to tip back, and then cracked his neck.
He looked like he was about to say something else, then apparently thought better of it. He rubbed his hand through his dark, wet hair, sending a shower of water droplets up into the air. He was dressed head-to-heel in black, nothing too out there or ostentatious, but it was clear the plain shirt and the plain pants were brand name. His shirt was soaked at the shoulders, and his leather shoes were splattered with mud, but other than that he was very well turned out. His facial stubble wasn’t due to neglect. It was the perfect length—not too long, and not too short. His neck and his throat were trimmed neatly, too, showing that he obviously took care of his scruff on a daily basis.
The men in my line of business were a little more showy with their wealth, their clothing, and their personal hygiene. A couple of the guys at the law firm opposite my offices had even started wearing makeup, believe it or not. I certainly had not believed it when Sandra told me she’d found a guy touching up his eyeliner in the elevator mirror one morning. It had taken seeing the exact same guy, doing the exact same thing, a couple of weeks later for the idea to really take root in my mind.
Mr. Black definitely wasn’t wearing any eyeliner. His eyelashes were dark enough already, inky against the paleness of his skin. Perfect, really. The kind of eyelashes a woman would lynch a sales rep at Sephora for. I quickly glanced away when he turned to face me. Had he noticed me looking? Fuck, I hoped not. That really would have been the perfect way to end an already shitty day: busted checking out a particularly cold, frosty character in a crappy motel lobby.
“You’re in the doghouse, then,” the guy said. Once again, his unique, devastatingly deep voice caused a relay of electricity to run up and down my spine, lighting up my nerve endings.
“I beg your pardon?”
He pointed an accusatory finger at the payphone.
“Oh. Oh, right. Yeah. My sister. Her big day’s on Saturday.”
“And you’re stranded in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of a giant rain storm.”
“Yeah. Bad luck, I know.”
He shrugged, scratching at his jaw. “Or bad planning.”
I’d been told in the past that my death stare could literally eviscerate a man at twenty yards. Mr. Black didn’t wither and die under the weight of my cold look, though. If anything, he seemed to be enjoying the attention. I buttoned my lip, choosing to ignore his barb. Yeah, sure, I could have made better arrangements. I could have checked the weather ahead of time. I could have used common sense and caught a goddamn plane, and yada yada yada. Just because he was right and I did land myself in this particular predicament through my own lack of foresight, didn’t mean he got to chide me like I was a complete moron. But I could take the high road. I could be the bigger person and not sink to bickering with a stranger.
“You’re upset,” he offered.
I flared my nostrils, exhaling slowly down my nose. “I’m fine. I just want to get a room, get some sleep, and get out of this shit hole. Just like you, I’m sure.”
Mr. Black laughed silently, propping his black suitcase up against the threadbare, heavily stained couch that had been positioned beneath the large picture windows by the front door.
“Not at all. I plan things very well,” he informed me. “I’m right where I need to be.”
“You came here on purpose?”
I was met with stony silence and a flat, indecipherable stare. “Liberty Fields is an historical landmark. Why not?”
I’d been out of the habit of rolling my eyes for well over a decade, but I felt prompted to give the ceiling tiles a once over in this instance. This guy was something else. He was baiting me, being difficult on purpose, and it didn’t look like he was going to quit any time soon. “All right, buddy. Well, I hope you have a stellar Hicksville vacation.”
“I’m here for work, actually.”
If this conversation had been a text message, I’d have given him the big blue thumbs up by now. Being passive aggressive was a nuanced art, and far easier via emoji, especially when you didn’t actually want to start a fight with someone. Mr. Black didn’t seem to care that he was being kind of hostile, though, so why