The Enforcer - Kelli Callahan Page 0,16
stool and walks over to the sink. I watch in surprise as he carefully rinses off the dishes, places them in the dishwasher, and closes it.
“You’re neat, too?” I ask.
“When I have the time for it,” he shrugs.
He walks down the hallway, takes off his shirt, and heads toward the back room, flicking on the light. My breath feels tighter in my chest. I quickly look down to my plate and tell myself that my reaction is due solely to the variety of scars across his body. From what I could see, there were several. They were two inches wide. Those could only be stab wounds. And the one on his shoulder…? It made me wonder about road rash.
The shower turns on, and I push my plate back, deliberately choosing to focus on this moment and nothing else. Carrying the plate to the sink, I rinse it off and place it in the dishwasher.
I should call Holly, just to make sure she’s doing okay.
Pulling out my cell phone that’s been dead since I arrived at the hotel, I walk to my bag to pull out a charger and plug it in. “I really need to get into the habit of charging this damn thing,” I mutter, plugging it into the wall. “A shower would be nice,” I ponder, as I carry my bag down the hall towards what I hope is a master bedroom. I push open the door and stare at the neat bedroom with its modern lines and simple blankets. The digital clock on the side table flashes nine pm, and I walk in, looking for another bathroom.
Resting the suitcase on the bed, I turn around, examining the room. There are two doors. One, I presume, is a closet and the other, the bathroom. Biting my lower lip, I reach for the handle and slide the door open; my heart stops as I immediately spy tile, men’s jeans, and the silhouette of a man in a shower. Slamming the door hard and covering my mouth, I stumble back two paces and trip onto the bed.
“God, can I be any more obvious?” Groaning and pressing my hot face into my hands, I can only hope that he didn’t hear me slam the door like a child. It’s ridiculous. I shouldn’t be this nervous to be around someone who has expressed no interest in me, other than asking me to dance at a wedding a few weeks ago. Forget the shower; I’ll just put on pajamas, then check my phone and go to bed.
Making sure the bathroom and bedroom door is locked, I turn back to the suitcase and neatly unpack my bag, pulling out my long sleeve button-up pajamas that Holly got me to use for Christmas: They’re a matching set with whimsical black polka dots. Perhaps it doesn’t seem like something that a grown woman would wear, but there was something so charming about matching with my daughter. It reminds me of when she was young, and when I was young. I got lucky that I left some clothes at my parents’ house and they brought them to me when picking up Holly. I quickly slide into my pajamas.
I pull out my bathroom kit, relieved to hear that the shower is off. Maybe I could use his bathroom to brush my teeth and apply my evening face mask and then quietly slip to bed. Opening the hall door, rather than opening the bathroom, I stand and listen as he whistles through the door. ‘What is it with men taking so long in the bathroom?’ I wonder, strolling down the hallway, my feet sliding softly across the carpet.
Reaching my phone, I’m relieved to see only one text; it’s from Holly. “Hey Mom, I miss you! Grandma made meatloaf for dinner again. Yuck.” Smiling down at my daughter’s beautiful face, I quickly dial her number.
“Hey, Mom! How are you doing?” she asks. I hear noise and the clatter of pans in the background.
“Just getting ready for bed. What about you?”
“Oh, grandma is trying to cook again,” she shutters, and I can’t help but laugh.
“I don’t think she’s that bad!”
“That’s because you’re used to her, having grown up with her” she argues, her voice hushed as the sounds of pots and pans grows farther away. “Mom, where are you? I miss you! Are you at a hotel?”
“Yes, another hotel. Actually, no. I was at the hotel, but not anymore,” I correct, walking back to the bedroom with the charger and then