough to go hang out in a local bar, but the hotel bar would probably be okay. The very thing that made HUSH perfect for her and Trevor would make her feel safer, albeit conspicuous. The clientele at a hotel like this had to be all couples. Why else pay these prices? There were other hotels in New York just as luxurious for the single traveler. What made HUSH special was the emphasis on the erotic, and the assurance of tasteful discretion. Which meant couples. Unless someone was into some seriously expensive self-stimulation.
So yes, a few eyebrows might rise at the sight of a woman alone. But most likely not. The staff was undoubtedly trained not to raise eyebrows at anything. And the couples—honeymooners, marrieds trying to spice up their lives, about-to-pop-the-question daters—would be so into each other they’d barely give May a glance. Besides, she’d be channeling Veronica Lake big-time and give off movie star, off-limits vibes.
Done.
A wry smile curved her lips. So it wasn’t quite the adventure she wanted. But it was still better than being home alone in her apartment with another frozen dinner, missing Dan.
Good.
She took off the city- and travel-smelling suit, refilled the tub, grown chilly in the hours she’d spent angsting, took a long, luxurious, fabulously scented whirlpool bath, helped herself to the lotions and felt much better. She unzipped her suitcase and, sighing, pulled out what was supposed to be the first outfit Trevor would take off her.
A black spaghetti-strap tank with built-in bra to show off her NFBs, aka “no fair boobs”—a nickname Ginny made up in high school, furious nature bestowed on May a slender body and full breasts.
Over that, a sheer gauzy top with red flowers. Next, she dragged on sheer black stockings, then a midthigh black skirt, and slipped her feet into spiky black heels that made her nearly six feet tall.
Never, ever, ever would she be caught dead in anything like this in Oshkosh. Not because people would be shocked by the outfit. Because they’d be shocked by her in the outfit.
She strode defiantly to the mirror, got her first look since she’d worn the clothes in the dressing room and bit her lip.
Actually, she was shocked by her in the outfit.
But New Yorkers wouldn’t be. And people at HUSH wouldn’t be. And she had nothing much more conservative to wear except the suit she’d brought for the plane, and she was not going to wear that tonight.
She’d wring some tiny drop of adventure out of this trip or die trying.
So.
Lipstick, subtle eyeshadow, darker blush than the apple-cheek pink she usually wore. She’d paid for a makeup lesson at her salon and had been pleased with the results, though frankly she didn’t think she looked very much like herself. More like Veronica.
Onward, upward, clothes and makeup done, now for the attitude.
She smacked her lipsticky lips together, then pouted them out slightly and made her expression blank, cool, haughty.
Oh, that was good. Very good. This girl didn’t come from Oshkosh. No way. This was a sophisticated woman of mystery, no doubt hiding depths of passion men would long to dive into. This was a woman who knew which men she wanted to dive and how to get them to do so. This woman could hold her own at the Erotique bar at HUSH Hotel in Manhattan, New York, U.S.A.
And that’s exactly what this woman was going to do.