“What’s your room number?” I croon, sounding like a phone sex operator, my finger tracing down to the button of his pants. The bulge there is nearly obscene. I look away, scandalized.
One of his eyes winks open and I brace myself for him to notice his wallet stashed under my top. It’s lumpy, but fortunately I’m packing enough cleavage that it nestles nicely in the middle, hidden.
“209.”
“Go there and wait for me.”
“What are you going to do?”
I panic as if I’ve been caught but then quickly recover with a coy smile.
“You didn’t think I would make it this easy on you, did you? One beer and I’m yours for the taking?”
I keep expecting my seduction to work on him, assuming his hard veneer will crack. He still hasn’t smiled at me. No flowery words or promises of pleasure. He’s too smart for his own good, too skeptical of my bad acting. I can tell something about our encounter feels off to him. Still, I persist.
“I think you want a little chase, a little bit of time in that room, pacing back and forth, wondering if I’ll come, and if I do—”
“When you do,” he amends.
“Well, it will be worth the wait, and that reunion kiss will be all the sweeter. Don’t you think?”
He tilts his head to the side, studying me.
I try to sit perfectly still, appearing cool and calm, when in reality I feel like a bug under a magnifying glass, about to go up in flames.
His mouth opens like he’s going to say something, but in the end, he turns for the door and tugs it open, hard, without another word. His broad shoulders disappear out into the hall and the second the door swings closed behind him, I’m off that sink and hurrying for a toilet, just in time to throw up a winning combination of beer and chewed-up cherries.
It’s disgusting and putrid and exactly what I deserve. Karma is on top of her shit these days. I haven’t even finished completing my crime yet and I’m already being punished. My stomach rolls again and I squeeze my eyes shut, prepared for round two, but there’s nothing left. I haven’t eaten since breakfast.
I flush the toilet and move to the sink to rinse out my mouth and wash my hands. I don’t have time to linger. I need to get out of here and fast. He’s going to notice his wallet is missing as soon as he tries to get into his motel room and realizes he doesn’t have his keycard, and the same parts of him that moments ago sent desire radiating through me will do the exact opposite when he storms in here boiling with rage at what I’ve just done to him.
With trembling hands, I open the wallet, ignore the hotel key and the thick black credit card, and move on to the cash. There’s more in here than I expected, nearly $800 total. Who keeps that much cash on them?! I could skim $500 and he’d still be left with plenty. $500 is more than I make in a month. I move to take it, but my hand is shaking and I tell myself I should look at his driver’s license first so I can memorize his address. One day, when I’m not surviving by the skin of my teeth, I’ll send him back the money with interest and a thank you note. He’ll get to feel good about himself. He’ll get to say he helped the poor helpless country girl when she was down on her luck. He’ll get to tell his buddies about it, and his wife, too. No—he wasn’t wearing a ring. I can’t add mistress to my growing list of sins.
According to his license, he’ll turn thirty-one this year, but that’s as much information as I can gather before I hear muffled voices out in the bar.
Is it him? Back already?
My heart leaps into overdrive.
It’s now or never.
I have to get out of here.
I flip back to the cash and rub the bills between my fingers.
Take it. Take it and get out.
This money would solve your problems!
I want it. I want that money so badly my mouth nearly salivates, but instead of taking it out and slipping it into my back pocket, I sigh and slam the wallet closed.
In the end, I can’t do it.
Instead of feeling proud that I’m doing the right thing, I chide myself as I walk out into the