Earth Thirst (The Arcadian Conflict) - By Mark Teppo Page 0,72

how I was different. I was a man with an exotic past, loath to talk about family and where I had been before I met them. I lied to them all. I was good at dodging questions, at coming up with false emergencies and interruptions to derail persistent questions. After a while, most of them gave up trying. Some of the relationships failed for that reason. Some of them flourished because the exotic and unknown were perpetually exciting.

Mere knows too much already, and I fear that learning more is only going to make her want to stay.

I peel the plastic wrap and dozen stickers that constitute packaging on the laptop and switch it on. As it boots up, I figure out how to work the in-room coffee maker. The sound of the computer churning and the smell of brewing coffee work to bring Mere out of her stupor. She sits up slowly, trying to push her hair into a semblance of order. A lazy smile spreads across her face when I offer her a cup of hot coffee. She takes a large sip and then lies back in bed, the cup resting between her breasts. “Ah, you know how to greet a girl in the morning, don't you?”

“I bought you a laptop. It's got a Spanish operating system preinstalled, but there's an English version on the DVD that comes with it.”

“Now you're just trying to get into my pants,” she says.

“I don't think you're wearing any,” I say, recalling a crumpled heap lying on the bathroom floor.

She lifts her head and peeks under the sheet. “Well, then,” she says, taking another sip of coffee. “I guess we must have gotten along pretty well last night.”

I ignore her comment and put the cell phone and the extra calling cards on the table, next to the laptop. “New phone and calling cards,” I say.

“In case I want to call my girlfriends and talk about the awesome night I can't remember?”

“It couldn't have been that awesome if you can't remember it,” I point out.

“Spoken like an experienced amnesiac,” she says. She winces as soon as the words come out of her mouth. “Sorry.”

“It's okay,” I say. “I'll take acerbic as a sign that you're going to survive.”

“It's the caffeine kicking in.” She takes another large sip from the cup, her attention drifting toward the table with the phone and laptop. “By the way, when this headache goes away, I'm going to get out of bed and kick your ass.”

“Why? Because I took your shoes off before I put you into bed last night?”

“And my pants.”

I shake my head as I point to where her shoes are neatly arranged next to the dresser. “There are your shoes. Do you see your pants?”

“Well, they're not on me,” she says.

“They're on the bathroom floor, where you must have left them when you got up to pee in the middle of the night.”

Some expression flashes across her face, and I'm not sure if it is disappointment or outrage, but it is gone before I can really decide which it is. “Regardless of the location of my pants,” she snaps, “that's not why I'm going to put my foot up your ass.”

“I shouldn't have plied you with drinks while I was dodging your questions?”

She makes a gun with two of her fingers and slowly shoots me with it. “Bingo.”

“Call Ralph,” I say. “Maybe he'll play nicer.”

“At least he'll play,” she says. “You owe me some answers.”

I shrug. “I'm going to get some breakfast,” I say, heading for the door.

“Silas. Don't you run away from me.”

I stop and look back at her. “I'm not. I'll be back in a bit.”

“Why don't you stay and call room service,” she says, “instead of running away?”

“Why don't I go get some food while you solve your lack of pants problem?”

“Why don't you throw me them since you're standing right there?”

I glance over at the pair under discussion. “I could take them with me,” I suggest.

A wicked smile curls her lips. She leans over and sets the coffee cup on the nightstand. With a sweep of her arm, she throws the sheets back and hops off the bed. She wobbles slightly as she stands up, but she manages to not lose her balance. Wearing nothing but her sleep-wrinkled shirt and a pair of pale green bikini briefs, she walks over. Standing very close, she leans toward me so that her face is almost touching mine. “Go ahead,” she says. She grabs the top