Read Online About Last Night... by Stephanie Bond - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Stephanie Bond
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other seemed very
funny. A split second later, she sobered.
Steve wasn't thinking about her—he was obviously still out celebrating his last few hours of freedom, while she was bunking
down in a bathtub. A sliver of resentment slid up her spine, but was quickly overpowered by the onset of claustrophobia
sloping in around her. Janine concentrated on the stars through the skylight above her until the panicky sensation subsided.
She snuggled farther into the pallet of towels, smoothing out a lump under her left hip, then admitted the tub was more
comfortable than she'd expected. Janine sighed, trying to mine a nugget of philosophical wisdom from her predicament,
concluding instead she was living an I Love Lucy episode.
She fell asleep with a vision of her and Steve in black and white, toothpaste smiles, hair perfectly coifed … and sleeping in
twin beds.
7
« ^ »
W hen Derek started awake, several seconds passed before he remembered he was in Atlanta at the resort where Steve was to
be married on Saturday. Other memories of the previous night were too ludicrous to believe. When he lifted his heavy, aching
head to find he was alone in the room, he nearly laughed aloud with relief. Those were some strong pills he'd taken for his
cold. For a while there—
Derek chuckled despite his headache. No way.
From the filtered light coming through the floor-to-ceiling windows to his left, he estimated the time to be around 6:00 a.m.
Typically, he'd be rolling out of bed for a bike ride, weather willing, or a run on the dilapidated treadmill that sat less than five
steps from his bed. Then he'd shower and arrive at the office by seven-fifteen.
But at the moment, he needed more cold medicine, hallucinogen or not. He pushed himself out of bed gingerly, tossing the
still-damp towel twined around his legs to the floor. Holding his head so it wouldn't explode, and swallowing to moisten his
dry throat, he stumbled through the semidarkness to the bathroom and pushed open the door. By the illumination of the skylight,
he felt along the vanity for the box of cold medicine, but instead came up with a perplexing object, flat and flexible, with ties
and mysterious textures.
Bewildered, he groped for the light switch and flooded the room with light. He blinked at the pink-and-black thingamajig in
his hand for an entire second before a shriek sounded behind him. Derek swung around to see a person sit up in the bathtub, and
when he registered the dark coat and the blond hair, he grasped the horrifying fact that he hadn't been hallucinating after all.
Gripping both sides of the tub as if she were in a sinking lifeboat, Pinky looked at him and screamed.
As if he'd taken a bite from the forbidden fruit, Derek suddenly realized he was naked. He thrust the top of her costume over
his privates, straining from their morning call, and backed up against the counter. "What the devil are you doing in the bathtub?"
he thundered, grimacing at the pain in his temples.
She pushed a mop of hair out of her eyes. "Sleeping."
The woman was a bona fide nutcase. "I can see that," he said calmly. "But why are you sleeping in the bathtub?"
"Because," she mumbled, "you were in the bed." She spit hair out of her mouth. "I can see your butt in the mirror."
He clenched and opened his mouth to say something he hadn't yet thought of, but the phone rang. Backing out of the bathroom,
Derek sneezed twice on his way to answer the phone. He flung the corset on the bed and managed to grab a handkerchief before
he yanked up the handset. "Hello?"
"Hey, man, what's going on over there?" Steve Larsen's voice sounded concerned, but a little indistinct, as if his last drink
was not in the too-distant past. "I came back to the hotel a few minutes ago and they wouldn't let me past the gate. Something
about a quarantine?"
Derek stretched the phone cord to reach his jeans on the valet. He jerked them on as he answered Steve. "Yeah, several of
the guests
funny. A split second later, she sobered.
Steve wasn't thinking about her—he was obviously still out celebrating his last few hours of freedom, while she was bunking
down in a bathtub. A sliver of resentment slid up her spine, but was quickly overpowered by the onset of claustrophobia
sloping in around her. Janine concentrated on the stars through the skylight above her until the panicky sensation subsided.
She snuggled farther into the pallet of towels, smoothing out a lump under her left hip, then admitted the tub was more
comfortable than she'd expected. Janine sighed, trying to mine a nugget of philosophical wisdom from her predicament,
concluding instead she was living an I Love Lucy episode.
She fell asleep with a vision of her and Steve in black and white, toothpaste smiles, hair perfectly coifed … and sleeping in
twin beds.
7
« ^ »
W hen Derek started awake, several seconds passed before he remembered he was in Atlanta at the resort where Steve was to
be married on Saturday. Other memories of the previous night were too ludicrous to believe. When he lifted his heavy, aching
head to find he was alone in the room, he nearly laughed aloud with relief. Those were some strong pills he'd taken for his
cold. For a while there—
Derek chuckled despite his headache. No way.
From the filtered light coming through the floor-to-ceiling windows to his left, he estimated the time to be around 6:00 a.m.
Typically, he'd be rolling out of bed for a bike ride, weather willing, or a run on the dilapidated treadmill that sat less than five
steps from his bed. Then he'd shower and arrive at the office by seven-fifteen.
But at the moment, he needed more cold medicine, hallucinogen or not. He pushed himself out of bed gingerly, tossing the
still-damp towel twined around his legs to the floor. Holding his head so it wouldn't explode, and swallowing to moisten his
dry throat, he stumbled through the semidarkness to the bathroom and pushed open the door. By the illumination of the skylight,
he felt along the vanity for the box of cold medicine, but instead came up with a perplexing object, flat and flexible, with ties
and mysterious textures.
Bewildered, he groped for the light switch and flooded the room with light. He blinked at the pink-and-black thingamajig in
his hand for an entire second before a shriek sounded behind him. Derek swung around to see a person sit up in the bathtub, and
when he registered the dark coat and the blond hair, he grasped the horrifying fact that he hadn't been hallucinating after all.
Gripping both sides of the tub as if she were in a sinking lifeboat, Pinky looked at him and screamed.
As if he'd taken a bite from the forbidden fruit, Derek suddenly realized he was naked. He thrust the top of her costume over
his privates, straining from their morning call, and backed up against the counter. "What the devil are you doing in the bathtub?"
he thundered, grimacing at the pain in his temples.
She pushed a mop of hair out of her eyes. "Sleeping."
The woman was a bona fide nutcase. "I can see that," he said calmly. "But why are you sleeping in the bathtub?"
"Because," she mumbled, "you were in the bed." She spit hair out of her mouth. "I can see your butt in the mirror."
He clenched and opened his mouth to say something he hadn't yet thought of, but the phone rang. Backing out of the bathroom,
Derek sneezed twice on his way to answer the phone. He flung the corset on the bed and managed to grab a handkerchief before
he yanked up the handset. "Hello?"
"Hey, man, what's going on over there?" Steve Larsen's voice sounded concerned, but a little indistinct, as if his last drink
was not in the too-distant past. "I came back to the hotel a few minutes ago and they wouldn't let me past the gate. Something
about a quarantine?"
Derek stretched the phone cord to reach his jeans on the valet. He jerked them on as he answered Steve. "Yeah, several of
the guests
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